Netori: Reborn as the Human Aphrodisiac

So, while no doubt extraordinary, from a biological standpoint, the Fylkirs' blood…is defective.

Still, when the blood of Fylkirs unites with that of a Dragon Lord, the result is even more terrifying than the Naifem—standing dangerously close to Perfection. The Weaver never saw that coming, and couldn't tolerate it, so once he discovered the Fylkirs' potential for perfection, he made them pledge to never mate with dragons while working in the shadows to guide the Empire to ruin.

For most of his life, Odoacer followed the Weaver to the letter, doing his best to enforce its will and guide humanity as dictated. But over the years, he realized that he'd devoted his life to an entity hell-bent on making his life a tragedy--becoming convinced that his creator and master...was just another monster.

From that point on, Odoacer's degeneration...had begun. And from a remarkable nobleman driven by honor and justice...he slowly devolved into a monster resolved to seize the world for himself]

On his way back to the Astalon domain, Mithras browsed the system, gathering intel on his enemies.

The Blood Aristocracy followed a strict hierarchy centered around bloodline, age, and generation number. With future prospects pretty much determined by the noble's bloodline and generation number.

In the early stages of the empire, this flawed system worked like a charm. For the first and second generation of Blood Nobles—the Fylkirs—possessed powers so far above the rest that following them made perfect sense.

But when Odoacer went into Stasis, bringing with him the original seven and sending their souls into reincarnation, their heirs eventually turned on one another, half perishing in the civil war while the rest were forced into Stasis by Odoacer himself.

From that point on, one generation was worse than the other—to the point that slumbering elders had to return to office to prevent the empire's collapse. Yet the Blood Nobles' arrogance only grew with time, ultimately leading them to provoke Balmaria.

A cursed bloodline through and through.

In Mithras' case, his mother's blood should have solved the curse from the get-go. But the Weaver took precautions, cursing Fylkir-Dragon hybrids with the Sid Disease and an early death.

This is one of the reasons why Odoacer signed a pact with Ahriman. Without an entity on that level, the Fylkir couldn't save his children from the curse—much less fulfill his dream of dominating the universe with his son at his right and his brother at his left. And only Ahriman was willing to offend the Weaver.

Mithras didn't care for his father's ambitions. And since Ishtar had to pay the price for his ascension, Odoacer had to die.

Joke! The Vessel of the Antigod of Malice? In the best-case scenario, Odoacer somehow outwitted Ahriman, making Ishtar the new Antigod of Malice…condemned to being a monster by the Fundamental Principles.

Worst-case scenario, Ahriman erased her soul, keeping the body for itself. What exactly was acceptable here? Mithras did not aspire to be a hero, but to the best of his ability, he hoped to be fair and just.

There was only one exception: Ishtar. He couldn't lose her again, so from now on, anyone who tried to take his sister from him would receive complete extermination. Background or affiliation, it wouldn't matter. And those who tried to protect them would be crushed just the same. There could be no exception…not even his old man.

As for the Weaver…fuck him. Since they were destined to be enemies, Mithras would kill him at the first given opportunity—no question asked—and protect his life of laughs and bliss.

But without the means to accomplish them, those words were just the rambling of a mad and overreaching fool. So, Mithras now had to get the tools to destroy the monsters who threatened to ruin his merry paradise…while trying his best to not become another beast.

When this thought settled, a blinding flurry of silver rays shot out of Mithras' eyes, his dark hair spiking up as a twister of silver, red and purple light coiled up his form.

The moment next, Mithras' ears took an elfin shape, his chiseled frame and toned muscles bulking slightly while the nature of his blood experienced mysterious changes.

[Ding! Ding! Ding!]

[The Host's organs have refined the Queen of Monsters' Essence]

[Achievement: King of Monsters…unlocked!]

[Standard Blood Nobles must go through the Blood Reincarnation Ceremony to awaken their powers. But as the King of Monsters, and an entity close to Perfection, the host can start unlocking these abilities progressively, even without the ceremony.

Note that due to the Host's unique hybrid state, his Fylkir abilities are likely to surpass that of the original seven in a short time. The rate at which his physical attributes improve should also be far beyond even the likes of Odoacer]

[Sanguine Rapture…unlocked!]

Barely had the system reached this point that strands of blood mist arose from Mithras' pores, climbing upwards as his physical attributes—especially his speed—received an astronomical boost.

The youth's senses and reflexes also reached a new level, polished to perfection. Here, Mithras closed his eyes, his lips curling up as he smiled at the sky.

"Praise the Lord," Mithras said, throwing his head back…before bolting into the distance. With no mantra or divine secret, his speed crossed the hypersonic mark, enabling him to breeze through the capital in an instant.

Better, Mithras retained perfect control of his weight and force, enabling him to move without anyone feeling the impact of his extreme speed burst.

Meanwhile, in the Astalon Domain, a pair of gentle and riveting beauties messed around with piano-like instruments. One, a red-haired Nagaraja with bubbly eyes that flashed with infinite curiosity, and the other, a divine dragoness with lavender hair and cyan-colored eyes that shimmered like the starry sky: Nagini and Ishtar.

But whereas Nagini struggled to produce a decent tune, Ishtar played like a virtuoso, the melody at her fingertips echoing like a choir of nymphs and angels.

A crowd of servants assembled before them, listening with rapt attention--their eyes glazing over as they lost themselves in Ishtar's melody.

Even Nagini had to drop out of the contest, her hands refusing to ruin the melody with a mediocre performance.

"Humph! You're lying! You said you didn't know how to play an instrument. This is the third we've tried already, and you're better than the king's virtuosos at every single one of them!

Humph! Liar! Why did you lie to me? Now I look stupid!" Nagini crossed her arms below her chest, turning sideways and pouting as she felt cheated by Ishtar. This was supposed to be a fair competition in good spirits between inexperienced musicians. How could she possibly compete against someone whose skills put virtuosos to shame?

This was bullying!

Ishtar's lips curled into a wry smile, and she cut off the tune, scratching her head in a mix of anxiety and confusion. "I know it's hard to believe but…I've really never tried any of this before," Ishtar said in an honest and straightforward tone, and sensing the honesty in the words, Nagini's ears twitched—her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Really?"

"I can swear it on my life! And the Lord knows it was hard to get it back."

"It's not fair! I also want to spoil Mithras with world-class entertainment, but I only know how to fight. Ishtar, please help me learn a cute skill!" Nagini's eyes turned moist, and she tugged on Ishtar's sleeve, blinking with doe eyes.

"Silly girl, you all overthink it. My brother is very easy to please. Hug him, feed him, drop a few coins, and he will treat you like a queen." Ishtar said with a cheerful laugh, patting Nagini on the head.