[Conjure]

The trees moved ceaselessly, the wind constantly increasing. Capable of blowing the stalls away.

Federick started his day with a warm tea. He was content and complacent due to the weather outside, which made it impossible for him to perform his duties.

His mind was relaxing...

A stormy atmosphere was weaving, where the air seemed to vibrate with an invisible energy. The sky was dark and turbulent, with towering thunderheads that seemed to have no end.

As he watched the crackling thunder, he received with pectoral nakedness the strong wind. His body was cold, so he had decided to contribute more than just tea.

The wind howled through the trees, making the branches sway and creak ominously as if to convey a warning.

Assimilating its rhythm, he copied the style of the uncontrolled branches. Warming his blood to pursue arduous hours of exercise.

Like Federick, despite the supposed threats, the people in need still went about their daily tasks. Unaware of the premonition.

As the storm rose to reality, a strange mist began to rise from the ground, soft and thin but enveloping silent miles.

The mist enveloped his wet body slowly, making him one of them. The droplets slid and fell to the ground, trying to resemble raindrops raging.

Slowly under a gradual effect, the state advanced to a point where it was as if the world itself exhaled a malevolent breath, which seemed to seep through the pores of the skin and freeze the blood. The mist writhed, slowly assimilating deeper and deeper states, capable of engulfing landscapes.

But the young man was unable to feel these strange, interwoven feelings. His body exhaled hot gas, capable of making the humidity that covered his body gaseous.

In the air was the smell of dampness, a pungent odor that seemed to confuse the nostrils and leave a bitter taste on the tongue.

Federick continued to move through his series of exercises. His body burned, despite the cold wind that cut around him.

It was as if the storm evoked something dark, lurking beyond the edge of reality. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as if in the invisibility of his surroundings, a creature lurked.

Finally, he finished satisfied, with a smile despite the previous effort. His muscles burned like his determination and pleasure.

A guilty, pleasurable smile on his face...

'This genetics... How can there be such a forbidden thing in the world?' Federick thought taking his face in his palm.

Faint signs of madness escaped like glimmers from his soul gates...

He had been experiencing the results of his efforts. As his system had ensured, through stimulation, he had achieved riper fruits.

His blood was like a beast hidden among the watered skins of an ancient flock of sheep. Capable of outwitting reason and logic.

Little by little, he was successfully developing his skill, refining it in peace...

As the storm raged, a strange phenomenon appeared in the sky. A series of dark, twisted clouds seemed to take the form of a smile, a wicked grimace that seemed to mock and taunt.

It was then that he discovered with a bitter smile, a comical spectacle due to his overestimation. With his hair wet and his body dry, he smelled his precious tea...

"Shadow, go and make a report to headquarters. Unknown forces are attempting to poison the Crown Prince of Wisdom." Federick said dryly, with contempt.

He suffered a slight shock from his spine that went all the way up to his head. But he immediately complied, due to his strict training.

The clouds seemed to throb and writhe with thunder and lightning, as if alive and malevolent, and the sky itself was alive with dark and malevolent energy.

Whirling forces traveled the lonely streets, capable of dethroning nature. Madly, he did not measure the repercussions, representing fierceness.

It was a special order, only deployed by the royal family. The Omega Guard, the unique class of military, served with total devotion to the Battlemman family.

There were only five individuals who made up a small team, but they already represented a force of terror. They had received a report from headquarters of a suspected plot being deployed against the young Prince, Frederick Battlemman.

After only minutes, they finally arrived where he was staying. They rushed in, due to the urgency.

The first thing they saw was a dramatic scene, where a teacup lay smashed against the floor. And the figure of Federick, who rested forlornly on the back of a chair with clear signs of weakness.

The storm continued, unabated, a furious and primal display of power and fury. The fog continued to grow, the clouds continued to twist and the perpetual smile remained etched in the sky, a constant reminder of nature and its mystery.

After examining Federick's condition, they did so with the former contents of the cup, which now rested on the ground. Its smell was fragrant, like a tender caress to the heart.

"Young Federick, fortunately, I must inform you that apart from its fragrance, there is no other outstanding variable in this tea". Said the supposed captain of the team.

The young man, who was weakly retired to the side, looked at him with tired eyes.

"Dear guard, what is your name? Federick asked emotionlessly.

"My name is Pablo, Your Excellency". The guard respectfully introduced himself, acknowledged as Pablo.

"Well, Paul... Forgive me, but I must inform you that you are incompetent". Federick commented tactlessly and thoughtlessly.

"I regret my incompetence to represent that prejudice, but objectively, I believe you are not qualified to determine that," Paul responded with respect and class.

He wanted to maintain an admirable image; but to his chagrin, he was faced with an incompetent and flighty apprentice of ignorance.

Faced with this, Federick decided to represent his words with actions. Having to lift himself on a chair to reach Paul's cheek, he gave him a resounding slap.

Despite his surprise, Paul held his temper. It was not his need to rot in a hygienically deplorable cell.

"Listen, call your fucking major right now," Federick said. He intended to be concise and clear, for his extreme fatigue was not feigned.

At the insistence shown, the guards obligingly had to return with reinforcements. More experienced and knowledgeable.

The storm was a reminder that there were forces beyond human control.

Despite the first-time refusal, the truth was finally ascertained in Federick's words. The presence of poison in his tea.

Who was only manipulating it by select servants...

...

[Poison of the Angel of Sensuality: Gradual in effect, without immediate effect. Its focus is on the physical sphere, capable of rotting away one's inherent potential, little by little.

Able to assimilate into different herbs, it is extremely difficult to identify].