An angelic figure reeking of an unbearable stench—it was unheard of! Where could such a foul odor have come from, especially from a being of divine light? Jack wanted to scream, to claw his way free, but the revolting smell suffocated him, choking the words before they could escape his throat. The scent was overpowering, as if it had stripped him of his voice entirely.
"Get your hands off me!" he thought, his eyes watering from the vile stench. His body trembled, his lungs begged for air, but the smell clung to him like a shroud, relentless.
"I'll let you address your people. We'll talk inside—I'm in no rush," Jamiel said with a smooth, disarming smile. His voice was calm, betraying nothing of the menace hiding behind his words. Without waiting for Aldermond's reply, Jamiel strode toward the balcony doors, his movements swift and deliberate, leaving them all behind in a whirl of confusion.
Once he was far enough, Jamiel stopped, exhaling deeply. "That was close," he muttered under his breath, relief washing over him. "At least no one noticed." His voice was soft, yet his eyes flickered with a sharp intensity. In his arms, the infant Asriel squirmed, struggling for air, but Jamiel, lost in his own thoughts, paid no mind.
With a flick of his wrist, Jamiel summoned a gentle, golden light that washed over him, instantly banishing the stench that had clung to him. Jack, now free from the oppressive odor, gasped, sucking in the fresh air as if it were a lifeline. His eyes twitched uncontrollably, his body shuddering as though he'd just escaped death's cold grasp.
In that brief moment, death had felt near—too near.
Jamiel, now composed, cradled Jack in his arms and began walking through the long, luxurious hallways of the castle. The familiar grandeur of the walls seemed to offer him some comfort. "It's been a while," he sighed, his voice barely a whisper against the echoing silence of the halls.
---
"You have all witnessed it! The blood ritual is complete, and this is my firstborn, a true child of royalty!" Aldermond's voice rang out, swelling with pride as he addressed the gathered crowd. His chest puffed up as if daring the world to challenge his claim. At long last, the whispers that had plagued him would be silenced. No more mockery. No more doubting his lineage. Today, he would stand tall.
"Dad, was that really an angel?" A boy's voice cut through the crowd's hushed murmurings, his eyes wide with awe as he looked up at his father. His curiosity was echoed in the faces of those around him—many more interested in the ethereal being that had appeared than in Aldermond's proclamation.
For many, especially the children, this was their first time seeing an angel. The sight was nothing short of mesmerizing.
"It never gets old, huh?" one man murmured, his voice filled with a sense of wonder.
"I swear, I could watch that a thousand times and still be amazed," said another, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
Aldermond's cough interrupted the growing buzz of the crowd, restoring order with a single sound. "Tonight, we shall feast! We will celebrate the new king!" His words ignited a roar of approval. Cheers and applause filled the air, a sound that made his heart swell with pride. Finally, the day had come where he could revel in his triumph, where the rumors would be silenced, and his son would take his rightful place.
As the crowd's cheers subsided, Aldermond made his way down to the waiting Jamiel, Arwen trailing close behind him. The joy on his face couldn't mask the undercurrent of worry that tugged at the edges of their meeting.
Jamiel sat quietly, his expression thoughtful as he held little Asriel in his arms. The child, though barely able to comprehend the world around him, seemed unusually aware. His tiny eyes followed Jamiel's every movement, a trace of fear lingering in them—the memory of being thrown off the tower still fresh in his fragile mind.
'At least I survived this time,' Asriel thought. But the thought was tinged with bitterness. 'Survived only to meet a stinking angel. And look at me now—stuck in this chubby body. I need a diet,' he mused, wiggling his tiny arms and legs in a futile attempt at movement. 'Fine face though. Maybe if I get close enough, I'll give you a smack,' he thought dryly, watching Jamiel's face with determination.
'Curse this tiny body!' His frustration was growing as he measured his limited reach. He could barely move his arms beyond twenty centimeters. 'Utterly useless.'
Asriel's thoughts wandered, returning to the life he'd left behind. "Why didn't the so-called 'Great One' give me anything useful when he sent me here?' He scoffed internally, glaring at Jamiel. "What a god.'
Suddenly, his musings were interrupted. Jamiel's voice broke through the silence like a hammer against glass.
"Your child has a deep connection to the underworld. His existence is dangerous—a threat." Jamiel's voice was low, solemn, casting a heavy weight over the room.
Arwen's heart sank at his words. Fear gripped her. 'Why my child? Why does it have to be him?' The pain was unbearable, like a dagger twisting deeper into her chest.
"But how?" she whispered, her voice trembling with desperation. Her mind raced, filled with nothing but worry for her newborn son.
"I don't know how," Jamiel admitted, his face darkening, "but I can sever the connection. I can suppress it. But it will come at a cost—his magic path will be closed forever. If I leave it as it is, others will sense him, just as I have. And those others... they won't be so kind."
The hope that had briefly flickered in Arwen's heart now dimmed. 'Without magic... what would he be?' A child without magic in their world was like a bird without wings. He would be considered an outcast, a disappointment. He wouldn't even be recognized as royalty.
Yes they had other disciplines, but for their kingdom it was magic that ruled.
"Do it," she whispered, her voice barely audible as her eyes filled with tears. She couldn't bear to look, her heart breaking with the weight of her decision.
Jamiel nodded grimly. With a wave of his hand, a brilliant beam of white light shot from his fingertips, enveloping Asriel.
In an instant, Asriel felt a strange force pulling at his very soul, dragging him into an abyss.
[Host detected!]
[System activated.]
[Your path to becoming the Lord of the Dead has begun.]
[Alert! Path is being threatened. Host has been granted access to the altar. Stop the force threatening your growth!]
[Rewards: ???]