Nazareth stepped out of the shadows, sinking to one knee on the bustling thoroughfare of the Tyrian Empire, gasping for breath. He rolled to his back, feeling the sharp serrations of the stone underneath pressing against his skin. With trembling hands, he clutched at his chest, struggling to regulate his erratic breathing, not out of necessity, but to fight the turmoil within him.
Nazareth stared wide-eyed at the twilight sky, gripping his chest tighter as he felt the presence of the system slowly fade. He could feel moisture begin to coat the palm of his hand, seeping through the fabric of his shirt. Nazareth raised his trembling hand, his heart skipping at the excessive blood coating it.
Nazareth exhaled, sleeking back his hair while trying to calm his racing mind, not caring for the blood coating it. “That was far too close. How could I have been so reckless? Had I stayed any longer…” He trailed off, closing his eyes at the excessive blood seeping through his clothes.
Through his eyelids, he could still see the blaring notification the system had presented him the moment he came back into its purview. It was no doubt the punishment he was inevitably given for going behind the system's back, but he couldn’t bring himself to view it. He would be lying if he said it wasn’t off-putting, though. He had expected a severe cripplement to his strength or the like, but he felt fine.
With a sigh, Nazareth brushed the notification to the side of his vision, opting to look at it when he was in a better headspace. Now was certainly not the time to add any more stress onto himself, and with the current situation… he was overloaded as is.
Nazareth rubbed his face and groaned loudly, his mind reeling. It’s inconceivable! That ignorant, impulsive brat is the newly ascended chosen! There must be some mistake; among the sea of potentials, THIS is the pinnacle the system decides upon? Were it not for the blatant evidence thrust before my very eyes, I would have laughed and called the notion madness! What the hell is the system… no, no that thought is bordering on blasphemy.
But let's be rational here—no need for hysteria, Nazareth. This is good, this is still good for you. But how can I keep this to my benefit? In no time I’ll have to give my briefing to Theron, but how could I possibly keep this hidden? So many paths have opened up… but none of that matters if I can’t make use of this advan-.
Nazareth's thoughts were interrupted as he felt a sharp kick in his shoulder, and his eyes shot open to look at the offender. Nazareth’s gaze came to rest upon a colossal creature, its skin a patchwork of gleaming scales that shimmered with a metallic sheen in the twilight light. It was a Draconian, with eyes like molten gold as it leered down at him, unfurling a wicked grin full of dagger-sharp teeth.
“Would you mind not staining the roads with your foul blood, bloodsucker? You’re blocking the pathway.” The Draconians voice boomed with disdain. “Some beings here would pay for less amusement than the sight of your demise.”
Nazareth stared gobsmacked at the Draconian, barely processing the disrespect he had heard from the fleeting creature. His lips curled into a snarl, the casual insolence of the Draconian sparking a flare of his pride.
“You dare,” he began, voice dripping imposing threat, "To address me as such? It seems you have no idea who you speak to. Consider yourself privileged that I deem you beneath my notice of discipline.”
The crowd around them erupted into hushed whispers, the onlookers drawn in by the spectacle. The Draconian simply smirked, its arrogance undiminished. "Couldn't be someone worth remembering," replied the Draconian, voice thick with contempt, "Here you are covered in your own blood—like a common ghoul playing in the dirt."
Nazareth's expression turned to stone. His eyes glinted with the struggling control as he slowly rose from the ground, standing to his full, imposing height. The crowd that had been watching the confrontation shifted uneasily. Whispers rippled through the onlookers, punctuated by gasps and glances at the pair.
"I suggest you continue on your way," Nazareth advised the Draconian through gritted teeth. "For your sake."
Without another word, Nazareth turned sharply on his heel and proceeded down the street, turning his gaze towards his surroundings for the first time since he had come to himself. He had thought himself to be in some remote alleyway— but it seems with his hasty getaway, he had arrived in a very different location; a place he hadn’t deigned to visit since his first rise of power. The Dreg Quarters.
The Quarters were a festering wound on the Empire's underbelly, a place where the system's failures pooled. It was a labyrinth of narrow alleys, where the only music was the mournful howls of the night and the only light was the flickering glow of cheap torches. Even the air here tasted of defeat, heavy with the weight of unfulfilled potential. It was a place where dreams went to die, and the only ambition that survived was a desperate clinging to the bare minimum of existence.
While Nazareth could never fully understand, he held some pity for them. He understood their pain, their despair, for he had walked a similar path, albeit with a very different destination. The system was designed to filter out those deemed weak or unfit and invest in the promising, but it was often double-edged. If you continue to prove yourself, the system will support your growth. But the second you fall behind, the moment you can’t continue to prove yourself, the system will turn its eyes away from you, deeming you unfit to pour more resources in. The Empire's rigid caste system certainly didn’t help, and once you’ve been given a blind eye, it was practically over for you.
These slums were a dumping ground for those cast aside by the system's relentless culling and were a stark reminder of the harsh realities that awaited those who failed to improve. Once-great warriors now hawked up phlegm-filled coughs, their bodies reduced to skeletal frames by the relentless grind of survival. Enchanters who had once commanded respect with a flick of the wrist now begged for scraps. Even young prodigies, once bursting with ideas and potential, all relegated to irrelevance.
He had seen it happen a thousand times, watched as promising young hunters were deemed unworthy, their dreams shattered in an instant. He had felt the coldness of that rejection himself, years ago, when he had first stumbled into the King's eyes. But he was not one to wallow in self-pity. He had climbed the ranks, one rung at a time, with a hunger that burned brighter than any mere mortal could understand. He had earned his place, and now he would not let it slip away.
Nazareth glared at another passiebier who had shoulder-checked him through the dense crowd. Nazareth’s icy gaze shifted from the discourteous passerby to the crowd that teemed around him. Among the crowd, Nazareth spotted a race he had rarely seen within the Empire's borders; the Leathens. Their steps were silent and their faces obscured by elaborate masks fashioned from shimmering velvet or adorned with intricate lace, each a unique work of art that spoke volumes of the wearer's lineage and status.
Nearby, a cluster of Luminae fluttered above the crowd, their translucent wings catching the dim light of the street lamps, casting radiant patterns on the ground below. Each Luminae's face was bathed in a soft glow, their eyes glowing orbs that seemed to hold starlight itself. They conversed in chiming tones, harmonious sounds filled the air around them—a stark contrast to the guttural bartering and aggressive haggling from below.
Further down, another dominant race lingered, this one part of the Empire's main working force: the Troggans. They were hulking figures, with thick, leathery skin splotched with the ashen pinks and grays of a life spent in toil. Their hunched backs bore the tapestry of scars from labor and lashes alike, a testament to their resilience in the face of unrelenting adversity.
Amidst these myriad creatures, Nazareth's vampiric heritage made him an outsider—not for conventional reasons. By nature, his race was powerful; far beyond the norm of the more common races of the multiverse. Vampires, by their strength, often held positions of influence and power, a fact that only served to distance them further from the common denizens of the Empire.
Nazareth felt the weight of countless eyes upon him as he stepped through the bustle of the Dreg Quarters, but his mind was focused on a single need: solitude. As he walked, an inconspicuous sign caught his eye, swaying gently in the chill night breeze—a simple depiction of a bed and a stein, markers of comfort and refreshment. After sidestepping a Leathen merchant who offered him trinkets of no value, he stood before the inn – The Eclipsed Moon.
He approached the weathered wooden door, its surface scarred from years of comings and goings, and pushed it open. The amber glow from the hearth and lanterns painted everything with warmth unrealized in the streets from which he'd come. Nazareth didn't care for comfort; he sought solitude, a space to unfurl his thoughts like maps to territories unknown.
With the simplest of gestures, Nazareth tossed a coin onto the counter that sparkled and gleamed with an otherworldly luminescence. It wasn’t merely currency; it was a statement, an eclipse that overshadowed any notion that he was here by misfortune like the rest. The coin was excessively generous for a night’s stay; it could feed a family for years in this region.
"I demand a room. Absolute privacy and silence," Nazareth said briskly.
The lady—an older woman with eyes worn from years of kind smiles, recognized it instantly. The woman caught her breath as her eyes fixed upon this generous payment. "Oh, master! This—" she began.
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"Room," Nazareth barked, “Now.”
Her eyes widened with respect and concern intermingling in their depths as she nodded profusely, bowing her head in sincere thanks. "Of course, master,” she said, enunciating each word with gravity that honored his gift.
"Do not dawdle," he ordered. The innkeeper bowed her head before going behind the desk, coming out with a luminescent wristband.
Nazareth slipped the wristband onto his arm, feeling the subtle vibrations as it sealed itself to his skin. The innkeeper, her movements quickened by the weight of gratitude and a mild tremor of fear, led him upstairs.
The hallway was narrow, the air filled with a mixture of wax, woodsmoke, and the underlying scent of centuries of use pressed into the building's very foundation. They reached a door at the end of the corridor—a portal to his sought-after seclusion. With a last respectful nod, the woman handed him a small black key before quickly retreating down the stairs.
Nazareth entered the room, mildly surprised at the cleanliness. It was simple, yet more than sufficient. A canopy bed dominated one wall while a small fireplace beckoned from another. Nazareth closed the door behind him, automatically engaging enchantments to seal the space from intrusions and prying ears. He removed his cloak, casting it beside him where it pooled into darkness on the floor, and then his bloodied clothes before resting on the bed with a sigh.
In the middle of his vision, the blaring notification has been persistently nagging him to open it since he first arrived. Nazareth rubbed his face, staring at it with trepidation. It’s been a long, long time since he had felt this way. He had long forgotten the feeling, this gnawing, unsettling sensation that crept along his spine like a persistent shiver. He had believed to be impervious to such mortal frailties at this point, but as the notification blinked relentlessly, he knew what he was feeling was true.
This sensation was foreign to Nazareth; fear was an emotion meant for prey, not the predator. And yet, here he sat, a being so powerful, with the strength of hundreds of millennials coursing through his veins, feeling something akin to dread. It was laughable.
The notification flickered once more at the edge of his vision, this time with an unavoidable urgency. Steeling himself, Nazareth focused on the prompt, before it opened before his eyes.
[Penance Quest: Shadowbond Reparation (N/A)]
[Grand Observer Nazareth LeonHeart, for the actions taken against my ideals, going around the purview of my observations, defacing a newly initiated planet with your presence…]
Nazareth's eyes scanned the text, his heart dropping at the prompt's title. But as he continued to delve deeper into the contents, his eyes grew larger with each word he devoured, and they gleamed with a reflection of the text that now seemed to burn itself into his very soul.
“NO… This is UNACCEPTABLE!” He bellowed, thunder reverberating through the chamber. He slammed his fist against the wall, crushing the column into crumbling pieces. The lights flickered as his aura unconsciously released, and the weathered wooden panels creaked and groaned under the weight.
The street noises beyond his sealed room dimmed to a distant murmur as all the air seemed to be sucked out of the space, replaced by the weight of what lay before him. Nazareth's thoughts raced like a wild storm, each more chaotic than the last. These implications were catastrophic.
A frigid laugh escaped him, its resonance devoid of any humor, as if mocking his own spiraling thoughts. He should have seen it coming; it was hubris to think he could ever dance around the system's cold calculations.
"How dare it? How dare it force my hand this way?" he spat out, the words hissing like steam meeting cold air. The minutes dragged on as he pieced together the shattered semblance of his grand strategy. But then, through a crack in his anger, cunning thought slithered its way to the forefront of his thoughts. A meeting with the king... yes, that could work. If he was to be forced into this farce of a task, he would do it on his terms.
His mind brewed with malevolent plots as he pushed himself off the bed, tendrils of darkness gathering around him. The notification had become a declaration of war – one he had to accept with twisted servitude.
“I will see you soon... Your Majesty.” The words held an edge sharper than any blade as Nazareth envisioned his next move with crystal clarity.
__________________________________________________________________________
Nazareth emerged from the shadows in front of the royal palace gates, a grim look on his face. He didn’t take time to look at the glorious sight, rather, he immediately moved through the gates, not even acknowledging the guards as he walked towards his private quarters.
Nareth's boots echoed against the marble floor, the rhythm hastening with his urgency. The grand hallway greeted him with its usual splendor—the towering columns, intricate tapestries weaving the history of the kingdom upon their threads, and golden chandeliers casting a warm, opulent light. Yet, Nazareth's dark eyes barely registered these familiar luxuries as he swept past them.
As Nazareth neared his quarters, the clinking of armor indicated the presence of royal guards stationed at intervals along the corridor. Their sharp salutes went unnoticed; his mind was elsewhere, tumbling with thoughts and pressing matters. He turned sharply down a narrower passage where shadows clung to the corners before finally arriving at an ornate door carved with the crest of his lineage—a symbol that gave him no comfort in this moment.
As he closed the doors to his sanctuary, he sighed, ignoring the women who stood in the middle of the room and instead moving further into his chambers. Shelves lined with books on magic theory and history took up an entire wall while various trinkets from his travels were proudly displayed atop a large wooden desk. The room was dimly lit by enchanted candles floating around, casting a warm glow that created a cozy atmosphere. Nazareth reclined on his sofa as he rubbed his hands on his face, trying to relax himself before the inevitable confrontation, falling deep into thought.
The systems machinations once again block my plans… Now more than ever. With what it demands of me, I can’t approach this situation like I originally planned. Hiding the identity of the Chosen remains paramount, but how can I do so with these restrictions? The council no doubt listened to the entire conversation between me and that brat, but can that prove much? Perhaps I could push that the brat is a unique anomaly, possibly someone worth recruiting? That would turn their observation to the ones still in the tutorial… The problem is Theron, no doubt. He won’t be as easily persuaded. It will be tough, but if I can make it through this… paths that I never could have dreamed of before will open up to me.
It didn’t take long before the women entered the room. "Master Nazareth," the servant bowed, "His Highness has requested your presence in the throne room."
Nazareth took a deep breath before standing up to leave his private chamber, nodding to the servant. “Tell his Majesty I am on the way.” The servant nodded before hastily leaving the room, leaving Nazareth alone with his thoughts.
As Nazareth traversed the richly adorned corridors of the royal palace, he couldn’t help but let his gaze drift over the opulent tapestries that hung from the walls, depicting battles of old and mythical creatures that seemed to come alive before his eyes. Sunlight beamed through stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the marble floor that glistened as if sprinkled with gems. The aroma of fresh lavender was strategically placed in ornate vases along the hallway that teased his senses.
Servants in livery adorned with the royal crest hastened past him, heads bowed, eyes meticulously trained on the ground as though afraid that meeting his gaze would invoke some unknown retribution. Slaves scrubbed tirelessly at already shining floors or dusted antiquities under the watchful eyes of stern taskmasters. Despite their diligence, they shrank back into alcoves and pressed themselves against walls to form a clear path for Nazareth.
As he passed, tapestries whispered tales of ancient valor with their embroidered threads, while armored statues stood like silent sentinels in alcoves. Each suit was a relic of its era, meticulously maintained to a glimmer underneath the crystal chandeliers.
Ahead, a series of grand portraits displayed the lineage of kings and queens who had reigned before. Their eyes seemed to follow Nazareth as he moved, causing a small chill to run up his spine. As Nazareth approached the massive doors of the throne room, he saw the two royal guards in polished armor holding halberds guarding the entrance. A smile passed Nazareth's face as he saw a certain someone standing at attention by the gate.
“Mokosh! Oh, how I’ve missed you, my friend! How have you been?” Nazareth chuckled, playfully punching his friend's armored shoulder.
“Grmm.” He grumbled.
"That good, huh? You know, I've actually been looking for you. Usually, you pop up just as I set foot here, but this time nada. Off with a lady friend, perhaps? Or maybe practicing your scowls in the mirror?” He winked, nudging Mokosh with his elbow.
“Grumrmm.” He grumbled again.
"Ah, word has reached your ears about that, has it now? Not surprisingly, you’re as diligent as always! But yes, it was an accident. I would never deign to visit the Quarters of my free will. " He laughed lightheartedly.
“Grrrr.” He mumbled.
Nazareth looked quizzically at Mokosh, rubbing his chin in thought. “Yeah, I guess they're better at cooking than Troggans. But why wouldn’t you just call a servant instead? I don’t think a Luminae would be good at making crockizita, they don’t really have… hands. Why do you ask?”
“Gruemmm!” Mokosh grumbled again, shoving a finger into Nazareth's chest.
"What? You haven't heard?" Nazareth raised a curious eyebrow at his friend. So they’re keeping the contents of this briefing under wraps. It makes sense, but even for someone of Mokoshs status in the empire to not hear about it? They’re trying to keep this out of the books.
Nazareth stood in thought for a moment before patting his friend on the shoulder with a sheepish smile. “Ah, don’t worry about it, my friend.”
“Grr.” He grumbled in annoyance.
“Bah! You and your charismatic charm. Alright, you convinced me. But you have to keep this under wraps, alright?” Nazareth whispered, looking around in exaggeration before leaning into Mokoshs ear. “The geezer and I have a top-secret tea party planned. Now, you can’t tell anyone that, it's very top secret!”
“...” Mokosh said.
“Alright, I’ll ask him to pour you a cup too, don’t be like that.” Nazareth laughed.
“Grm.” He grumbled, shaking his head while pointing towards the doors.
“Yeah, you're right, I suppose it’s time to get this started.” Nazareth patted his friend on the shoulder once more before turning back to the opulent gates. He shook his head, his smile still genuine. His talks with Mokosh always managed to bring out his soft side despite the situation.
But as his gaze settled upon the opulent doors, that smile faltered. With a final sigh, his hands touched the wooden frame, pushing it open. There was no room for warmth in his expression - not anymore.