Killed Me? Now I Have Your Power - Chapter 377

Chapter 377: Chapter 377: Control
Chapter 377 – Control

The whole church rumbled with the screeching shout of the unknown voice.

Rea was sitting inside a room when the event happened. The room was devoid of anything. It was the size of a moderate kitchen, colored lifeless grey.

She sat on a chair, and at her feet were men and women, old and young, sprawling and twisting like dying worms, tears streaking down their cheeks as they begged for release.

Some of them pissed their pants, soaking the room with a disgusting stench.

Rea cared not. Her red eyes were cold and devoid of any empathy, let alone sympathy. She crossed her legs and leaned back on her chair.

A woman, around twenty, managed to stagger up. Her hair was black, dirtied by piss, her eyes grey. Her face was painted with tears, snot, and drool.

With eyes hazed in fear, she crawled toward Rea, stopping in front of her legs.

She opened her mouth, then rolled out her tongue and began to lick Rea’s feet, begging her to stop her torment,

“P-Please…” the woman wept, “no… more. No more, m-master.”

Rea didn’t answer. She cared not about the cries of the wretched woman. Instead, her focus was on the event that had just happened.

‘What was that, Einar?’ she asked, then kicked the face of the woman licking her feet.

The woman’s head jerked backward with a snap. She cried. Then she got up and began to crawl back to her again. The others did the same.

‘My beautiful Rea,’ the Disciple of Loss intoned, feeling jealousy toward the woman who had just licked Rea’s feet, ‘this is nothing. Do not worry.’

‘Do not worry?’ Rea echoed. ‘The shout just now caused the whole city to tremble.’

‘This is the habit of the Disciple of Grief,’ Einar said. ‘Nothing new.’

‘Why would she do that?’

‘I heard the rumors, my beautiful Rea,’ Einar whispered. ‘I heard she has lost her favorite toy.’

Rea paused. ‘Toy?’

‘Yes. But not any toy. As I said, it’s her favorite. It seems the toy fled from her, that’s why she killed all the others and cried in anger.’

Rea was puzzled. One toy? A toy made her kill all the others?

She didn’t understand. And she didn’t care to understand.

She shrugged carelessly and stretched her hand to wrap it around the woman’s neck.

Rea pulled her in front of her face, glaring her red eyes into the grey eyes of the woman.

The woman trembled, and pissed herself.

“What did she do?” Rea asked.

Einar’s voice echoed next, all around the room.

“She cannot have a child, so she killed the daughter of her sister in jealousy and spite.”

“What does her sister wish for her?”

“Painful death.”

Rea grinned, lunacy blooming in her eyes,

“That is my specialty.” she slurred in mad excitement.

Next, her hand flared a brilliant grey color and wrapped around the woman’s head.

She leaned her head forward, her face splitting eerily into a smile,

“Tell me, pitiful thing,” she whispered, the woman howling in pain, “aren’t you afraid of breathing?”

BADUM—!

A new fear bloomed inside the woman’s heart. An unreasonable fear. One that made her dread the simple act of breathing.

And one that killed her slowly, very painfully, as she witnessed the life leaving her body because she was afraid to breathe.

She died.

Rea threw her away like trash.

The corpse slammed onto the ground, rebounded, then settled lifelessly.

Rea turned her gaze to the next person, and smiled gently.

The room drowned in cries.

“P-please, I will repent!”

“Mercy! Mercy! MERCY!”

None reached Rea. Her heart was stone.

So she continued her training, while Einar watched, controlling herself to not throw herself at Rea and ask for punishment.

So hard…

It was so hard not to fall deeper for her beautiful Rea. For her beautiful goddess.

And in the space of her Domain, Einar, sitting on her throne, touched the space between her legs with a finger.

She pulled it out, and noticed how wet it was.

She moaned, head flung backward, lips biting in ecstasy.

“Oh… my beautiful Rea!”

…

Darklore — Stronghold of Kaleith

The atmosphere was quiet. That day was Thursday. So people, all with brown skin and either white or grey tunics on their bodies, walked through the streets of Kaleith.

Women, old and young, had their hair cut until their scalps shone like a second sun under the morning light. The mothers held their children’s hands protectively, talking among each other with smiles.

Their beauty was unique.

The men had their heads covered by scarves, their colors differing from one another.

All walked toward the Core Ring of the stronghold, where the Worship Altar was situated, and where they would do their prayers.

It was also where the houses of their rulers stood.

The Prophet and his three Generals.

The Shepherd of “I”, the Scribe of “I”, the Fist of “I”.

Some passed by their houses and bowed before continuing their routes.

Kaleith was peaceful. The air soft and steady, carrying an air of confidence in devious matters.

Behind the backs of those houses, an expanse of green rested. It was a small farmland.

There, a man lay on the ground, on the dirt, his hands behind his head, his face hidden beneath a straw hat.

His clothes were filled with mud, and nearby small beasts approached him, staying close as if appeased by his presence.

But all of that disappeared when suddenly a bird flew toward the sky before diving down toward the man like a falling meteor.

The bird, a hawk colored white with purple eyes, stopped an inch from him briskly, producing wind that slashed away the man’s straw hat and ruffled his clothes.

The small beasts ran in fear.

And his face was revealed. Brown skin, coupled with black hair braided beautifully like a girl’s. A trimmed moustache rested on his face, giving him a small charm.

He opened his eyes, revealing white sclera with pupils shaped like cupped palms.

“Hm,” he hummed, “what is the matter, Shepherd?”

The hawk frowned, parted its beak. “Prophet, you are late to the meeting.”

“Oh, it was today, yes?”

“Yes, Prophet. We have matters to discuss.”

The man, the Prophet, nodded simply, then smiled. “I will come. But first I need to look at my crops, yes?”

The hawk didn’t complain, as if used to it. “How much time?”

“The time necessary.” The Prophet said with a smile, then stood up slowly. He was rather tall, almost six feet.

“What will today’s discussion be?” he asked next while walking.

“Waverith.” The hawk answered immediately, following him by flapping its wings. “How should we act toward them? Should we seek to turn them into believers, or kill them and take their resources?”

The Prophet shook his head.

“We do not force our beliefs, Shepherd. And we are no mindless killers. But we shall see our actions toward them, yes?”

“Did he come back? He must have enough information about them to help us find a solution, yes?”

“Yes, Prophet. He came back.”

The Prophet nodded, crouched down, then began his work, smiling leisurely.

The hawk, beast of the Shepherd, said nothing, only watching its leader.

It watched with quiet admiration, with quiet faith, as the man worshipped by many worked on the farm with a beaming smile.

…

Meanwhile, in Waverith, Kaden stood in the middle of a training ground.

He had wasted enough time. Now he needed to start training.

But first…

‘Death, show me my new Origin.’

An interface flickered in front of him.

[Origin Inspection.]

[Name: Monarch of the Crimson Star Sword.]

[Type: Weapon – Conceptual]

[Rank: Mythic.]

[Affinities: Blood, Crimson Stars, Death]

[Description: You are the heir of death. The king of blood. The bearer of stars. The inheritor of the sword. You are the Crimson Monarch. Crimson stars are yours, and they shape your sword. Death covers it. Blood flows inside it. Kill, rule, and walk forward while bearing burdens. That is your myth.]

[Skills: Blood of Crimson Star, Death of Sacrifice, Blood Oath, Stars Rain.]

Then Death showed another interface,

[Unique Created Skill: Seed of Prometheus.]

[Mark: Mark of Burden]

[Traits: Absence, Voice of Curse, Soulbrand…]

[Domain: Cradle of Emptiness.]

Kaden watched all of this with a grin. His Origin was interesting. He knew now why blood manipulation felt different. He needed more time to master all of this, while improving his sword mastery.

And more time to get used to his physical body. All his stats were now above a thousand.

But the limit of stats for Grandmaster was at 2500. Kaden felt the huge disparity.

Still, that didn’t stop him. Instead, he became more eager.

Prometheus closed his eyes next, shifted his feet to stand more comfortably.

Then…

“Cradle of Emptiness.”

Kaden began his training.

—End of Chapter 377—