The aroma of seared venison and caramelized pastry swirls coiled through the grand hall like seductive serpents, tangling with cloying floral musk from powdered throats. Above, crystal chandeliers dripped molten gold across clusters of velvet-clad elites, their laughter a symphony of calculated mirth. House Eldrath's banquet epitomized dynastic grandeur—a theater where power wore silk gloves and daggers hid behind fluttering fans.
For Reinhard von Luxor, it was purgatory served on silver platters.
He lumbered past jewel-toned drapes, crimson brocade straining across mountainous shoulders as greasy fingers seized a honey-drenched pheasant. Whispers trailed him like shadows—Wastes of vintage port incarnate, Three buffets walking. Crumbs adorned his doublet as he gnawed, indifferent to gloved hands shielding smirks.
At the dais sat Lady Seraphina Eldrath—his betrothed in title alone. Frost-pale hair framed features honed to aristocratic lethality, her gown shimmering with serpentine mana-thread that mirrored her viperine gaze. Every measured sip of wine screamed revulsion.
Viscount Ravenspire materialized beside her, his vulpine grin slicing through the cigar smoke. "Behold Luxor's prized boar," he drawled, swirling ruby liquid. "Does he plan to graze or grovel first?"
Snickers erupted like popped corks. Reinhard pivoted, oil glistening on his chin—then froze.
Seraphina rose.
Ice crackled in her wake as nobles drew their breaths. Manicured nails slid a parchment from her bodice.
"Reinhard." His name became an epithet. "Your existence insults our legacy. You sprawl where true nobles stride, feast where strategists conquer." She lifted the document; wax seals bled scarlet. "This farce ends tonight."
The room stilled.
Muscle quivered beneath Reinhard's jowls. Years of jeers condensed into this crucible—yet his fury burned hotter than shame.
Let wolves bare teeth, he thought. I'll scorch their tongues.
The nobles smiled, reveling in his downfall. His vision blurred—not with tears, but anger.
He stepped to say a word. And the world inverted.
His knees betrayed him, the quivering mounds of flesh buckling beneath centuries of Luxor pride. Marble rushed to meet his face, smearing duck fat across his cheek as platters clattered like mocking applause.
The silence hung suspended—a spider's thread.
Then the hall erupted.
Ravenspire's cackle sliced the air first. "Nature reclaims its swine!" Others followed, their pearls clutched to heaving bosoms, snuffboxes trembling in glee-clenched fists. Even the servants' stifled giggles seeped through.
"The Piggy Duke has fallen!"
"Gods, did you see that?! He collapsed under his own weight!"
"No wonder his family abandoned him! What a pathetic excuse for a noble!"
Reinhard tasted blood. Or sauce. Or shame.
Seraphina's shadow fell over him, colder than her voice. "Witness the culmination of your legacy."
[System Activation: Gluttonous Devourer Detected.]
[Initializing…]
***
Agony pooled in his marrow, a leaden tide crushing breath and bone alike. His limbs were swollen to the point of being inert—corpulent anchors pinning him to the frigid marble. Grease clung to his skin like a second epidermis, reeking of duck fat and humiliation. The noble laughter echoed hollowly, distant as a receding nightmare.
Then, the invasion.
[System Activation: Gluttonous Devourer Detected.]
[Initializing…]
No voice, yet the words seared his consciousness—like a brand on the soul. A sense of déjà vu gnawed at him.
This has happened before
But he was an imposter.
Reinhard von Luxor's flesh prison housed a ghost. A specter who once wore power as a second skin.
Boardrooms, not ballrooms. Spreadsheets, not silks.
In another life, he'd been a conqueror of markets, not banquets. A strategist who eviscerated rivals with loopholes sharper than daggers. Loyalty was a currency he'd stockpiled and squandered—until his inner circle turned their knives.
The betrayal had been elegant. Efficient.
He'd toasted their victory with 18-year Macallan, flames of his crumbling empire reflected in the tumbler.
Darkness.
Then, this.
He flexed sausage-thick fingers. Alien. Disgusting.
Reinhard von Luxor.
A title synonymous with gluttony. A nobleman who drowned his lineage in gravy and mockery. Abandoned by kin. Scorned by a porcelain-faced fiancée. Reduced to a wheezing punchline.
The memories curdled in his gut.
Unacceptable.
The corporate warlord stirred, venomous and ravenous. Second lives were not to be squandered on self-pity.
[Gluttonous Devourer System: Online.]
[Unique Skill Unlocked: Devour Magic.]
Fireworks detonated in his synapses. Muscles writhed, alive with predatory potential. The chamber's laughter dissolved into static.
Power—true power—thrummed in his veins. Not inherited. Earned.
He would not grovel. He would not fade.
This world had handed him teeth.
He intended to feast.
***
The banquet hall's residual scorn clung to Reinhard's skin like congealed grease. Motionless on the marble, he heard the distant titters through layers of muffled perception. Within him churned a maelstrom of fractured identities: boardroom predator, societal punchline, and something new, ravenous.
[Gluttonous Devourer System: Operational.]
[Welcome, Reinhard von Luxor.]
[Primary Function: Devour Magic – Engaged.]
Electricity replaced the sluggishness in his nerves. His tongue still bore the metallic tang of duck fat, but beneath it pulsed an unfamiliar clarity. When his palms pressed against the floor, the stone's chill felt like a dare.
Seraphina's gown hissed as she stepped forward, the mercury threads catching the light. "Will you not even grace us with tears?" Her voice carried the precision of a scalpel.
The crowd held its breath.
Reinhard rose.
Not the desperate heave they expected but a deliberate tectonic shift. Alden Ravenspire's goblet paused mid-sip. Murmurs died as the nobles saw the aberration: shoulders squared, gaze level, the slump of shame replaced by spine-steel posture.
"Do as you please." Reinhard's words fell like ledger entries. "Annul the engagement. Sever the Luxor name from yours."
A beat of silence. Seraphina's fingernails dug crescents into her palms. The dismissal wasn't defiance; it was indifference, and indifference unsettled her more than rage.
As he turned, the system's text scrolled behind his eyelids:
Devour Magic (Passive): Absorbs arcane signatures through physical contact. Accumulated energy convertible to metabolic recalibration.
His shadow stretched long across the retreating nobles, distorting across their silks. Let them gossip about tonight's event over wine. Their equations wouldn't account for variables beyond their comprehension—algorithms of ambition, compounded interest in vengeance.
The exit loomed. Behind him, someone whispered, "He'll relapse by this week's end."
Reinhard's throat vibrated with a sound too guttural to be laughter.
They mistook his hunger for gluttony.
Soon, they'd learn the difference.