An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege-Chapter 23: Mission Of The Damned

The Nine Foundations of Power—pillars that determined one's path—held no guarantees. Yet, they were called foundations for a reason.

They were the beginning of potential, the framework upon which one's strength was built, much like the foundation of a house determining how grand a structure could rise.

More commonly, they were known as The Nine Dominions. This was their true name.

And it seemed that Krael had awakened his—or at least one of them—before even undergoing the Gate Opening, the ritual meant to grant him access to the legacy of his ancestors, which would, in turn, pave the way to unlock his Dominions.

Yet here he was, witnessing the emergence of his first Dominion—his Dominion of Blood.

And he felt certain it was not the only one. For as long as he could remember, he had sensed a difference in his body, a feeling that had always been vague, dismissed as impossible. It was believed that Dominions could not awaken before the Legacy Gates were opened.

But only now did he realize that he had long since awakened his Dominion of Body.

Of the Veiled Dominions, it seemed he had awakened two—perhaps even the most crucial of the six.

As for the Grand Dominions, he felt nothing.

Awakening his Dominion of Blood after his outburst felt like a reward—a prize for finally acknowledging the existence of his other self. A presence that had always lingered in the depths of his mind, yet one he had never fully accepted as real.

Now, as he reflected, the name of his other self was whispered into his ears by the ever-present ravings.

'His name... is Sael... Sael of Chaos and Madness, of Madness in Freedom... of Forsaken Pride.'

The name did not feel foreign. It registered as naturally as recognizing one's own limbs. It was not something separate, merely something unspoken until now. The realization settled over him like a forgotten truth, always present, simply unnoticed until brought to light.

Though these revelations had come through harrowing experiences, through acts he had never thought himself capable of, he had found something profound.

His other half.

Or, perhaps, his better half.

And in that moment, he felt whole.

That was when his Dominion of Blood—Ethereal Vale—fully manifested. Blood as dark as enchanted obsidian.

It had always been there, coursing through his veins, flowing through his organs. Yet it had always felt surreal, beyond his perception. And beyond that, he had never truly seen it.

Because he had never bled.

His Dominion of Body was more subtle. Perhaps he had been born with it already awakened. It would explain his survival—the way he had been born even as his mother perished before she could finish labor.

Her head had been torn from her shoulders, her blood pooling around his infant form, warming him in the cold that would have seeped into his very soul, snuffing out his immature life.

It would explain his unusual skin tone. Though there were others with rare complexions, his was different—unnerving. The people of Astrea leaned toward lighter shades, reds, pinks, oranges, and blues; many looked like they were born of the seasons of the Great Pillar, while he looked like he had been born beyond the walls.

Had it not been for the undeniable history of his lineage, some might have mistaken him for a bastard child of the Chained Ones.

And there were more of those than anyone could imagine.

After all, the monsters of the Surge did not only kill.

Rape was never off the table. Some whispered that the desire they carried was even more potent than their hunger for flesh.

There were those who kept some of the Chained Ones alive for fun, and sometimes that fun resulted in offspring.

So, it was not impossible to find children of those accursed monstrosities—abominations hidden within the walls of Astrea.

But their fates were never kind.

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If they were not killed immediately, they were enslaved—playthings for the sadistic. The hatred the people of Astrea bore for their parents, the creatures responsible for yearlong sorrow and pain, was absolute.

None survived for long. Unless... they could.

Krael sighed as he examined what his blood had become.

Any other person looking upon it would see only madness. There was no logic to the message it formed, no rhyme or reason in its presentation. Even the language seemed nonexistent.

To anyone else, it would appear as though he had merely spilled his own blood, and in its place, grotesque horrors had taken shape—meaningless to all but him.

Yet, before him, words appeared.

[MISSION ACQUIRED: ENTER THE ACADEMY]

[...FIND YOUR ENEMIES...]

A pause. A lag in the message, deliberate in its torment.

And then—

[.....AND BECOME THEIR SLAVE.]

Silence.

A silence so absolute that even the wind dared not stir.

The bone-chilling aura radiating from Krael could have frozen hell to its deepest layer.

To say he was angry would be an understatement.

To say he was filled with hatred would fail to grasp the depth of his emotions.

His body trembled—not with anger, but with wrath.

Never in his life had he felt such unrelenting fury.

Even when he had been reduced to an empty title, a mere potential puppet for those who sought to rule what once belonged to his father, he had not felt this.

Back then, he had dismissed it. There was nothing he could do about the greed of men blinded by power. He had been powerless.

But at the time he had always felt he would reach a time where he would use his strength to protect the legacy of his parents.

But this? This was different.

This was his first mission from that entity—the one that claimed dominion over his life.

And it was a mission he refused to accept.

It was mockery in its purest form, a direct assault on his very soul.

He was being commanded—no, forced—to become a slave. And not just to anyone, but to those who would likely be his greatest enemies.

If this was not a complete annihilation of his pride, then what was?

His gaze darkened, undergoing so many transformations that he did not even hear his own thoughts screaming at him.

Take your own life.

His soul would rather perish than suffer the fate of willing servitude.

His eyes, once gleaming with ethereal pewter, lost their enchanted luster, sinking into a darkness so thick it swallowed the light.

And then—a grin.

Madness curved his lips, and all warmth in his expression vanished, like a dream slipping from reality.

His eyes shimmered once more with deep lavender and pale blue, their soulless beauty restored.

But the grin remained.

And with it, an unsettling sense of chaos.

A laugh bubbled from his throat, a sound so potent that had it not been for certain protections surrounding him, the very sky above would have darkened in response.

When his laughter faded, he glanced once more at the message. He rubbed his chin in contemplation, but this time, a glint of mischief danced within his gaze.

Krael had changed, and Sael had surfaced once more.

Sael, hidden within, found it amusing.

He wondered just how best to twist this situation to his own advantage—how to spread chaos and destruction in ways none had anticipated.

All the famous tropes he could think of twirled within his mischief-ridden eyes. Unlike the main persona Krael, Sael did not have the same limitations of pride to him.

Instead he saw this as an opportunity to make his life more adventurous.

The text had not changed.

And yet, as if sensing the shift in him, more words appeared.

[Huh... I knew it would break him...]

[Relax... Little Pride. I'm not so heartless...]

[But I'm not so magnanimous either... Hehehe.]

[Find your purpose in my plans... and perhaps I shall grant you a proper mission.]

And then, silence.

In his mindscape, Krael felt as though he had spent an eternity here after the forceful shift with his other half.

His eyes, clouded with rage, slowly settled.

The fury did not fade. But now, it was tamed.

He knew it was not up to him; his every thought was his to control, and every decision he made would first be vetted by him. So, he knew it was pointless to dwell on it further. Instead, he should direct his hatred toward those within the realm of reason.

For now, he would not think much of it until he was able to stand head-to-head with the one who had forced him to taste the fracturing of his pride.

But until then, he would do as he was told.

Yet, he would do it on his own terms. Even though he would fulfill what had been assigned to him, he had thoughts of his own on the matter. Perhaps he had only been looking at things on the surface.

For one, he did not even understand who these supposed enemies were in the first place.

Only with a calm mind did he begin to consider things clearly.

And though his early conclusions did not silence all his doubts, they still allowed him to reaffirm one thing to himself—

His pride would not be questioned.

Krael Maesta would be no one's slave. Gods be damned.

Back in the outside world, Krael opened his eyes and coldly regarded the mission.

Instead, something else had taken its place.

"Reward...?"

The blood wriggled chaotically, and he swore he could almost hear laughter emanating from depths unknown.

It was filled with glee—like a person watching an ant squirm in water, drowning as it fought for its last chance at survival.

A shiver ran down his spine.

In this case, he was the drowning ant, and the entity above relished watching him struggle. The longer he endured, the more his suffering would persist, until the moment his body lost its will to live and surrendered to the hands of destiny.

Then, more text emerged.

[REWARD:... AWAKENING OF THE 1ST LEGACY]

"1st Legacy...? You mean there is more?"