Some Sheeps Eat Wolves

In a faraway world filled with vervain's scent, a sky-piercing sangria castle stood. In that castle's most restricted room, two daemons sat on the opposite sides of a table. One, a striking giantess with dark-purple skin, amethyst eyes and long ink-like hair that draped over her massive breasts. The other, a mix between a wolf, a satyr, and a peacock—Ashera and Adramelech.

Dressed in a black feathered gown, Ashera looked into her right palm and arched an eyebrow.

"The Mark of Greed? Why?" Ashera wondered. The path Kilian set on was one of vindictiveness. Power was just a means to an end, so if he ever fulfilled the requirements for a sin, it should have been wrath. Why did he deviate to greed? Unless his heart no longer fixated on vengeance, even if he transmuted a Flawless Philosopher's Stone, the mark wouldn't take hold. Yet it did. And sensing the Sin Magic flowing in Kilian's soul, Ashera frowned.

By themselves, the Marks of Sin didn't impact her plans. However, her contract with Kilian decreed that once he accomplished all he wished to in the Mortal Plane, she could claim his soul.

Previously, Ashera believed that once Kilian avenged his beloved and destroyed his father—the ensuing void would end his quest—making him ripe for the plucking. But now? He'd not only gone beyond the trappings of vengeance but obtained a sin that ensured he would never have enough. When then could she claim him?

Worse, of all the marks in existence, the Mark of Greed was one of the two with the potential to nullify all contracts. It had to leave.

"Something the matter?" Adramelech pulled Ashera out of her thoughts—and as if reading through the Fehl Overlord's mind—his lips curled into a wolfish grin. Though he too felt the loss of his mark and connection with Kilian—unlike Ashera—he didn't care much.

"Nothing you should worry about," Ashera replied, and an amiable smile replaced her frown.

"Adramelech, I like you. It's refreshing that a little upstart can boast such ambition and actually live up to his goals. However, you're testing my patience." Though the daemoness' melodious voice kept its gentle tone, a silent pressure locked Adramelech from all sides.

"I'm not sure I grasp Your Dominion's meaning." Leaning back, Adramelech met Ashera's mild yet tyrannical gaze. "For the past 3,000 years, I've always looked for talents among my descendants and granted rewards based on their aptitudes. The boy just so happens to be the most gifted of them all. Why take offense?"

The words made perfect sense. Unfortunately, that alone couldn't sway the Fehl Plane's number one existence.

"Is that so? So you're not planning to test his mental aptitudes through your other descendants, and once certain of his skills, prepare his future ascension by your side?" Ashera rhetorically asked, but not giving Adramelech time to respond, she pursued, "Don't worry, I understand. To rise above certain limits, your skills alone are not enough. You need to surround yourself with worthy talents. And nowadays, those are few.

A pity that he's off-limits. I can give you two roads. First, give up Achlys and join my banner. I guarantee that I can help you rise above Mazdan, and in due time, helping you claim an Overlord seat is not out of question.

Second, keep misbehaving—and when my little girl rises to Fehl Prince—I will help her take your seat. Fair warning, she's not far off." Throughout the Fehl Plane, if anyone could so candidly threaten Adramelech, that would be Ashera. After all, though he ranked eighth in the fehl hierarchy, before humanity was a thing, Ashera ranked first.

And if not for the Fehl Plane needing six Overlords, with her strength, the others would have stopped breathing a long time ago. Even among the 66 Princes, many yearned for an opportunity to switch sides and pledge themselves to Ashera's service.

Adramelech had no such intent.

"How about a third road? I gain nothing and lose nothing. Since the Eye is of such importance to Your Dominion, I won't interfere. Do what you will. But if I may, let me give you two pieces of advice. First, some sheeps eat wolves. Second, spoiled children are hard to tame," Adramelech said, and with a demonic chortle, vanished in a twister of emerald flames.

If the words had any effect on her, Ashera showed none—and with a finger snap—conjured a violet cloud in which Jezebel's lounging figure appeared.

"Enjoying your vacation?" Ashera's voice boomed in Jezebel's mind, forcing her out of her revery. Alarmed, she rose from her seat and shut her eyes close, "Mother?" she probed.

"Jezebel, I knew you slothful but not negligent. How could you let him deviate from the proper path?" The words took Jezebel by surprise, her lips and eyelids twitched, and her eyes narrowed in confusion.

"What? Do you think I sent you to him for fun and giggle? No, dearest, your job was to keep him on track. To fuel his rage, his vices, and make him sink in hatred. But you've not only failed to accomplish this, you're even allowing him to slip out of our grasp.

Use whatever method you want, but I give you three months to set Kilian back on the original course. Otherwise, I will do it myself," the Overlord commanded, and Jezebel didn't doubt that should her mother take things into her hands, horrible results awaited.

"Also, while I do not mind you having your fun, make no mistake. At the end of this game, Kilian belongs to me, and me only. So take what you can while you can, but don't forget your place," as the words thundered in Jezebel's mind, the mental connection ended, leaving her no room to argue.

Alone, Jezebel felt the invisible hand of her sovereign mother clutch at her heart, and a wave of conflicting emotions flood her mind.

Meanwhile, following his meeting with Urag, Kilian grafted the Philosopher's Stone in his heart and fleshcrafted the 100 soulless society members into abominations similar to his previous boyars. With his current abilities, it took less than three hours.

He then had the legions of society members contact close-kin and friends to drive the weak-willed aristocrats toward the Dark Eden with promises of power and pleasure.

On the outside, to keep the imperial eyes on him while his agents worked in the shadows, Kilian organized lavish gatherings and threw extravagant parties to bond with the academy's elites. In Orloth, Olaf was crowned Duke of Verden and shifted the capital to Ostria. The event filled the kingdom's aristocracy with envy, and many praised Olaf's foresight.

In the Divine Glory's headquarters, Grand Master Gerlach accepted Kilian's betrothal proposal, causing more uproars in Arcadia's nobility circles.

The public's eye lay on Kilian.

The imperial loyalists' attention darted between Kilian and the Dark Eden. And while many wondered why such a self-aggrandizing youth obtained destiny's favor, in Ostria's underground laboratories, legions of venandis and boyars rose, equipped with ever more terrific weaponry.

And as Kilian's Transmutation skills surged, his clones not only completed the Nebula Generator but hastened the creation of the Star Condenser. Yet, while everything seemed to be going smoothly, now and then, Kilian would feel as if a hand clutched his heart. Knowing that those sensations were not his, he locked them in a corner of his mind, awaiting the right moment to face what needed to be.