Serena pressed her palm against the cold stone wall of the castle manor, exhaling a soft breath. The echoing bustle of Celestafell's streets lay far behind her now. Here, in the shadows of the estate's looming spires, she could almost taste the hush of secrecy and plotting.
"Alright, Great Sage…" she murmured, keeping her voice low. Her fingers trailed along the coarse surface, searching for a patch of deeper darkness to meld with. "Let's see if this city's rulers left their defenses as weak as the gate."
A gentle glow pulsed at the edge of her vision, followed by the familiar, calm voice.
"Ebony Cloak is active. You may proceed, Vengeful One."
Without another word, Serena closed her eyes, willing her body to fade into the gloom. The cold pressed in around her like icy water, and she felt the odd, weightless sensation of phasing through solid stone. In less than a heartbeat, she materialized on the other side, stumbling slightly as her boots found purchase in a dimly lit corridor.
Catching herself, she glanced around warily. Rich tapestries depicting long-forgotten battles hung from the walls, their colors dulled by an uneasy gloom. Flickering lanterns provided just enough illumination to cast towering, distorted shadows against the floor. She allowed herself a moment to listen for any approaching guards, but the hall was silent.
"Great Sage…" she whispered, continuing down the winding corridor. "Is there a way for you to turn off my doubts or anything?"
There was a pause, then the orb of light in her peripheral vision shimmered. Its voice sounded deceptively gentle.
"If you would like, I can eliminate all your emotions. Highly recommended, given your title."
Serena's steps faltered. "All my emotions? You mean… everything?"
"Yes. Sadness, guilt, pity, fear. They would no longer trouble you. You would be guided solely by logical analysis and the impulses inherent to your role as the Vengeful One."
She pressed her lips together, her mind flicking back to the memory of the truck hitting her—how the cold terror had been matched only by her raw fury at the injustice. That rage still simmered beneath the surface, but so did a vestige of compassion… maybe even regret.
"What would I become without them?" she asked softly, glancing at a grand painting of some bygone lord, his face frozen in a pompous grin.
Great Sage's tone was matter-of-fact, devoid of judgment. "You would become efficient. Detached. More capable of enacting retribution without hesitation. A truer embodiment of vengeance."
For a moment, Serena allowed herself to imagine the freedom of that numbness. No more second-guessing, no more guilt over using Predator. No more haunted dreams of the life she left behind. Then, tightening her grip on the hilt of a dagger she'd taken from a long-dead monster, she shook her head slightly.
"Let me think about it," she said at last, continuing down the corridor. "I… I'm not ready to give up everything just yet."
Great Sage pulsed once, as though acknowledging her reluctance. "Of course. I will continue to offer this function should you change your mind."
Serena forced a wry smile. "Yeah, thanks, I'll keep that in my back pocket. Now, can you give me a map of this place?"
The orb glowed. "Scanning. The manor has multiple wings. One leads to the throne room—likely repurposed into a grand hall or administrative chamber. If you intend to seize control, that is your target."
She nodded, peering around another corner. Soft voices drifted from behind a set of gilded doors. Lanternlight flickered beneath the threshold. Her stomach tensed as she realized this could be the seat of real power in Celestafell—where the Requiem Core's keepers directed the city's fate.
"No turning back," she muttered under her breath. And then, aloud, "Great Sage… Let's see who's in charge, and if they deserve to keep their throne."
Silence followed as she moved onward, cloak trailing behind her like a living shadow. The choice to embrace or reject absolute emotional detachment weighed heavy on her mind. For now, though, she advanced deeper into the castle, poised to claim a destiny riddled with ambition and peril—her doubts still very much alive.
Serena's footsteps echoed ominously through the castle corridor, her senses prickling with every shift of torchlight. She could feel the tension in the air—a coil wound tight, ready to snap. And snap it did when a pair of guards rounded the corner, steel armor clanking. Their eyes locked onto her at once, faces blanching with alarm.
"Sound the alarm!" one guard shouted, fumbling for the horn at his belt. The other drew a sword, its blade glinting in the torchlight.
With a single, practiced gesture, Serena lashed out with an arm wreathed in shifting darkness. Tendrils spiraled from her hand, coiling around the first guard's torso. He barely had time to scream before his body dissolved—skin sloughing away in a vortex of midnight that was all too eager to consume him. Her Predator skill pulled him in, every scrap of flesh, armor, and life force devoured in seconds. The second guard tried to flee, but Serena flicked her wrist, and a fresh tendril snared his leg. He fell hard, face slamming into the cold stone floor. Two heartbeats later, the darkness swallowed him too, his frantic cries lost beneath the gruesome squelch of absorption.
Panting softly, Serena leaned against the corridor wall, trying to steady herself. The guards' final terror lingered in her mind like an echo, fueling her own mix of guilt and grim determination. When it was over, Great Sage's voice resonated with clinical efficiency:
"You have acquired the following abilities: 'Sword Mastery (Basic),' 'Guard's Resilience,' and 'Shield Break.' Their memories and martial knowledge are now at your disposal."
A tired sigh escaped her lips, the lingering thread of regret tugging at her conscience. "I can't keep doing this if I'm going to hesitate every time," she murmured, voice trembling. "Great Sage… remove anything that can hinder me as the Vengeful One. I can't let these doubts and guilt slow me down."
"Understood," came the serene reply, floating in her thoughts. "I will seal away emotions that interfere with your function. Prepare yourself."
A cold wave of numbness rolled through her. It started in her chest, as if a shutter slammed over her heart. She felt shock, worry, pity, and the last tethers of her conscience snuffed out one by one—replaced by a chilling sense of clarity and single-minded drive.
The clank of plate armor snapped her attention further down the hall, where another squad of guards—four this time—emerged from a side passage, evidently drawn by the commotion. One of them pointed at her, eyes widening at the sight of the black roiling aura around her hands.
They rushed in, spears lowered.
Serena allowed herself no hesitation. She darted forward, weaving between their weapons with preternatural grace. As her Ebony Cloak skill flared, she vanished into the gloom and reappeared behind them, silently unleashing Predator once more. One soldier's back arched violently as his body crumbled into Serena's devouring vortex; another barely let out half a curse before she sank her claws into his chest and drew him in. In moments, the corridor was splattered with the remains of armor, slick trails of congealed blood, and wisps of black mist—the only evidence of the devoured guards.
Great Sage's calm monotone followed promptly:
"Additional acquisitions: 'Improved Spear Technique,' 'Marching Order' (a morale-boost ability), and 'Iron Will' (provides moderate resistance to mental influence). All have been integrated."
Emotion no longer roiled in Serena's eyes; there was no flicker of disgust, no pang of remorse. Instead, a glint of predatory resolve burned in them—an icy, lethal focus. She merely nodded, then stepped over the piled scraps of armor without sparing them a second glance, continuing down the corridor as if guided by an unshakable mandate. The Dark Messiah had chosen her path—nothing, and no one, would stand in her way.
The heavy doors to the castle's grand hall shudder violently, then burst open with a resounding crash. In the sudden hush that falls over the chamber, every official seated at the long, ornate table spins around in alarm. Their eyes lock on the crimson-haired figure who strides in as if she owns the place—because now, she does.
Serena stands tall, her posture regal and commanding. A cascade of vivid red hair, pulled into a high ponytail, flows behind her like living flames with each purposeful step. Jet-black horns curve elegantly from her head, framing a face that gleams with dark allure. Her eyes burn a molten scarlet, charged with an otherworldly intensity. Beneath a form-fitting bodice of midnight leather intricately accented with rubescent motifs, her every motion suggests both grace and lethal intent.
With each echo of her boot heels against the marble floor, the tension in the hall thickens. Pillars line either side like silent sentinels, their ancient stonework now bearing silent witness to the new Dark Messiah's entrance. The flickering torchlight caresses the gemlike adornments across her armor—small, crimson crystals set into the black metal, pulsing faintly like embers waiting to erupt into flame.
In the faces of the assembled government officials, shock mingles with dread. They recognize the rumors: a mysterious ruler who seized the castle manor with brutal efficiency—one who bent the city's core wards to her will. Now they are seeing her with their own eyes, and the sight is far more hauntingly majestic than any tale they've heard. Some of the officials draw back their chairs in uneasy deference; others can't quite tear their gaze away from the smoldering aura that radiates from her very presence.
Serena crosses the threshold between the looming columns, her cape swirling in her wake like a living shadow. She never breaks stride as she advances on the dais where a cluster of trembling nobles cower. The austere hush envelops the hall, pierced only by the echo of her footfalls and the occasional crackle of torchfire. At the head of the table, the highest-ranking official attempts to stand, face pale beneath his powdered wig, but he hesitates under the weight of Serena's blazing stare.
When she stops at the center of the chamber, she lifts her chin, letting the glow of the rubies set into her bodice cast faint red flecks across her pale skin. All watch in silent awe, fearful and fascinated, as the new mistress of the castle claims her seat of power. In that moment—horns, red eyes, raven-black armor, and a crimson mane in full regalia—Serena looks every inch the dark sovereign she has become. And all the city's officials can do is stare, hearts pounding.
A hush settles over the chamber as the lord—visibly trembling—pushes himself upright behind the ornate table. Gilded candlesticks rattle with each shaky breath he takes. His attempt at bravado falters when he speaks, voice cracking under the sheer intensity of the being before him.
"Y-you dare march in here unannounced?" He forces out the words, lurching around the table as if seeking allies among his stunned peers. "Do you even know whose presence you're—"
A sudden flicker of magic—pale and sickly—snaps into the air. The spell he hurls is called Obedience, a compulsion meant to bend the minds of those who defy him. But the moment it collides with Serena's aura, the magic fizzles in a jagged burst of warped energy. The backlash crackles over her armor like miniature lightning, stuttering and dying as though unworthy of her.
Her eyes narrow, glowing red embers in the gloom. "I know exactly whose presence I stand in," she says, her voice as cold and sharp as a razor. "But apparently, you do not."
The lord's face goes chalk-white when Serena takes a purposeful step forward. In the back of the hall, a few officials begin to shuffle away, pressing themselves against the walls, hoping desperately to escape her notice.
Then her lips curl into a merciless smile. "I am the hand of the Goddess, a Dark Messiah—or as you all may know me, the Vengeful One. And I shall now pass judgment."
A collective, terrified gasp erupts among the assembled courtiers. In the same instant, a tsunami of inky darkness unfurls from Serena's outstretched palm: the upgraded Predator skill. A chilling wind sweeps through the hall, stirring up loose parchment and snuffing some of the torches. Wide-eyed attendants topple chairs in their haste to flee—too late.
Screams tear the air as the first wave of officials are seized by black tendrils, jerking them off their feet. Their horrified shrieks turn into strangled wails of agony as their bodies dissolve into midnight wisps and vanish in seconds. More and more are engulfed, hysterical pleas drowned out by the macabre sound of flesh, bone, and very life essence devoured. Some try to claw at the floor, leaving deep scratch marks in the polished marble before they're pulled under by the swirling maelstrom of Serena's power.
The lord himself stumbles, dropping to his knees, tears streaming down his ashen face. He manages one final, pathetic cry—then the tendrils coil around him, silencing him forever in a swirl of cold, hungry magic. When the last echoing shriek fades, eerie silence settles in the chamber, broken only by the lingering crackle of half-burnt candles.
Serena lowers her hand, letting the remnants of that unholy vortex dissipate. She stands untouched amid scattered pages, toppled chairs, and a smear of blood trailing from the dais. Slowly, the orb in her peripheral vision—Great Sage—flares with an analytical glow.
"Predator skill usage complete. You have acquired the following abilities and skills:
Domination Command – A refined compulsion spell gleaned from the lord's Obedience incantation. Courtly Diplomacy – Knowledge of political intrigue, granting advantage in negotiations and deception. Spell Amplification – The power to augment basic magic, multiplying its potency. Noble's Resistance – An inherited resilience to toxins and low-level curses. Authority's Aura – An aura that cowls onlookers in intimidation, forcing them to recognize your dominance. Tactical Insight – Imbued understanding of large-scale operations and city management. Crimson Barrier – A defensive shield conjured of condensed blood-fueled mana. Memory Siphon – The ability to selectively extract specific information from absorbed victims. Advanced Predator – Further evolution of your devouring power, increasing capacity and efficiency. Shadow Tether– An enhanced method of restraining multiple targets at once using conjured darkness.
Each new ability snaps into place in Serena's mind like a puzzle piece, expanding her power and knowledge. No longer does she feel the faintest twinge of remorse. In the sudden stillness, she turns from the half-lit hall to survey her newly claimed domain—chamber doors wide open, the last traces of magic still sizzling in the air.
A hush blankets the grand hall, every echo of agony snuffed out by the thick silence. Serena stands amidst the overturned chairs and scattered papers, her crimson eyes narrowed. Suddenly, the faintest squeak of wood against marble snaps her from her reverie. In a heartbeat, her head whips around—predatory gaze locking on the dim far corner of the chamber, where something or someone has just dared to stir.