Hatred

𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗢𝗕𝗢𝗥𝗢𝗦: Eternal and Endless, Death is a footnote you have conquered eons ago, rapidly healing from all physical damage. If death still finds you, consume lifespan to be reborn.

A thriving city appeared before my eyes. It reminded me of the metropolis of my previous life, with millions of people going about their day: working, eating, fighting, getting married. The breath of the city was exuberant, the sun was shining, and life seemed boundless.

There was a silent groan that was felt rather than heard, and everyone went still. Even the birds stopped flapping their wings and fell, their little hearts beating so fast that they exploded inside their chests. It was almost like a naughty child scattering his sandcastle. The city broke into pieces, and millions of lives cried in sorrow and were silenced.

The ground of the city heaved and turned, and a gigantic form that defied meaning rose from the ruins. The skies darkened and shattered, and what rose was a gigantic brown palm, holding the city… no, the entire continent.

My sight zoomed outside the planet. Like a butterfly opening its cocoon, a humanoid creature broke out from the planet. The subsequent explosion of the planet barely ruffled his hair.

The universe was shaken at the birth of an Empyrean.

Rowan did not face any discomfort when he awoke from the vision. He had been bracing himself for any metaphysical reaction from viewing this Record and was glad his fears came to naught. He was reminded of the remark about the attention of the gods when he viewed the records of Scion Of Light and Darkness. Perhaps those reactions came because of the attention of those gods.

Rowan was still in awe of what he had witnessed. This was the third time he had seen a planet die, and every one of them was as impactful as a blade through the gut. But this one felt unintentional, a side effect of an Empyrean being birthed.

If he used the analogy of a butterfly, then the planet, the entire civilization was built on the cocoon of a budding Empyrean.

The description of this skill was enlightening. He remembered the statement the man with the freezing hands in that nightmare mansion called him, "A chick who escaped his broken shell." They all were surprised at his survival.

Whatever had happened to him at that place, it was so dangerous that he was not expected to live. Was this Record the secret to how he survived? If his lifespan was consumed to resurrect him, was he not supposed to appear older?

He wondered why they allowed him to leave. Was his survival not a valuable reason for more experimentation on him? Was he still under some sort of observation by a third party? All these queries juggled around in his mind, and he knew there was no way to readily answer most of these questions. He just had to keep learning and improving his odds.

Eternal and Endless also left a bad taste in his mouth. He had only a year to live. Of course, he saw the prefix after each of the records, but he had no idea how to level them.

He gritted his teeth and continued. Maybe he would understand more with the next Record.

Soul Seizer: Your existence is a confluence of impossibilities. A Scion Of Light heralds a new age, and a Scion Of Darkness presages its end. Your existence gives birth to a forbidden power. Everything has a soul that should return to the universe for renewal, and you have broken the balance.

(𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗣𝗥𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗜𝗔𝗟 𝗞𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦 Hates you)

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Maeve walked up the stairs with a firm and steady gait. Each step was climbed like clockwork. Night had fallen, and she was to make sure her Master was sleeping and to take care of his needs. She had given him enough time to go through his diary. The coming days would be rough for him.

She had to prepare him to face whatever storms were surely on their way. After all, he was now in the body of a child, presenting a vulnerability that his enemies and family members would take full advantage of.

Keeping the news a secret for as long as possible was the best play. But further drastic measures were needed, for this matter could not be covered for long. One could not cover a fire with paper.

Reaching the door, she gently knocked after waiting a while and not receiving any response. She listened closely and heard nothing except a low moan.

Opening the door, she saw the Young Prince standing by his bedside. He was hunched over and was fiddling with his face. His back was facing her, so she could not see his face.

Maeve called out, "Young Master, I came over to inquire if you require any assistance or have any queries you need answers to. You are usually too entrenched in your work. For the moment, you have to go a bit easier. You have not fully recovered."

Silence answered her. No, not silence, a low throaty chuckle that made her frown. The Young Prince continued to fiddle with his face. The room was dark as the gas lamp was switched off, and the only lighting came from the moonlight coming in through the window. But a Dominator of her level could see in low-light conditions.

She sniffed the air, and her expression changed. With inhuman agility, she lunged at the prince and seized his hands. His entire body was wet and sticky, and he kept struggling to free himself. She summarily knocked him out by placing a single finger on his nape and rapidly carried him to the bed.

She gently pried away at the tool he was holding in a death grip, which was a knife. Wrapping it in a piece of linen she materialized from the air, she made it vanish. She rapidly brought a bowl with warm water and began to clean the prince. Her gaze was cold and filled with wrath and anger.

The eyes of the prince were two gaping holes. He had been ruthlessly stabbing the fragile orbs. Judging by the amount of blood she had cleaned from his body, he should not be alive. The rug on the floor was soaked with blood.

This was a side effect of the ritual! It was her eternal shame that she was schemed against and was not present when the prince went for the ritual. After that harrowing experience, there was no way she would allow him to die on her watch.

The prince woke up with a gasp, startling her. Rowan waking up should be impossible. The power of sleep was under her Domain. She wanted to spare him pain for as long as possible until she found ways to heal his eyes.

Rowan gasped and turned around, clearly in shock and confusion.

"Young master, it is okay. I am here." With sorrow and anger present in her voice, she continued, "Please be calm, you have lost a lot of blood. This should be my fault. I apologize for harming you. Your diary must have triggered a reaction from the ritual you partook in."

Rowan gestured for her to stop wiping his face. He whispered, "Maeve, the diary was not the problem. You have done an impressive job. Fetch me my coat."

"Young master, your eyes....."

"It's no problem… see…" Rowan's eyes seemed to squirm and vibrate, and new flesh grew from the darkness of his empty socket. He slowly opened his eyes. They were white and pure and glistened white. "I am okay. Get me my coat."

"Yes, young master," Maeve replied in shock as she strode to get the coat. Her amazement was total.

As she pulled down a thick coat, she dimly heard from her Master, "I am going to kill every last one of you."