The downfall of the Voss family wasn't just a tragedy; it was the domino that would topple Damien's entire existence.
If he didn't intervene now, the ending was written in stone.
Damien's life becomes a living hell.
The sentences from the original novel flashed through his mind like a nightmare on loop.
Watching his ancestral home crumble from wealth into destitute poverty. Becoming the punching bag for every minor noble house looking to score cheap points.
And the finale... watching his family dragged to the guillotine, branded as traitors to the Empire, executed one by one while the crowd cheered.
Damien sucked on his mother's breast with a ferocious intensity, his tiny brow furrowed in frustration.
The stress was making him aggressive, his infant instincts clashing with his adult consciousness.
"Oh?" Elizabeth looked down, a gentle smile gracing her lips. She adjusted him gently.
"My little one seems ravenous today. But why the frown, hm?"
She brushed a thumb over his furrowed brow.
"Is it intuition? Are you worried because you heard your father is coming home?"
Her voice dropped to a soothing whisper, filled with a terrifyingly misplaced confidence.
"Don't worry, my love. The Empire may not know the full extent of it, but your father is at the peak of the Eighth Order!"
"Unless two Eighth Orders and an army besieged him simultaneously, he is invincible."
Elizabeth's eyes shone with adoration as she combed her fingers through Damien's silky white hair. To her, Theron Voss was a god of war. To Damien, he was a walking death flag.
That's exactly the problem, Mother! Damien screamed internally. That is exactly the scenario happening right now!
But her words sparked a synapse in his developing brain.
Wait. Ninth Order. In the lore, the gap between the Eighth and Ninth Order is the difference between a mortal and a demigod. DP (Destiny Points) can force breakthroughs...
He ignored the maid, Isabella, chattering in the background. He needed to focus.
System! Calculate the cost. How much DP does it take to force Theron Voss into the Ninth Order right now?
Damien stared into the empty air. To anyone else, he was a dazed baby staring at dust motes. To him, the air shimmered as the translucent blue interface materialized.
[Detecting Host Request…] [Target: Theron Voss] [Analysis: Insufficient comprehension of World Laws.] [Calculation: Brute force law injection required.]
Lines of data cascaded down the screen, reflecting in Damien's beady blue eyes.
He didn't understand the esoteric runic scripts flowing past, something about 'Law Comprehension' being the key to the Ninth Order, but he understood the final number that settled on the screen.
[To force a Ninth Order Breakthrough: 1,000,000,000 DP required.]
One billion?!
Damien nearly choked on his milk.
System, are you kidding me?! I'm a baby! Where the hell am I supposed to get a billion points? That's not a price tag; that's a rejection letter!
He mentally kicked the interface. It remained stoic, a cold, unfeeling tool.
Tch. Fine. I expected the easy way out to be blocked.
He needed a Plan B. He racked his memory of the original novel. Theron Voss, the "King of Darkness." He was an absolute powerhouse at the peak of the Eighth Order.
In the book, Theron didn't lose because he was weak. He lost because he was worn down.
It was a war of attrition. The readers even debated it for years, 'In a 1v1, always bet on Theron Voss.'
If he couldn't make his father a god, he would make him a monster that refused to die.
System! Forget the breakthrough. Use all currently available DP. I want to max out Theron Voss's Stamina, Mana Recovery, and Health Regeneration.
Give him the highest durability buff you can afford!
It was a gamble. He didn't know the exchange rate. He didn't know if 100 DP was a drop in the bucket or a tidal wave. But he had no other currency to spend.
[Confirming request…] [100 DP Deducted.] [Applying Enhancement...] [Status Effect Applied to Theron Voss: "Semi-Immortal State" (Duration: 72 Hours).]
Damien read the text, his heart pounding against his tiny ribs. Semi-Immortal?
He didn't know the limits of that title. Could he survive beheading? Disintegration? Probably not. But it had to be enough.
Father, I've never met you... but please. Don't let Mother down. Don't let us become a tragedy.
The mental exertion hit him instantly. The System usage drained his infant brain of glucose and energy. His eyelids felt like they were made of lead.
Damn this useless baby body! I need to grow up, fast...
"Oh? Isabelle, look," Elizabeth whispered, her voice warm. "He's fallen asleep."
Darkness took him before he could protest.
…......................….
[Location: The Ashen Ruins, Border of the Empire] [POV: Theron Voss]
While the nursery was warm and scented with milk, Theron Voss's reality was the metallic stench of iron and the cold bite of wind.
He was at the end of his rope.
Theron knelt on one knee, his greatsword acting as a crutch to keep him from collapsing. He was surrounded.
Over fifty cultists in black robes formed a suffocating ring around him, while two figures in pristine white robes floated above, looking down with arrogant pity.
Theron's once-silver hair was matted with crimson. Blood, some his, mostly theirs, dripped from his chin, mixing with the sweat that stung his eyes.
His ribs were a jagged mess inside his chest. His mana veins burned as if filled with acid. His arms were numb from blocking a thousand strikes.
He was empty. No stamina. No mana. No hope.
The only thing keeping his heart beating was the image of a woman and a child waiting in a warm mansion miles away.
I need... to go home.
He tried to stand, but his legs refused to obey. He was ready to burn his very life force, to detonate his core, just to take these bastards with him.
"My Dear King of Darkness," one of the floating white-robed figures spoke. His voice was melodious, amplified by magic to echo through the ruins.
"Your fate is sealed. Death is a certainty."
The cultist spread his arms wide.
"However, my Lord is one of grace and salvation. His kindness knows no bounds. His wisdom has no end."
Theron grit his teeth, the sound audible in the silence.
"My dear Theron... would you like to hear about our Lord and Savior, the Demon God of the Void, before you perish?"
The question hung in the air, a mockery of Theron's struggle.
Theron looked up. His vision was blurry, but his eyes burned with a terrifying, blue flame. For these insane fanatics, he had no eloquent speech. He had no negotiation.
Ptueh!
He spat a glob of bloody phlegm directly at the floating figure.
"Fuck off, you bastards."
And then, just as his vision began to fade, a warmth unlike anything he had ever felt erupted in his chest.
It wasn't the burning of life force, it was the roar of a second wind.
[System Intervention Active!]