The highest floor of the Hakon estate is entirely dedicated to the most important objects and knowledge left by the original settlers. An exclusive museum and study which defines the status of the Hakon family. The most potent of tomes, written to secure the survival of humanity, are put to waste inside glass casings. The most accurate maps of the continent are left in shadow, only to be seen by those who are trapped in the tiniest fraction of it. As Adrium enters this room, she is greeted by the wardens who oversee this suppressed knowledge. Wyatt Hakon and his father, the family head. By the former’s side is the new toy he won’t let go of, a black-haired woman covered entirely with burns below the neck, her face the only part of her unharmed. Adrium is no longer smiling.
“The dregs have been put down yet you return to face us alone? Quite the arrogant monster, aren’t you?” the elder Hakon taunts. He hangs on to a particular page of the tome in his hands while his son does the same, waiting for Adrium to make a move.
“If hypocrisy were a feeling, you would reek of it,” Adrium refutes, her eyes not leaving Cyrilla. “You know, I can feel your nervousness. Did you know that’s what it was? Have you ever felt such a thing before?”
“Pray tell, why should we feel such a thing? You are in our home, we have had time to prepare, every advantage is ours.”
“Oh? Are you suggesting that you require such leverage to confidently face me? It almost sounds to me that you’re conceding that I’m superior.”
“I am suggesting no such thing!” the elder Hakon snaps and magic begins to flare up around his hands. “You are merely an example! The beginning of my takeover of this forsaken continent!”
There’s the feeling his wife was demonstrating earlier. He doesn’t wear it nearly as well, Adrium thinks. “Interesting, do you expect the other creatures of the wilderness to just walk into your home as well?” she goads further.
That much is enough to bait the elder Hakon into making the first move. He outstretches his hand and as he channels the spell a ring of light forms around Adrium. As it binds inwards, though it does not physically touch her, Adrium feels her body become unable to move. This does not concern her given the elder Hakon’s last attempt at stopping her, however her focus rests on the spell being weaved by the younger. What Adrium sees in the culminating magic is all of the effort that was collected in Wyatt’s room. To him, everything weighs on this spell, this is the moment he proves himself as the worthy successor to his father. The magic twists into the shape of a blade above his head but takes upon no single element. Instead, it is a mass of raw potential energy, refusing to subscribe to the strengths and weaknesses of an elemental form. This spell was clearly written with nothing but efficiency in mind and, as Adrium faces it down, she has a thought. Just how far is Wyatt willing to go to prove himself?
Adrium begins to feign a face of worry and fear as the features of her form fluctuate. Her skin changes from light-blue to tan, the gold of her eyes turns a deep blue and her light-green hair is rapidly dyed black as its style changes to match the painted depictions of Cyrilla in Wyatt’s room. What better way to prove oneself than to overcome one’s own lust, Adrium thinks.
“P-please wait! I was being foolish, I just want to be by my mother’s side! My body is yours if you’ll just allow me that comfort!” Adrium begs, her performance feeding on the reflection of Wyatt’s desires.
With his focus drawn away from casting, the insubstantial weapon above him distorts. The energy which was being bound together only by his will leaks and the spell falters.
The elder Hakon, still deadly focused on Adrium, is bold enough to make the claim “Pleading will get you nowhere, beast!”
His son, on the other hand, is utterly affixed to Adrium’s new appearance. Cyrilla might still be a fine prize but her features are more toned and her wounded skin will never be perfectly smooth again. She isn’t the same young woman who Wyatt envisions any time he closes his eyes. That fantasy, the one he yearned for all this time, now stands before him almost like an illusion.
“What are you doing, boy?! You will never be the next head of this household if you cannot strike a motionless target!”
The response the elder Hakon receives from the younger is a blade to the back. The sharpened mass of energy pieces cleanly through him, leaving the upper half of his torso only precariously balancing on the bottom. The spell keeping Adrium bound is broken immediately as the elder’s tome slides from his hand and hits the ground with an echoing thud.
“Father, we are the high family, we are meant to get all that we wish. That is our right as those who stand at the top. I am willing to be responsible for this woman, yet you would never allow that would you? Well, I’m done living how you wish me to. Today, I am taking responsibility not only for her but for mother and the household as well as the new family head. It will be a better life than your mad charade of warring with the continent,” Wyatt spits.
His father, already dead, falls to the ground as the two pieces of him separate with a spill of blood and innards. Not even this scene of gore is enough to calm the excitement displayed in Wyatt’s eyes and crotch as he settles his gaze on Adrium once more.
“I wish to make you mine at once,” he says as he swiftly approaches her. “The one over there still needs time to heal but I can wait no longer. We shall do it here, in celebration of my new position,” he asserts, wrapping an arm around Adrium and roughly grabbing her backside.
“Such an odd sensation. I feel your lust and yet I do not feel it for you,” Adrium admits, not allowing Wyatt a chance to force his way to her lips. Not that he would be able as Adrium has already plunged an entire arm cleanly through his body and heart. She draws the blood-covered limb back and allows Wyatt to fall forward to the ground. Now there are no intrusions between her and the mother she loves oh so dearly.