Being a Scion, a descendant of a divine entity, is more than just being a class. As a Scion, you possess rulership over concepts. Not just the ability to make skills or titles from concepts, but absolute rulership. Through your will, you can compel something under your divine patron’s portfolio to adhere to you.
This means that when faced with an adversary, your power takes precedence over theirs—unless they too are a Scion.
Take, for instance, a Scion of Ignium, the Gold Dragon of the Rising Dawn, creator and destroyer both. You rule over fire, over light, over destruction—but also forging. This means that all descendants of the Golden Dragon can become warriors and blacksmiths without peer, if they learn to master their own bloodline. And that is what makes them truly valuable: a spiritual bloodline. Something the System-hosts desire to possess to broaden their own influences…
All except one bloodline, one that is scorned. One that is an omen for all others.
Those born of the Hound of the Withered Moon.
For one born of death can be shaped into a spiritual weapon against even the greatest powers in the Fathoms.
-A Primer on Scions
II-38
Off to See the Bastard (I)
“Master Bishop,” Wei said aloud, declaring to his companions just who had telepathically reached out to him. Agnesia scowled. Ellen’s eyes widened. The Oathbearers leaned in as if they could hear Wei’s thoughts. Rafael, of all people, went still. Wei didn’t doubt that he remained in constant contact with the other Trespassers from the Lodge—despite his current allegiance.
“Don’t worry, this isn’t a clandestine message or anything,” Bishop said after the fact. He made his thoughts aloud echo out from Wei, looping the young master’s companions in. “I’m just calling to congratulate you first on, uh, earning yourself some attention. Pretty nasty work you pulled back in the Bloodgrounds. There was a betting pool going on between me and the rest of the bunch down here at the Lodge.”
“Trying to gauge when I would get in trouble?” Wei asked.
“Oh no, we knew you would get in trouble. We were just betting on when.”
“And who won?” Wei asked curiously.
“Me, because I said immediately. You are William’s kid, after all.”
And there it was—the dig, that ever-so-familiar finger in the wound. Wei clenched his jaw and nodded. “Very well. What, then, do you wish to warn me about, Master Bishop? The Hound, yes? One of my many challengers—slave to the Circle of Lust.”
“Yeah,” Bishop replied. “The one Sarah thought was going to give you the most trouble in a straight fight. After your recent showing, though, I think even John Doe is starting to have second questions about any Knight-Tier adversary being your equal. He and his mistress will be attending this, uh, gala you’ve been invited to. Congratulations, by the way. The Old Man don’t hand out invitations like this to anyone, especially not most Knight classes, only ones that show substantial promise or potential. And you? Well, let’s just say the Circle of Pride is salivating to get their teeth into you.”
“I must disappoint them, then,” Wei replied. “I am my own master.”
But the young master grinned, thinking of ways he could angle this to his advantage. Yes, the Concept Shards. He could now provide easy advancements to his sect. So, just how long would it take for a Count-Tier to advance? To grow their Aspects? There, then, was his greatest angle. But he also needed to hide the existence of his System… “However, I wouldn’t be against working with them,” Wei mused, “or playing them against each other for my favors.”
“Then we’re on a wavelength,” Bishop replied. “But keep yourself ready. It isn’t going to be a walk in the park. The Sinners are sharks, and you, right now, are a very fascinating swordfish that popped out of nowhere. You might be able to thread a line with the Counts, but if you get the attention of a Duke? Or a Prince?” The Trespasser sent Wei an image of a finger squishing a gnat.
“Ah. So this place isn’t devoid of true powers. Good. Many-wed has left me irritated and frustrated. There are so few good adversaries to find in this place.”
“Yeah, don’t worry, son,” Bishop chuckled. “John Doe’s still gonna want to see you by the end of the week. You treat him like any of these clowns, well, he’s gonna carve some respect into your bones.”
And that sent a shiver of excitement up Wei’s spine. “Oh, I hope he does. I hope he tries.”
A beat followed.
“You know,” Bishop continued, “when you talk like that, you don’t sound anything like your father. Man was always one to avoid a fight more than he was one to engage in it.”
“He was always a coward at heart,” Wei shot back.
“Coward? No. But he was always a sneaky shit, a knife in the dark. And, uh, well, here’s an awkward segue. You might want to inquire his expertise.”
A burst of outrage flared inside Wei’s gut. “What? Why? I do not need him.”
“You don’t need him,” Bishop said diplomatically. “But his assistance is helpful. He spent years working with the Circle of Envy. Hell, he was part of them at one point. Then he betrayed them for the Circle of Lust, then went back to Envy, and when he burned both those bridges, did a little work for the Dying Queen, which landed him in his current spot of trouble.”
“My father is a factional whore,” Wei muttered, with no shortage of venom.
“That he is. But he also knows their inner workings, and also the who’s who and what’s what. And better yet, he can’t betray you. I’ll be on standby, I’ll be watching out for you. But you want someone there, in person, that they can put a face on. Better yet, you want to show people what you did to him to build your legend. See, the name William Yu still echoes through some corners of the Claimed Hells. If people found out that he’s now your karmic slave, that you broke your own father in a straight-up legal duel, well, that might open you more doors than Many-wed did, if you catch my drift.”
Wei did not understand Bishop. Frankly, the thought of even facing his father again, speaking to the man, filled the young master’s throat with bile. But above emotional weakness and that lingering stench of rage, he knew the Trespasser spoke sense.
His Aspect of Ambition shivered. The Shell spoke from within him. “Do not let yourself be deceived and wielded. Remember that John Bishop has an old friendship with your father. Do not let him use this to ameliorate what he has done. William Yu must suffer. He must die for what he’s done to you, for what he’s done to our sect. Think now. Think back to Evernest’s destruction.”
Wei flinched. He didn’t want to.
“Think, coward. Think, you worm. Think about your mother’s open eyes, her severed head. Think about your weakness, your lateness, what you allowed.”
Wei shuddered and struggled not to heave.
“Wei?” Agnesia said, taking a step forward, reaching out for him.
He shifted back, avoiding her touch. “I’m fine,” the young master shook his head. “I merely have slight nausea,” he lied.
“So,” Wei said, continuing his conversation with John Bishop as if it hadn’t ended, “Are you here to give me advice or merely a warning?”
“Direct intelligence and support. But the main thing is how you perform. Right now, you are a hot commodity. If the Old Man wants you, if Pride wants you, then the other Circles want you—if only to spite Pride. You can use that to play against them. And you can start with the Collectress. She and the Old Man are… well, they’re old enemies. Which makes them friends by this point. And earlier, we intercepted an exchange between them. She wants to get a first glimpse at you by his side. You, and Agnesia.”
“What are you talking about?” Ellena said as her daughter blinked rapidly.
“The Collectress is looking to build up her collection of Scions. And your daughter is one of the few bearers of the Ignium’s blood…”
Suddenly, Wei had doubts about bringing her there—her, her mother, or any of his disciples.
“Don’t worry,” Bishop said, intercepting Wei’s spiraling thoughts. “They’ll be watched after. It’d be a terrible faux pas on the Count’s part if he allows any of his guests to be illegally killed within his mansion. And Hi-Rest... well, that’s a hell of a mansion. That’s the capital of Pride—the place where the Archdevil’s essence is processed and channeled back into Mepheleon.”
“I see,” Wei said, though his worries were still far from assuaged.
“Additionally, we’ve got people in place,” Bishop added. “We’ll be there to keep an eye out for you in case anything goes wrong.”
“Just like you kept an eye out for my sect last time,” Wei shot back, a sting of anger creeping into his voice.
“No, not like last time,” Bishop replied sharply. “Because this time, the asset consist of me and a few handpicked associates.”
Stolen story; please report.
That made Wei feel a little better—but also worse. It didn’t speak well for a master to intervene directly. Or perhaps it meant the situation was severe enough to merit their presence.
“Aside from the Collectress,” Bishop continued, “there have been whispers. Talks about how several other Counts might be attending. Representatives from other Circles. You’re gonna want to use this opportunity to schmooze them. After that, well, if I can get a backdoor, I might just be able to give you all the details you need to push their buttons and play them against each other. One way or another, we’re gonna help you run this town, Wei, and be the perfect little demagogue for Hell.”
The young master still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. But this place did need some order—and a purging of its degeneracy.
“Then your aid is appreciated,” Wei said, honestly but still wary.
He began to make his own considerations. If John Bishop was involved, then Wei was only getting part of the picture. The Trespasser had an innate capability of manipulating people’s minds, far more refined and penetrative than anything Wei had. Though the Lodge was an edge, they also wanted to use him toward their own ends. And sooner or later... well, who knew if they would be allies or adversaries tomorrow?
“We cannot rely on them,” the Shell said. “We must cultivate our own disciples, become a power in our own right. Right now, we are in a vulnerable place. And, should we allow it, they might become a nipple we cannot wean ourselves from.”
“So,” Roggi said, slipping into the conversation, “am I to attend this fancy gathering looking like, well, like a walking trash heap then?”
Wei regarded Roggi and winced. There were bugs crawling across the mucus-slicked strands of his beard, strange parasites undulating and emerging from beneath his rotting flesh. Patches of him smelled—God, did it smell. Wei was used to it by now, but every day Roggi seemed to grew more akin to a pile of refuse given humanoid form. His horrid, furrowed wings hid pulsating slugs between their folds, and they leered at the young master, vomiting intermittently on the ground in caustic sprays.
“Bishop, one more thing,” Wei asked.
“Yeah, Wei?”
“Can you ask your Terrible Surgeon if he has treatment to provide for someone that wishes to change their physiological state?”
“Oh, yeah, that. I think we could do something about that.”
***
A few hours later, several arrangements were made. Roggi would be getting certain morphological upgrades to suit his new Class—something that would reduce his grossness and dysmorphia to more acceptable levels. The arrangements were made with some pressure involved. Roggi felt as if he was abandoning the others to handle his own matters, but Wei said the best thing he could do was avoid the gala, considering his current state—something the Oathbearer begrudgingly accepted.
At the same time, Wei had Rafael prepare a series of ciphers—workings inclined toward subterfuge, escape, and ways of hijacking another’s Perception. He wanted means to scout and establish a security perimeter around them, even as they spoke to members of high society. Finally, it was decided that Ellena would take the lead on all matters of diplomacy. Wei had to admit he was no good with words. They did not flow for him as they had for his mother or Ellena. And the sect needed to be served by its strongest member for every battle.
In this situation, that wasn’t Wei.
In fact, he would count himself as quite a liability.
Finally, the time came for their pick-up. Members of the sect swapped into their more formal bits of apparel purchased from the Bazaar a day before.
In the far distance, the massive sun bobbing above the horizon—Mepheleon’s core—began to dip. Night approached, and with it, a golden spinal limo arrived outside the Unblossomed. Out from the demon-carriage emerged Mulvergroon, now wearing a very elaborate cape-and-robe ensemble. The outfit had three different layers of collars, over a dozen metal buckles, and intricate gems trailing down its fine silken threads.
“Mulver,” Wei said, genuinely pleased to see the orc. “I see they’ve finally managed to force you to wear a shirt—or something more than that.”
The orc grinned at him. “Oh yeah, formal requirements. You know, it’s kind of rude not to tell someone that you already had a prior engagement.”
“Prior engagement?” Wei asked, feigning ignorance.
“Oh, you know, you and the Lodge.”
“Oh no, that wasn’t an engagement. That was merely... mutual interest.”
“Mutual interest,” Mulver repeated with a wry smile. “Like you and us.”
“Us?” Wei asked.
“The Circle of Pride.”
“Ah, yes. Well, even more mutual.” Wei’s tone was dry. “They were helping me with a spot of business.”
“Right,” Mulver snorted, his voice lowering. “With your father.”
Wei froze. The orc knew more than he let on. That, or the old man knew more. Such a thing wasn’t unexpected, but it still prickled the young master.
“Yes, my father,” Wei said evenly, though his stomach felt tight. “That matter has been... somewhat settled.”
Considering Bishop’s words earlier, Wei hesitated only briefly before pulling William Yu out from his Inventory. His father stumbled out, disoriented for a moment, before turning toward Mulver Groon, then back to Wei.
“What the fu—” William Yu snarled, his words cut short as Wei unceremoniously pulled him back into the Inventory.
“Karmic slave,” Wei explained curtly. “He won’t be a problem anymore.”
Mulver blinked, then let out a low whistle. “You made a slave of your own old man? William Fucking Yu, no less. That’s vicious. Cold-blooded. I like it. And in fact, I think the Old Man’s gonna love it. Speaking of which, that’s why I came so early: He and a special guest want to mingle with the talk of the dens before you get pulled away by the crowds.”
The orc turned to look at Wei’s group, now fully assembled and prepared to board the limo. However, his expression soured as he took in the sight of them. “What’s wrong with them?”
Wei looked at his disciples. They seemed fine. Garret rubbed his couch. Wei frowned. “Nothing.”
“Why do they look all shell-shocked and shit. Bow-guy there’s grabbing his balls every three seconds.”
“Dog bit it,” Garret grunted.
Mulver stared. “What?”
“I was being made to run poles. I fell. A dog ate my cock. Repeatedly.”
“My back was crack. Over and over.” Mira sneered. “Hurt like a bitch.”
“Shit,” Mulver breathed. “Is there someone torturing you guys? Someone forcing you all to do this?”
All eyes turned on Wei. The young master remained unapologetic. “It is for their potential. For their own good.”
The orc just studied Wei. “Alright. Sure. We don’t have problems with sadists.”
“I’m not a sadist.”
“I’m not judging,” Mulver replied.
“You are a sadist,” Agnesia whispered, betraying Wei.
The young master clenched his teeth. “Everyone aboard the limo. Last person on runs seventy kilometers—”
“FUCK NO!” The orc chef smashed through the other disciples and charged the Spinal Limo with a desperate screetch. “GET OUT OF THE WAY! GET OUT OF THE WAY!”
***
The trip to Highrest was thankfully uneventful. No one tried to kill them. Their demon didn’t explode. Wei wasn’t attacked by some random demon.
Their specially accommodated vehicle was granted priority privileges to defy traffic norms thanks to being a special VIP vessel dispatched from the Circle of Pride. This allowed it to travel free of conventional traffic lanes without fear of legal reprisal. Rising alone, it floated as a singular speck against the wide-open skies. Soon, they left behind the grim sprawl of Cherub’s Corpse, flying closer toward Pride-owned territory within Preceptor’s Descent.
The nature of the architecture gradually shifted. What once resembled ribcages and organic ruins gave way to layers of intricately inlaid buildings, fortress-like in structure and shimmering with gold. There was a clear sense of hierarchy here, with smaller buildings forming the foundation of larger ones, stacking upward in steps that rose skyward.
At the center of this golden expanse stood Highrest, a crystalline crown rising above all else. The Count’s mansion itself was a massive, sprawling structure, walled by reinforced golden battlements that seemed more ornamental than practical. Beyond the gates, a wide and open pathway led toward the central manor, welcoming those deemed worthy of entry.
As they crossed through the gates, a pulse of overwhelming authority slammed down upon Wei and his disciples. It was like standing under the weight of a thousand suns. Each of them strained beneath the crushing pressure, their breathing labored, their spirits battered. There were many great powers here. Count-Tier’s and more. Most importantly was how a beam carrying the Archdevil’s of Pride’s Essence up and arcing across the horizon, into Mepheleon’s core.
Mulver led them through a labyrinth of ornate halls and chambers. The rooms of Highrest were nothing short of ostentatious. Mulver led them past vast open spaces manned by thousands of demonic attendants, each resembling the arena staff but now gilded and polished to perfection. Their armor gleamed, their movements precise. Each was tailored to their role—chefs with miniature hats atop their helmets, workers with shell-like domes marking their function.
More, Wei noted each of them were at Lv.80. Nearly equal to his own level, with even more Concept Cores adorning their spirits.
“Quite something, aren’t they,” Mulver said.
“Yes,” Wei breathed. “Quite so.” And these weren’t even the actual guards. Those went from 90 and higher.
“You should see a Duke’s core-dimension. It gets wilder than this.”
“Core-Dimension?” Wei asked.
Mulver opened his mouth and chuckled. “Yeah. You’ve only met the Count-Tiers. And Mepheleon. You still don’t know how much higher you can climb between that. Maybe you’ll get lucky tonight. Depends on how things shape up.”
Mysterious words said, Mulver finally reached a massive gate with twin doors of silver and gold. With a wave of his hand, it creaked open and revealed a long throne room inside. The hall was long, and by the sides were three-meter tall guards that sported burning torches for heads and armored bodies of heavy gold.
Torchbearer Guardians Lv. 95
There, at the end of the throne room pulsed a collection of presences—two of which overwhelmed all others.
The first was the Old Man himself, as suffocating as ever. His aura filled the room, commanding respect and demanding submission in equal measure. Twin suns burned upon his shoulders, casting the surrounding columns as long shadows. He smirked as he saw Wei, his wrinkled face come alight with delight.
The second was a tall, lustrous creature with pink, gleaming skin and six arms, each wrapped in glistening, fluid chains. At the ends of these chains were three captives—an elf and two humanoid creatures with pitch-black eyes and curling horns. The Collectress, Wei realized, her blood-red gaze boring into him. She smiled faintly, her movements fluid, her aura dangerous.
The third presence was what truly caught Wei’s attention.
From her shadow, a towering figure stepped out. Raven-haired, clad in heavy black iron plates, and carrying a blade that shimmered with soft moonlight. Trailing scars ran down his eyes and intersected at the top of his upper lip. His skin was pale—too pale, and his heart beat so slowly Wei almost thought he was undead. His spirit was twisted—bulging and fractured, yet powerful. His eyes locked onto Wei with a glare that was part hatred, part curiosity.
“Ah, Wei,” the Old Man said, rising from his throne. His grin was as sharp as a blade. “Glad to see you again. And in the flesh this time.”
Wei fought to keep his voice steady as he returned the salute. “Greetings to you, too, Count.”
The Old Man’s grin widened. “I told you,” he said, gesturing toward the Collectress. “I told you he was going to be a charmer, wasn’t he? Well, come over here. Come say hello to my favorite enemy.” The Collectress eyed the young master. Then her gaze slipped over to Agnesia, and a flash of carnivorous fascination revealed itself. “She wants to give you her special thanks in person,” the old man said, his tone almost mocking. “For removing a mutual nuisance of ours. Ah, Many-wed. We thought that bitch was going to live forever, didn’t we, Collectress.”
And for the first time, Wei heard the Countess of Lust speak. “Things change fast, Old Man.”
Resisting [Siren’s Tongue] with Aspect of (Enlightenment)...
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