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The Prince, now Emperor, sits upon the throne with bated breath—watching silently as trickles of blood drip down from his hand onto the page below him.
The other shakily grips his dagger tighter as he repeats the words he had studied tirelessly from the tome he had stolen from his late father’s study. It was either fate’s greatest boon or the recipe for his downfall that they had not cleaned up the Umbilicus yet.
It was the one perk to his father croaking—not even if their hells had frozen over, would he have ever let G’raha go back there when he was alive.
There was “restricted information he was too naïve to understand,” he had told him, but his father should have considered the fact that his body would give out eventually.
But the great Emperor Xande was far too proud for that—the clone of him, at least was.
And now it was up to him to inherit his late father’s legacy, and figure out how to end it.
The first step towards that would be following in his footsteps: forging a contract with a Voidsent.
He knows how much his people loved Emperor Xande and the great prosperity he brought them, unethical means and all.
But he would be undoing it, and he’s certain many would not like that.
Already, there are targets on his back. Many disapproved of his reign, judging from the crowd who yelled “bring back our Emperor,” during yesterday’s crowning ceremony
“If Amon had brought him back once, couldn’t he bring him back again?” One person had said.
Amon had disappeared since the announcement of Xande’s death, and that alone didn’t spell anything good in G’raha’s eyes.
And he has been noticing several pairs of especially watchful eyes on him since the ceremony.
There will be many attempts on his life going forward.
But little did they know, he was already 10 steps ahead of them.
He feels a pause in the universe—and then something opens.
The book jumps from his lap, as the ancient magic causes its pages to flutter rapidly.
He hears a crack—and then there’s a gaping black hole several fulms away from him.
His blood grows cold as he watches something crawl out of it—an unidentifiable clutter mist.
e̶̥͓̱̩̰̯̼͈̥͍̳̰̪̩̐̊m̷̡̗̣͖̲̗̗͈̝͖̰̪̪̬̟̉̂̐̔́̅̐͘ ̷̧̢̼͇͎̍̆͆̿͗̏͝n̷̞̣̱̺̘̹̹̦͍͚̞̆̂͒̏̒́͒̕͠͠ơ̷̝̹͋̌͊̍̒́̏̅̒͋̅̕͝͠ṃ̵̘̱̫͎̘͚̼̮͚̏̀̈̐̌̄̓̍̀͆̕̕͜͝͝m̵̦̦̠̹͍̊͑̄̓͊ų̸̫̱͓̳̈́͑͒̏̾͘͝ş̸̡̡̫̦̥̤͙͚̳̻͔̼̦͂̔̿̆͋̚͘͘ͅ ̵̭̥͚̻̝͈̪͉̠̣̼̭̺̊̕̕ͅo̵̦̗͚͇̖̮̞̜͍͙͖̖̝̩͔̔̒̋̂̎͐̆̈́̉͊͗͊̏͝t̴̛͇͓̥̹͉̰̥̳̹̠̮͖͈̰̏͗͠ ̸̖͖̤̲̞͙̝͙̠͕͎̟̖͐͗ȕ̷̹́o̴̭͐̊̇̌̔̾͆̈́̓̅̌͆̓̚ỷ̵̧̛͔̮͖̖̩̥̐̏̒́͐̀́̓̋̚ ̷̧͙̹̖͇̫̓̄́̌̈́͌͝e̸̯̦͓̝̺̺̪͓͍͂̋̃̿̉̂̑̍̈̏̈́̚͝ŗ̸̛̳̬͚̜̎͂̀͆͊̀̌͋̈͑̓̀͐͠ͅả̷̧̰̤͈̠̫̮̫̝̿͘ͅ ̷̧͔̹̻͍̣̠̍͗ͅó̶̡̹̲̠̔̐͒̍̓̅͆͂ĥ̸̢̡̗̮̜̥̙̠̬͕̜̯̝̟̹͠w̶̨̛̖̦̤̬͔̱̖̰͗̀̌̎͋͋͘ ̷͉͉̰̙̮̘̝̘͉͒
The voice echoes in his mind.
The figure has no eyes, but he can feel it’s stare directly at him.
All of what he had rehearsed—everything he had prepared for to make this contract had completely left his mind. He could feel his breaths grow more frantic as panic begins to fill that space instead.
“Ah…I forget mortals cannot perceive me in this form….I’ll change into something more agreeable for you…”
The figure utters several more intangible words and transforms—
What stands before him now is a woman, a Miqo’te just like him.
“Is that better?” She says.
Raven black hair falls messily, yet still elegantly on her slender shoulders. A pair of verdant green eyes stare straight through him, giving him a different sort of shudder than before. It didn’t help that her choice of garment was hardly considered clothing, more akin to lingerie than anything one could get away with walking around the palace halls in.
He’s not sure if it was more difficult to converse to the horrifying figure before, or the beautiful woman that stands before him now.
“Cat caught your tongue?” She asks in a blank tone, crossing her arms as she scrutinizes him.
“Ah, m-my apologies I'm just er…” he searches his brain for some semblance of thought, but all seem to have left him. Damn him.
“I was just…well, I have never done this before…” he was just bumbling about like a buffoon at this point.
“I can tell.” She sighs, oh dear what happens if he bores her— “So you want a contract, right?”
He stutters. “H-How did you know?”
She rolls her eyes at him, clearly not off to a good start, he sees, “mortals don’t exactly call in a Voidsent for an afternoon of chatter and tea time.”
She uncrosses her arms and stalks towards him, stopping close enough that he can see the delicate mole under her eye, “You need me for something, and you have no one else to turn to.”
“You’re just like me,” she mutters in a tone that he wasn’t supposed to catch.
What does she mean by that?
“Yes…I’m certain you have heard of Emperor Xande’s passing?”
“Nope, never heard of him.”
“Uh…”
Had news of his death not reached the Void yet?
“No, I just never heard of the bloke. I don’t keep up with Void politics.”
He chokes.
“I didn’t read your thoughts, if that’s what you’re wondering—the question’s plain enough to see on your face.”
“R-Right…”
He abruptly changes the topic, trying not to dwell on the possibility of her reading his mind and the idiotic thoughts swirling around it, “Ah, forgive me for my manners, I am yet to introduce myself—I am Princ—Emperor G’raha Tia, and you are...?”
“Don’t know, don’t care. Call me whatever.”
He blinks at her, not expecting such a…blunt answer.
Were Voidsent always this…dismissive? He’ll ask the author of the grimoire to add that in as a passage if he gets the chance.
“Alright then, I’ll…be certain to come up with something that will please you.”
She shrugs, “Don’t think it matters, but whatever makes your little mortal heart happy. What do you even need to make a contract with a Voidsent for? These things don’t exactly come at a light price, little princeling.”
“…I need protection.” He looks down at himself, frowning at the royal garments that pool around his frame, “with this weak body of mine, I’ll be an easy target—and…I have a dream I wish to fulfill. I cannot die before I achieve it.”
He sees a flash of an unreadable expression on her face before it transitions into a grin, showing off a row of sharp canines.
“You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.” He hadn’t realized she had moved closer, now feeling the fan of her breath on his face. His heart races as he watches a clawed hand gently cup his chin to look up at her.
“You really wanna do this? In return, you’ll need to feed me. Whatever, whenever I want.”
She places her hands on both arms of his chair and leans in, caging him in, “I’ll give you one more chance—back out now, or forever regret your decision.”
G’raha pauses.
This Voidsent is giving him the chance to get out unscathed from this, not one he could say others would extend, should he take it? Is this fate telling him to save himself from a future of never ending suffering?
But he’s never been one to go along with fate’s wishes for him.
“Fine then, your funeral—let us finish the ritual.”
And she fully cages him as she sits down and straddles his lap, feeling a surprisingly human warmth radiating from her body atop of his. A hand comes up to gentle trace the contours of his face, down to his Adam’s Apple, and down his throat.
She looks up at him—seeming smaller than him, he now realizes.
Waiting, hesitating.
“Your choice,” she whispers, playing with the collar of his robes.
And despite all of her warnings, the signals in his brain screaming at him to stop this nonsense and leave while he’s in one piece—he chooses to defy his fate.
“I’ll do it, I’ll forge the contract,” He utters, staring straight into the dancing pools of green in her eyes—at how reminiscent it is of the way the trees would sway in the forests he’d play in during his youth.
Those eyes crinkle with something of delight as she snaps herself forward to seal her lips with his.
He can’t help but to melt into the kiss, lost in a haze of confusion and something else that pools deep in his gut.
Her lips are far warmer, far softer than anything he could have imagined when kissing someone, let alone a Voidsent taking a human form. There’s a sweetness and a smokiness he can taste on her tongue, as he suddenly moans as he feels it tie with his.
Lost in the sensations, he barely notices as her hand cups the side of his face—and then his body lurches forward when a shot of something sharp and electrifying strikes his entire being.
His body shakes, his fingers numb—he feels like he might be dying.
But he might as well be when she pulls away, and he can see their shared string of saliva stretch between their lips.
“You okay? I should’ve warned you about that.”
She then reaches for his mouth and pries it open, pulling down his tongue to inspect it.
He looks down at it, and now sees an arcane symbol that wasn’t there before.
“My mark is on you now—which means our contract has been forged.” She says before promptly letting go of his tongue.
She gets up from his lap and steps away, dusting herself off as if there was nothing remotely abnormal about making out with a stranger.
“Alright little princeling, what will you do now—” her ears perk to something out the window.
He could not hear it, but he can figure—
“Someone’s discovered us.”
She stares at him, as if waiting for him to say something.
“I command you to discover who it is and…” he swallows his next words—if he is not willing to dirty his hands, he might as well give it here and now—“if they are here to kill me, then kill them first.”
The woman nods.
“Prepare something full of aether for when I get back, I’ll be starving.”
She sprints out the throne room, setting out to do what she’s been commanded to.
And with that first step settled, he can now focus on what he’s set out to do—
To undo all the wrongs Xande has committed in his reign.
And to fight back against his fate in continuing it.
As the rightful heir to the throne.