Blood flowed freely from the many puncture wounds on the poor excuse for a king that lay before Sett. The majority was greedily sucked up by the dry sand that encased his limbs, but now and then, a small stream would find its way to the floor, pooling up and staining the white marble of the throne room. A shame, that. It was one of the nicer throne rooms he’d seen.
“Demonic scum,” the king spat, his words accompanied by a wad of bloody phlegm. “Your kind should be wiped from existence. Needless death is all you know.”
A bold choice for what could be some of the king’s last words. Then again, Sett far preferred it to the ones that blubbered and cried. Even so, he would admit that the king’s words bothered him slightly.
“What a bigoted world view, my friend. You think I’m going to kill you just because I’m a demon?” Of course, it was hard to take the lives of the lesser races seriously sometimes, but that didn’t mean all demons were monsters.
“No?” the king wheezed out. “So what, you plan to keep me alive? Ransom me back to my own country, is that it? You won’t get away with this. Do you know who my great great great grandunc-”
The king’s words were abruptly silenced by a spike of sand digging deep into his chest. While the wound itself wouldn’t be instantly fatal to someone of the king’s caliber, with all the other damage Sett had done, he knew it would soon do the job.
“Of course not. I said I wasn’t going to kill you just because I’m a demon. I’ll have you know I’m killing you for entirely separate reasons. Truly, the prejudice of some people…”
Having no desire to talk to himself, Sett trailed off as the awaited notification finally rolled in.
You have slain King Katheritaxis!
Huh. Wasn’t his name something simpler? Like King Tamin? Or was that the last one? He did have such trouble keeping them all straight sometimes. Just as quickly as he learned the king’s name, however, so too did he forget it as the notifications he was truly after came through.
Achievement gained: Regicide III
+30% damage to all monarchs
+15% damage to all non-monarch royalty
While fighting royalty, negates any skills or bonuses they would receive from their rule.
+300 Prestige
Achievement gained: Destroyer of Dynasties II
+20% damage to the final member in a line of succession
+10% damage to all other members of a dynasty
On Identification, gain an innate sense if your target belongs to any dynasty that would fall under the effects of this title.
+100 Prestige
Even with the two upgrades, Sett tsked. Good, but hardly what I was looking for.
“Ah well,” he mused. “Suppose I’ll try to level them up again, then.”
After all, it was hardly that difficult to find a few more kings.
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The next year for Sett was rather routine. A bit of lazing about. A bit of research into some of his side projects. And then some more king killing.
Of course, he couldn’t go too fast. For one thing, the Regicide title only seemed to count if you killed your own king. A great deal of time was spent crafting proper backstories and applying for citizenships. It was at times like these that Sett was glad he’d spent a good half-century on body-morphing magics. He’d made do with illusions before then, but the damned things were far more finicky in his opinion.
Even past the need to be a right and proper citizen, it took some time to vet each of his targets, both for any potential problems that might arise from killing them and from an ethical perspective. After all, like he’d noted with king whatever-his-name was, Sett wasn’t a monster.
He was very careful to only kill monarchs that were already on their deathbeds, or, failing that, were likely to be disposed of in the next century or so. Likewise, he only ended entire royal bloodlines if he suspected they would likely die out in the next five centuries. At that point, he was just slightly expediting the process. Practically a rounding error! And by virtue of well-liked kings rarely being disposed of, he generally kept his hands off the rulers that people actually liked, or so he told himself.
Truly, as far as toppling monarchs went, Sett was essentially a saint.
As for the why of it all, it was half to grow stronger, half to test a handful of theories he had. Over the multiple millennia Sett had lived through, his boredom had led him to take on a handful of students throughout the years. Invariably, they would all find their own passions, be it magitech, the gods, hunting down new classes, finding new skills, or simply “magic” in and of itself.
Sett’s own area of interest, however, was slightly different. He was interested mainly in the system itself. More specifically, his niche was the title system and the effects of Prestige. Presently, he was busy collecting data for a thesis on how rarer titles interacted with other titles at higher levels.
He was fairly certain, for instance, that if he got a few king-killing titles to high enough levels, they’d be able to do more than boost his damage against literal kings. His hope was that they would start extending to even the concept of kings — by level 70, it was rare to see anyone who didn’t have at least one grandiose title like Queen of Infernos or The Slumbering King. In fact, some fools even had classes with “king” in their names.
What exactly that would look like, however — if he’d be able to deal extra damage to them, seal off their titles, or start ignoring any skills from ruler-based classes — he wasn’t sure. After all, not many people had killed enough monarchs to gain the relevant titles, and those who had weren’t generally the most approachable bunch.
And so it had come to this. Good old field research.
“Well, no time like the present!” It had been a few months since his last hit, and he’d finally managed to find another good target. Over the course of hours, he went through the painstaking motions of morphing his form exactly the way he wanted it to look, covering up any small imperfections with illusions where needed. When at last he was done, he looked the part of a trustworthy if somewhat boring dwarven merchant, brimming with a bushy-bearded charisma.
As ready as he’d ever be, the great Magus Sett teleported a half-day’s trek away from his next target’s capital, a wagon of goods behind him. He’d purposely chosen a remote area to reduce the chances of being seen, nothing but a dusty road and painfully boring rolling fields around him.
Despite that precaution, the very moment he appeared, Sett knew something was wrong.
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Very wrong, in fact.
Before he could put words to what he was feeling, a crescent of ever-so-subtly distorted space shot towards him. It was all he could do to turtle up, sand growing from his skin into a thin shell even as he infused his hasty barrier with insulating spatial mana.
The attack — for that’s what it certainly was — washed over him, leaving him slightly jarred but ultimately breaking upon his defenses. At the same time, a rich and jovial voice called out.
“Ho ho! And I’d thought I might take you by surprise with that one. Not much around here that can even sense that attack let alone respond to it. Good! I would have been disappointed if you were weak.”
Clearing the sand from his eyes, Sett risked a glance at his assailant. While looks could be deceiving, and doubly so the higher leveled one got, what he saw didn’t fill him with confidence.
Standing tall with a veritable mane of golden hair and a full build that would normally indicate a warrior class was a man so richly adorned that Sett could hardly understand what he was looking at. And as someone who’d spent the past few years “touring” throne rooms, that was saying something. Every inch of his body was covered in enchanted clothes, armor, and trinkets, with metals so rare that a gram would be worth a king’s ransom and spun from fabrics woven from the hairs of species that might as well have been myths.
Against his better judgment, Sett Identified the man, his heightened Intelligence put to the test as he was forced to sift through dozens of obfuscation notifications from whatever gear the man was wearing. Still, even if he was outclassed in the wealth department, Sett prided himself on his identification. He was a man who wished to know everything, and his skills showed it. When at last the skill finished, he gave it good odds he was looking at the man’s real information.
Emperor Diorus, Level 83 Heaven-Blessed Spatial Sovereign
With how far he’d leveled his identification skills, he was met with a barrage of other information, but that single line alone was all he needed.
I need to leave. Proud as he was, Sett hadn’t stayed alive as long as he had by picking losing fights. Even with all his years, he’d only managed to reach level 72, and though he was well-accustomed to hitting above his weight class, he doubted the gap between them would be surmountable.
Still, it wasn’t as if he could simply teleport away. Not right in front of a spatial mage. And even if he did manage to escape, the fact that the emperor was here in the first place meant he had some way of finding Sett if he wanted to. He had no desire to repeat this experience a few months down the line.
Diplomacy then. Or at least keep him talking long enough to come up with some sort of plan. Against every instinct in his body, Sett forced himself to grin, waving cheerily.
“Hello there, friend! Always a pleasure to see someone else who’s studied spatial magic. Might there be some sort of misunderstanding I could clear up? I won’t claim to be free of enemies, but I don’t believe I’ve made any quite like you.” In fact, Sett was very careful to not meddle with anything that even remotely smelled like it could piss off anyone of import. That was the entire reason he was here in this backwater where even kings never hit level 50.
“Ah, I suppose this would look a touch odd from your standpoint. Does the name ‘Katheritaxis’ ring a bell, perhaps?”
Naturally, it did not. Who would have such a dumb name? Still, judging by the emperor’s expectant look, Sett determined that such a response would likely be unappreciated. Perhaps seeing him struggle, Diorus threw him a bone.
“About yea high,” he said while motioning with his hand. “Wears a crown. Sits in a throne room. Or at least he used to when he was alive, I suppose.”
Ah! Well, actually, that didn’t narrow it down much, but by some quick process of elimination, Sett managed to figure out which king it must have been. He replayed his act of regicide in his mind, eager to determine what could have possibly sparked a man as powerful as the emperor to come after him. Though he tended to forget the drivel that they all spewed, some of the king’s final words finally came back to him.
As the pieces slowly fell into place, a sense of dread washed over him only overshadowed by his genuine bafflement.
“You can’t be serious. Please don’t tell me this is concerning that awful line about ‘Do you know who my great great great granduncle is?’ That can’t be you, can it?” After all, what were the odds?
Emperor Diorus snapped his fingers, his warm smile never leaving his face. “The very one! Now, normally I wouldn’t chase you down for something like that, least of all personally. The number of relatives I have could likely fill a few cities at this point. The thing is, though, I liked that one. Favorite great, great, great grand-nephew, as it were. Even body-morphed him and arranged for him to take over some low-leveled country to get some rulership experience, you know? So I find myself a bit peeved, to tell you the truth.”
Had demons had the capability to sweat like so many of the inferior races, then Sett would have been sweating right about then. “It seems I’ve made a rather grave lapse in judgment then. I will naturally be happy to recompense you for your loss.” One did not reach the heights that Sett had without developing a strong ego, and it chafed at him to wring his hands and wheedle as he was. Even greater than his pride, however, was his sense of self-preservation.
Still as joyful as ever, the emperor slammed his fist down, a spatial ripple radiating outwards from the motion. “No,” he decreed. “Although, I am capable of being merciful. If you surrender now, I would be content to simply lock you away for two-or-so-hundred years. What say you?”
Indeed. What do say I? Waste a few centuries for killing some snot-nosed brat with no guarantee the emperor wouldn’t strike him dead whenever he wished? Or rely on his own skills to fight or escape?
As keen as he was on saving his skin, Sett had a limit. The answer here was clear.
Emperor or not, let’s see how you handle this, hmm? With no further fanfare, Sett began his assault.
As simply as breathing, Sett commanded the earth around him. In an entire kilometer radius, it crumbled and compacted, bursting upwards. The tiny grains immediately obscured the emperor’s view, though that was only a small perk. Half of the sand went to Sett, encasing him in an unassailable fortress which he rapidly imbued with every flavor of mana he could. The other half shot towards the emperor, a healthy dose of class skills and spatial mana hopefully keeping him locked down.
Even as he directed the sand, he was casting nearly a dozen other spells at the same time. For all they were an odd choice for his Arcane Entomber class, Sett had leveled his mental and soul magics far above what most could hope to compete with, as was common for those of his demonic ilk. With a dash of illusion magic thrown in, he placed a number of decoys through the plains, each with a false mind and soul to throw the emperor off. To add to the effect, he commanded a single decoy to speak.
“Though it pains me to say it, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your kind offer.”
It should be enough. Even for someone at his level. So thought, Sett masked his own mind, soul, body, cloaking himself in as faint a shroud of spatial magic as he could. When he was confident the emperor would be overwhelmed by his attacks and faux clones, Sett at last began to cast a long-range teleportation spell. Spatial mage or not, Diorus had little chance of detecting his working, let alone interfering.
With a smirk, Sett completed the spell, making good on his escape plans. Space warped and twisted around him, whisking him far away from the still-entombed emperor.
Or, that had been the plan, at least.
“Ah! A wonderful showing. Thank you for making this entertaining for me, at least.” Unharmed, the emperor stood with a single arm raised high. Gripped firmly in his hand was the neck of a demon. Sett writhed and squirmed, activating dozens of skills in unison, but to no avail.
“Believe me that I would enjoy a few more bouts if I could, but I’m already shirking far too many duties to come out here and play with you. Good night, king killer.”
Space rushed in from all sides, gripping Sett like an omnidirectional vise. From every angle, it pressed down and down until Sett knew no more.
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An unknown amount of time later, Sett regained consciousness. Like every other time he’d ever woken up, it was a jarring experience: Demons, as a rule, did not sleep. To be unconscious in the first place generally spelled some form of trouble, and before his mind could fully start up, he was filled with nothing so much as shock.
Hah. But then again, why should I be surprised? He was a mage. A high-leveled soul mage, too. Of course he had a few last tricks up his sleeves. Though he’d be weakened for some time, he was likely safe and sound in his study right now.
Still, his resurrection had really taken more than usual from him this time, hadn’t it? Far weaker than he’d expected to be, Sett opened his eyes and stretched as far as he could.
This, however, proved to be not very far, as his limbs were rudely jerked to a stop.
He first took in the many chains which sprouted from his body like branches from a tree. As he did so, he couldn’t fail to notice the spell circles beneath him either. He drank in the sight of them, his Grandmaster Spell Insight quickly unraveling the complex ritual he was now caught in. When at last he’d determined its purpose, only two words came to mind.
“Well,” he huffed out. “Shit.”