🔁 Previously…
Lynx, the empire's most feared assassin, was betrayed by his own unit during a mission cloaked in lies. They said it was a clean job. It wasn't. He was slaughtered, buried, and forgotten… all because they feared the thing inside him — the ancient blood, the magic that wasn't supposed to exist anymore.
They left him in a shallow grave.
But the earth did not reject him.
It offered him something far worse: Nyxfang.
The sword of lust. The blade of hunger. A weapon bound to feed.
Now, Lynx is no longer just a man.
He is something else.
☠️ The Chapter Begins…
The world smelled of blood long before Lynx opened his eyes.
Rain tapped against his skin like cold fingers. The scent of rot, iron, and churned-up earth filled his lungs with each ragged breath. Something heavy was on his chest. No—in his chest. His ribs ached. His back burned. His throat—
Slit.
He remembered.
His fingers twitched beneath the mud.
Then he moved.
With a grunt and a gasp, Lynx clawed through the soaked soil, dragging himself from a makeshift grave barely deep enough to hide a body. His body. Rain washed the blood from his face but couldn't clean the rage in his veins.
He shouldn't be alive.
But something was dragging him back.
And it wanted him to wake up.
Two meters away, buried beneath a shattered imperial banner, something glowed faintly in the dirt. The light pulsed, slow and steady, like a second heartbeat.
Lynx crawled toward it, bones creaking. He didn't think—he just obeyed. Something ancient whispered inside his skull. Something old enough to remember the gods before they fell.
His hand touched metal.
And the sword breathed.
It wasn't a sword meant for mortals.
Twisted black steel, pulsing with red veins, cold to the touch but hot at its core. The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, the mud evaporated around him in a flash of steam.
His body locked.
His heart skipped.
The runes ignited.
Nyxfang.
:: You are mine now. ::
Pain surged down his arms, branding his flesh. His muscles screamed, then grew. Scars melted. Eyes rolled back in his head. When he opened them again, his vision was sharper than a hawk's—and burning.
His face was masked.
Permanently.
Lynx stood.
Naked. Soaked. Alive.
But not the same.
He swung the blade experimentally. It felt light. Too light for something that big. It responded like it had a mind of its own. A mind… that liked him.
"Good," Lynx rasped, voice deeper than before. "Then we'll get along just fine."
Steel rang behind him.
Figures moved through the trees.
Soldiers—imperial. Familiar armor. Too familiar.
One woman stood at the front: red cloak, silver pauldrons, a curved blade on her hip.
Commander Vareth.
He remembered her screaming the kill order.
"Take him down! NOW!"
Lynx didn't wait.
He moved.
Faster than he ever had before. He was on them in seconds, and Nyxfang howled with each strike. The blade cleaved bodies like wet parchment. The sword didn't just kill—it drank. Every drop of blood seemed to vanish into the weapon. And with every kill, Lynx felt… stronger. Faster. Hornier. Hungrier.
It was too much.
It was perfect.
Only Vareth was left.
She tried to run.
She made it two steps.
"Traitor," Lynx said.
"No… no, this can't—Lynx, please. I didn't want—"
His blade answered.
Her body crumpled.
Rain fell again.
The battle was over. All that remained was the sound of flesh cooling in the storm.
Lynx stood alone, bleeding steam, surrounded by bodies.
And then — she appeared.
She did not step through the trees so much as unfold from them.
Tall. Barefoot. Cloaked in silk the color of ash. Her eyes glowed gold. Her lips were painted black. Her hair silver and endless, flowing like water behind her. She walked toward him without fear. Without hesitation.
She was beautiful in the way a lightning strike is beautiful—stunning, dangerous, and meant to kill.
"You weren't supposed to survive," she said.
Lynx raised the blade. "Then why does it feel like I was born today?"
The woman smiled.
Then she knelt in the blood before him.
"You've taken Nyxfang. That makes you the vessel. The Sovereign. The one prophesied to burn the five thrones and take the Harem of Flame."
"But first," she said, slowly lifting her face to his, "you'll have to earn me."
Lynx tilted his head.
"Lady, I just woke up in a hole, murdered six people, and I'm still naked under this mud. You really think I'm ready for flirting?"
"I'm not flirting," she said.
Then she stood, leaned in, and whispered something that made even the sword purr.
"I'm offering you your first ritual."
🔮 Next Chapter — "The Priestess in Silk"
Who is this mysterious woman who speaks the sword's true name?
Why does she serve a prophecy of lust and fire?
And what happens during the Ritual of Flesh?
Lynx is about to learn that power… always comes at a price.
❤️🔥 Liked what you read?
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