Why do the lucky fools live long and prosper when those more worthy go without? His brother's life candle burned brightly despite the attack by elven bandits. Vigil had his servants dress him smartly in a purple velvet suit with silver buttons. As heir apparent to Niht, his fortunes had quickly risen, and they would rise further with his brother's assistance. He had learned a secret the priests of Shapra didn't want to public to know. Long ago, his ancestor died under the care of the church after a thief was traced back to him. The knowledge was thought to have died with Artus Nidhogg. To use his secret, it was no great sacrifice to take his brother's position and betrothed.
Silas played in his hand, failing to end his own life with honor. Instead, he would seek vengeance as the wronged often chose. That would work perfectly. With his brother's life candle Vigil was guaranteed to become his brother's adversary.
A servant approached, shrouded in black clothes with a white blindfold over their eyes. "The King demands your presence."
"I am to be a hero the king does not command heroes of the church," Vigil said.
"My apologies, my prince, but you are no hero yet. Therefore, the protections of the church do not currently apply to your person. Will you obey your King, or must we enforce the King's word?" The servant said.
Vigil could feel the smugness reeking from the foul creature. The shadows were his father's men sworn to serve the King above anyone else. None of them stopped him from causing his brother's exile.
"Fine, I will go," Vigil said.
The King's court was unexpectedly quiet; courtiers' laughter and rushing servants' clamor were absent. It was cold enough to see his breath; no braziers were lit, leaving the throne room dark. Banners of various important houses in the city were turned into monsters in the darkness. Candle holders lay empty, and no guards stood at attention when he entered the gilded double doors. Moonlight filled the throne room shining on Father's handsome face. His father's vizier, a man with a shrewdly curled mustache, stood at the King's right clutching a staff.
Poverty was a virtue his family had adopted, not by choice. Only their status purchased a bride from the island kingdom of Dagaz, and Elizabeth was only a third daughter.
Father had always loved Silas more than him; the first-born son had everything Vigil ever wanted. If the royal family had the power they once had, Vigil might have been the one exiled.
"It's good that you've come, my son. Give Silas's life candle to Diablo, and your sins will be forgiven." The King said.
"Only church priests can forgive sins, Father, and I have not blasphemed against Shapra," Vigil said.
"Upon exile, it is tradition to blow out the life candle of our family members to break their destiny with our family. Do you wish to bind us to Silas's fate?" The King asked.
"That tradition was a concession taken in our weakness. We are stronger than before." Vigil said.
Why couldn't the old man see they were in the perfect position to become gods? Vigil did what he had to do for his family.
"Do you wish to become an exile like your brother? I am not too old to sire more children." The vizier smiled while his father's voice rang hollow. The strong man who played with Vigil and taught him to ride could scarcely be seen in the man. "Meddling in the schemes of dark lords and heroes is folly." The King said.
"Goodbye, Father. I have a ceremony to attend." Vigil said.
The pageantry of the room of heroic rebirth was incredible. Priest sang a tireless hymn to the god of reincarnation while young maidens gave themselves to various priests. New lives would be consummated, and a few would carry his name to honor the birth of a hero. Images of men taking on various lives covered the walls leading to the altar of Shapra. Near the altar, a man painted in gold stood as an avatar of the god himself.
Vigil laid the candle on the altar and fell to his knees, waiting for Shapra to reward Vigil's hard work.
…
Panic hit his collection of monstergirls like a truck. Several gobs were trampled to death. A few kobolds ran into the dark tunnels only to be devoured by waiting spiders. The warrior ants weren't the only predators. Fear had cut deeper than any blade, turning his reliable force into scared girls.
An ant fell upon a gnoll, quickly ripping her apart and spreading her guts over the others. Silas walked over the heads of the fleeing mob. The ant shot out its stinger too slowly. Yoki covered his rapier before it split the carapace like an axe does dried wood.
"Gobs lead a retreat back to the village." They broke out of their fearful trance at the sound of his voice and corralled the fleeing gnolls and kobolds. Gobs followed gobs moving his panicking force back into a semblance of discipline. He kicked the carcass of the ant into another descending insect. The monster struggled in a tangle of limbs before Silas stabbed home. "Move. I will cover your retreat." Silas yelled.
His actions weren't brave or chivalrous. Blood essence filled him from each kill, and he planned to reap the warrior ants like wheat before a tractor. While he guarded their retreat, he wouldn't lose many more forces maxing out his gains. Two of the dwarves carried the Oni and Kobold witch. Each was worth their hentai points. Fear had banded his group together tighter than he could manage alone, and he already established himself as their leader. The queen ant had also given him a gold mine of blood essence. Each warrior ant was worth 5 spiders.
Each stroke of his blade was a gain, and retreating made the warrior ants and spiders give chase. Like a machine, he showed precise movements and an impenetrable wall guarded the retreat of his monstergirls. Tish, armed with Night's End, led the force. Silas felt like a hole in the ground under a waterfall of blood essence. Demonic power gathered around him, bulging his muscles until he was a hulk ready to smash the puny creatures with his fists alone.
Corpses littered the ground like discarded beer cans in his father's shed. He felt twice as bloated as he ever felt from a full meal, and still, he fought.
A lucky pincer carved up his arm, and he drank refined vampire blood. The wound healed, and Silas kept fighting. His steps were slow, and sweat poured down his face. It was practice for when he fought something much stronger. There was no sense of accomplishment crushing ants. It was a job that happened to pay well, nothing more.
He grabbed an ant by its leg, stabbed his sword through its belly, and sawed, spilling its guts on the ground. They dried up a moment later, bereft of blood essence. A burst palm flattened another while he slowly retreated.
Silas picked a kobold up from the ground and helped her back on the path. He fought off the ants when she appeared dazed and poured refined vampire blood into her wounds. The demon did it to spread the word of his generosity. What other reason was there to defend a replaceable kobold?
A spider struck his arm with its web and tried to pull him into the darkness. Other spiders latched onto him with their webs. Silas turned his attention to the frightened Kobold.
"Go to the others. I will be with the rest of you in a moment." Silas said.
His forearms appeared to be pillars fit to hold back Uranus. Each of them had swollen with yoki-infused muscle bigger around than Grisha's waist. They looked powerful but were suboptimal. It was the truth of it. The power he generated compared to the power stored was a drop in a vast pool. His bloated muscles might as well be lipids for all the good they did him. That didn't stop him from baring down and resisting the spiders.
Inefficient, like using windmills when nuclear power plants were available. Muscles were poor batteries; Silas could feel bursts of demonic power escaping his body. Silas had eyes brighter than a lantern in the dark with little control over his power. There was only so much yoki, Silas's sword and body could handle. His brain wasn't adapted to use demonic energy, a weakness that would remain until the fourth tier.
He fought against the silk webs feeling the spider's pull, and more joined in, attaching silken cables to his body. Giant spiders were cave-dwelling monsters that followed the orders of dryder queens and a single dark lord. Ur the lord of spiders.
A silhouette appeared in front of him. "Are you too afraid to come yourself?" Silas asked.
He needed to buy time to figure out how to control his demonic power. There was too much, and he needed time to process it into usable power. Controlling it all was like managing a rampaging bull armed only with good intentions. Silas needed to get ahold of his power.
"What else is a witch for?" Grisha said.
He heard her in his head, and suddenly a connection opened he didn't have before. The bucking bronco of unruly demonic power felt calmed. In that moment of calm, he checked its teeth, hooves, heart rate, and asshole for parasites. In other words, he learned the demonic power flooding his muscles.
Silas wasn't a genius by any means, but the thread gave him some idea of what he wanted to do with his demonic power. Instead of letting it expand chaotically throughout his body, he lashed it together and spun it. In the past, Silas often ripped his pants; it taught him how to stitch cloth back together and tie knots. In a sense, he spun his demonic power into thread and wrapped it into a ball. The metaphoric ball of spun demonic power soon spun itself like a perpetual motion machine or a filter. Silas felt his body shrink, and the outburst of demonic energy decreased. His improved storage device still existed in his muscles, empowering him. Instead of messily stuffing a drawer and filling it up quickly, he learned to fold and store far more.
"You weren't what I expected. But your insolence is truly undeserved. You aren't even in our ranks, prince of Niht, but you act as if you've maintained your station." The black silhouette smiled. "Do you believe I'm afraid of anything you can accomplish?"
Silas pulled his arm, ripping the spider, holding it forward before impaling it with his rapier. Then, with a swing of his blade, he severed the webs holding him.
"Impossible, my spider's silk is stronger than steel. You don't even have your lord's stone; how are you doing this?" Silas didn't need to say anything. Talking during a battle was a sin unless he needed to distract or buy time. "Answer me welp."
Before the strand attached to his other arm was withdrawn, he snatched it and pulled the other spider to him. His rapier pieced the spider's head, killing it instantly. Gray matter covered his hand, boiling and popping over a sheen of demonic power.
The future tiers didn't just require blood essence; they needed a certain level of demonic power. While the third tier needed some preparations, Silas would soon be ready to complete it.
"You say the only reason to talk in battle is when you're creating a distraction or buying time." That wasn't true; even the slightest thought would tell him that. Words can cause anger, a change in allegiances, or a loss of morale. "I did not expect to battle a shrewd opponent. You have cost me a lord stone, but there are others. You have done me no real damage, exiled prince." Ur said.
"In other words, you don't want to lose any more units to me. I don't blame you; everyone hates losing." Silas said.
The dark lord's silhouette seemed affronted. "You haven't beaten me. No one can say Ur lost to Silas, the aspirant."
Silas shook his head at the dark lord's ignorance. They were in a resource war, and Silas had hit the jackpot.
"I will leave you with this. When next we meet face to face. I will be restored." Silas looked down at his tattered scraps of clothes split apart by his bulging muscles. Did he look like a hero willing to rush into a trap? "I would advise you to develop your lord stone soon."
"Since you said to, I'm never going to develop my lord stone," Silas said.
He would only make one if it could surpass his system in power.
The silhouette began fading. "You will they always do in the end."