An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege-Chapter 14: Soaked Noble...

A gilded mist swirled through the luminous bath chambers, moving in an ethereal, dreamlike manner.

The subtle scent of roses and lavender—an odd mix. Mingled with the air, struggling to overpower the foul stench of blood and rotting flesh but failing miserably.

Soft lavender light pulsed gently throughout the chamber, as if attempting to bring serenity to the noble figure who lay submerged in the warmth of still waters.

His eyes remained closed, framed by long lashes that did nothing to diminish the unconscious allure he exuded.

His face was a masterpiece, undeniably handsome, bewitching even—but not to the overwhelming degree he seemed to believe.

Yes, he was attractive, yet only within the mid-tier of those considered godly beauties.

And yet, the confidence etched into his features suggested otherwise.

The arrogance in his closed eyes alone seemed to invite a thorough beating, should anyone ever get the chance.

Worst of all was the stoic expression he tried so hard to maintain, yet an invisible smirk was always on the verge of breaking into a full-blown grin of sheer conceit.

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If not for his need to uphold a certain image—one he assumed the world cared about—he would have openly displayed his disdain for even the very air he breathed.

Thankfully, or perhaps regretfully, the creator had placed limits upon him.

If not, who could say just how high in the sky his nose would be?

His shadowed skin gleamed against the soft lavender glow, and this could have been a peaceful moment if not for the relentless downpour outside.

And the occasional sound of chains being dragged across the ground.

Not just on the ground.

In the air.

In the sky.

So near that many could swear the chains were inside their very rooms.

Then came the groans—monstrous, guttural sounds.

The wails of people being slaughtered.

The tearing of flesh, punctuated by the clash of blades and the scraping of claws against stone.

Even distant booms and earth-shaking thuds could be heard, echoing through the darkness.

Though the surge was nearing its end, chaos still reigned.

Yet, this should be the chaos of a neighboring territory. It seemed fortune had not been on their side this time.

And still, Krael remained unbothered, almost as if he could not hear any of it.

But he did.

A feat owed to his unnatural hearing. And the growing unfamiliarity with his own body.

A strange force was rewriting the foundation of his existence, yet, unlike any sane person, Krael simply allowed it to wash over him. He paid little attention to the changes, as though he were certain he could handle whatever they brought.

And so he lay soaking in the tub for longer than was proper—until his ears twitched incessantly.

A frown marred his features.

With a reluctant sigh, he stirred.

Water cascaded down his form as he rose from the tub, gliding over his muscled body like reverent hands in worship.

The sight seemed to please him, as evidenced by the expression on his face—ecstasy, or was it smugness? It was difficult to tell.

He murmured incoherent words under his breath, exhaling a slow, turbid breath as he stepped out of the ornately crafted tub.

His hair plastered onto his skull like silk, his eyes misty from all the hanging mists and floral scents. His skin tender and warm from the long soak. His whole body screamed relaxation, and he relished it.

Unbothered by wetting the floor beneath him, he walked forward—toward the mirrored wall.

And with deliberate reluctance, he resisted the urge to look.

"Don't you desire to see your—"

A whisper, faint and ephemeral, rippled through the air, mapping the words into reality itself.

But Krael did not react.

He seemed unaware.

And he missed seeing the sight of his back as new features were being added to his skin and flesh like a weave...

Though he prided himself on his beauty, he often wondered why he had requested a full-length mirror in his bathing chambers.

With only a half-mirror, at least he could have confined his gaze to his face.

But this mirror—this mirror only reminded him of what he lacked.

Of what made him incomplete.

No matter how godly his beauty was, it could never outweigh the one imperfection he despised above all else.

His height.

Not that he was short, per se.

Among his peers, he was of moderate height.

But for a man of his pride, the fact that he stood at a mere 5'8" was unbearable.

By normal standards, he was average at best.

But in a world where men could grow as tall as eight, even ten feet...

Well, that was for those of special bloodlines, but still.

Compared to them, he was short.

The only solace he found was that his unfortunate height did not translate to the size of his manhood.

And that thought alone brought a grin to his face.

He may have been a short man, but in that regard, he was a man through and through.

And no matter how many times people told him he was only seventeen—that he still had time to grow in both power and stature—he remained dissatisfied.

Because he knew he would not grow enough to make a difference.

Of course, few dared to ever speak of his height aloud.

The ones who had? They were long dead.

Who, other than his loyal butler, would dare to speak so freely?

One had to commend the courage of such a man—to call out his young lord's so-called disability and still walk away with his head intact.

Especially when his master was a man who believed himself to be above all others.

A man who saw himself as a divine gift, sent to grace the world of Astrea with his grandeur and beauty.

A man who truly believed that if anyone should bow, it should be the Diearch of Eternal Flame—not him.

Krael Maesta was a god, merely regressed.

And it was only a matter of time before his glory shone forth once more.

Or so he believed.