The city of Clavis was nestled in the lap of darkness, ignorant of the lurking shadow that was about to envelop its very soul. To Lucius, the almighty Demon God, this realm and its inhabitants were but ants—insignificant and waiting to be trampled upon. Every movement he made was a testament to his impending dominion, every breath a whisper of the supremacy he once held.
His initial victim was an unsuspecting drunkard, swaying unevenly along the uneven cobblestones. Lucius, with just a flick of his hand, muffled the man's slurred singing. There was a method to this madness—first, the extraction of the man's life essence and then, the soul. The sensation of the raw power seeping into him revitalized Lucius, satiating a hunger that had been dormant for far too long. The drunkard's coins, though meager, were pocketed by Lucius, understanding the necessity of such tokens in this new world.
The depth of night brought with it more opportunities. A young couple, engrossed in whispered promises, didn't even get a chance to react to Lucius's presence before their lives were extinguished. Their essence and souls were siphoned, further fueling Lucius's ascent in this foreign land. His physical transformation was apparent—wounds healing, a more youthful vigor taking over, his very aura shifting to one of dominance.
A group of thieves, mistaking Lucius for an easy target, tried to corner him in one of the city's numerous alleyways. The cold gleam of their blades was the only warning before they lunged. Yet, they too were no match for Lucius. Their cries, their pleas for mercy, went unheeded. Their very being, memories, and even their loot were soon integrated into Lucius's burgeoning reservoir of power.
Among the myriad memories he sifted through, one stood out—a brief mention of a city guard commander, recognized as a force to be reckoned with, at the late adept stage. To the commoners of Clavis, this individual represented a pinnacle of power. To Lucius, however, even such a being was just another minor obstacle in his path.
His spree of devastation continued without pause. Merchants returning from late trades, guards on their nightly patrols, unsuspecting citizens—all were ensnared by Lucius's dark designs. As dawn approached, Lucius, fortified with a vast amount of blood essence and countless souls, looked nothing like the fragile entity he was mere hours ago. He was now the epitome of dark allure—with hair as black as the night, a visage sculpted to perfection, and eyes that held a depth of cold malice tinged with insanity.
Amidst the memories he had absorbed, Lucius realized the significance of appearance in this world. The tattered remnants of cloth that hung limply on him were an insult to his current grandeur. With the city waking up to a new day, Lucius found himself standing in front of a tailor shop, drawn by the sophisticated garments showcased.
Walking in, his entry was met with a barely concealed snort from the shop owner. The man's eyes, full of slight contempt, took in Lucius's worn-out attire, prematurely judging his purchasing power but refraining from openly mocking him. Lucius, unperturbed and with a voice that demanded attention, stated, "I need clothes that match my stature."
The tailor's initial scoff was quickly replaced with fear as he found himself levitating, his airway constricting from an invisible grip. Lucius's chilling voice cut through the silence, "Are there others in this city more adept than you?"
With considerable effort, the man managed to rasp out, "I am the foremost tailor in Clavis, my Lord. I vow to create a garment befitting your magnificent presence."
Lucius released his stranglehold, and the tailor crashed onto the floor, desperate for breath. "Ensure that you do," Lucius intoned without emotion.
The tailor's mind raced. He had heard tales of mages—rare, powerful beings in the empire, often surrounded by renown. By the display of raw magic he just witnessed, Lucius must be one such mage. Crafting for such a distinguished figure would be the highest honor of his life.
Eager to please and terrified of any missteps, the tailor quickly set to work with his finest materials. He used black velvets, luminescent silks, and intricate threadwork. Swiftly, under the oppressive aura of Lucius, the robe came together.
Lucius, however, wasn't done. He began imbuing the garment with various spells. It was infused with powerful defensive barriers, heightened sensory enchantments, and an added infusion of divine strength. The finished product was not just clothing but a testament to might and magic.
The black robe clung to Lucius's form as he tried it on, amplifying his already imposing presence. The tailor, overwhelmed by the aura emanating from Lucius and the robe, hesitated before saying, "It's the highest honor of my life to serve a mage of your caliber, my Lord."
Lucius responded, his voice as cold as winter's grasp, "Do not presume to comprehend my stature based on this mere display."