"You fucke—!" The barkeep shouted, but his words were cut off by another sharp slap.
"And that's three!" Lucian announced cheerfully, delivering slap after slap. The customers burst into laughter and applause, despite many of them still owing the barkeep a hefty debt.
The barkeep stumbled back, his face flushed with anger. In a flash, his Dominion Codex appeared, two glowing sigils manifesting above it: Dominion of Intoxication and Dominion of Poverty.
"You're gonna pay for that, you bastard!" he snarled. With a sweep of his hand, the beer from the mugs around the inn lifted into the air, swirling into liquid tendrils.
"Drunken Barrage!" he bellowed, and the beer shot forward in concentrated streams.
Lucian's eyes widened in delight, gracefully dodging the liquid projectiles. "A Dominion of Intoxication? I thought that was just a joke!" he laughed, weaving between the attacks.
The barkeep gritted his teeth, continuing his assault until he abruptly switched dominions. The Dominion of Poverty flared to life, and suddenly, rusted coins materialized around him, floating like sharp, metallic shrapnel.
"Oh… now that's actually kind of dangerous," Lucian murmured, a bead of sweat sliding down his cheek.
With a flick of his wrist, Lucian summoned his own Dominion Codex, the Dominion of Cruelty activating with a dark, ominous glow.
"Not now!" he muttered to himself, forcefully flipping the Codex's pages to reveal another sigil: Dominion of Blood.
As the dark presence of the Dominion of Cruelty fades, Lucian lets out a slow breath, careful not to let the crowd see how close he'd come to losing himself once more.
Lucian bit into his thumb, drawing a line of crimson that dripped to the floor. "Blood Seeds!" he shouted. The blood dispersed into the air, coalescing into a dense, interwoven barrier—a pulsating blood wall—just as the rusted coins slammed against it, bouncing off harmlessly.
Lucian grinned, wiping the blood from his mouth. "That's a lot of effort for a tavern brawl," he taunted, his tone equal parts amusement and menace.
"Don't get cocky with me!" the barkeep snarled. He turned to the crowd. "Whoever brings me his head gets their debt cleared!"
The customers' eyes gleamed with sudden greed. One by one, they rose from their seats, grabbing whatever they could find—sticks, stones, even ripping chairs and tables from the floor. The room filled with a chaotic rumble as they surrounded Lucian.
Ignir watched from the sidelines, his heart pounding. He'd seen men break under far less, but Lucian seemed to thrive on the chaos—commanding attention like a force of nature. Was this what true strength looked like? Could he—no, would he—ever inspire fear and respect like that?
Despite the commotion, no one paid him any mind—they didn't see a threat in a scrawny kid.
Lucian glanced back, giving Ignir a confident grin. "Consider this your first lesson!" he called out.
With a wave of his hand, the blood wall dissolved, the crimson liquid dispersing into fine, glistening threads that hovered in the air. Lucian snapped his fingers, and the threads shot outward like startled rats, weaving through the inn in a tangled, chaotic pattern.
"Web of the Damned!" Lucian announced with a flourish. The blood strings stretched from wall to wall, ceiling to floor, creating a sprawling web that encased the entire room—except for Lucian and Ignir.
The mob hesitated, their makeshift weapons at the ready, unsure of how to proceed. One man cautiously stepped forward, but his arm brushed against one of the threads.
A sizzling sound cut through the noise as the man yelped and clutched his hand, red welts already forming.
Lucian's smirk widened. "Whoops. Forgot to mention—those strings are a lot hotter than you think." He snapped his fingers again, and the threads began to vibrate violently, friction causing them to glow faintly with heat.
"Touch them," Lucian warned, "and you'll get more than just a scratch."
The barkeep's jaw clenched as he watched the scene unfold. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he cursed under his breath.
"What's wrong?" Lucian taunted. "You said you'd pay handsomely for my head. Don't tell me you're getting cold feet."
The crowd looked between the barkeep and the searing wires, their enthusiasm dimming. Some took cautious steps backward, the desire for debt relief fading in the face of imminent pain.
Lucian glanced over his shoulder at Ignir, giving him a wry smile. "Rule number one: always make it clear that fighting you will cost more than it's worth."
The barkeep's eyes narrowed, his frustration giving way to something else—survival. He snapped his Codex shut, and the rusted coins clattered to the floor alongside splashes of beer.
"What do you want?" he growled, his tone lower, more cautious. "It's clear you could kill us all with a snap of your fingers." His gaze flicked to Ignir, his face twisting with anger. "And you, brat! What the hell were you thinking, leading a damn noble here?"
Ignir opened his mouth to stammer an apology, but Lucian cut him off with a nonchalant wave. "Oh, it's quite simple." Lucian spread his arms wide, a theatrical glint in his eyes. "Slav—! Ahem... I mean, followers." He cleared his throat with an exaggerated cough.
One of the inn's patrons spat on the floor. "And why the hell would we serve a nepo baby like you?"
Another scoffed from the corner. "Yeah! We'd rather die than bow to some rich brat!"
Lucian smirked, unfazed. He had dealt with this kind of rebellious spirit before—back when he was just starting out as a Dark Lord. Without missing a beat, he hopped onto a nearby table, his stance relaxed but commanding, his posture exuding confidence.
"Really? You're so eager to throw your lives away?" he asked, his voice calm but piercing. "Where's the glory in dying pointlessly?" He paced on the table, his gaze sweeping over the room, locking eyes with as many as he could. "Would you really accept being wiped out by some nobody who just barged into your territory?"
A few patrons shifted uncomfortably, but Lucian pressed on.
"To just lay down and let spoiled, ungrateful twats like me look down on you?" His voice rose slightly, cutting through the uneasy silence. "Is that the kind of men you are? Content to die like rats in a crumbling tavern?"
A murmur rippled through the crowd—indignation, uncertainty, and a spark of something else. Pride.
Lucian smirked, sensing the shift. "Or would you rather take that fury, that hate for the nobles who crushed you, and direct it toward those who actually deserve it?" He spread his arms again, grinning like a charismatic devil. "Serve me, and I'll make sure your lives aren't just some footnote in a forgotten slum."
The room buzzed with restless energy, and Lucian knew he had them on the edge—caught between resentment and temptation.
He threw one more line, just loud enough to cut through the noise. "I'm not asking for servants. I'm offering you purpose. A way to make the world remember your names."
A tense silence followed, broken only by the soft creak of the floorboards and the occasional drip of spilled beer. One man, older and scarred, squinted at Lucian with a begrudging respect.
"You're sayin'... you'd give us a chance to fight back?"
Lucian's smirk turned almost kind. "More than a chance. A reason to live."
The barkeep hesitated, his shoulders tense. "And how can we be sure you're not just going to take advantage of us?" His voice was cautious, wary of the man who had just effortlessly overpowered him.
Lucian's eyes sharpened, his smirk turning dangerous. "You just need to take the risk." His voice was low, laced with malice, as he reached out and traced a finger along one of the blood strings. The thread quivered under his touch, vibrating with a sinister hum.
His eyes shimmered—a deep, shifting violet—radiating a presence that demanded fear. For a moment, his entire demeanor changed, something dark and unrestrained pulsing from his core.
Then, from his Dominion Codex, a faint whisper echoed—a chilling murmur that made the air grow heavy. The pages flipped open on their own, and a passage that had been blurred out before slowly came into focus within the Dominion of Blood:
'Cold-Blooded Sociopath (Epic)'
A chill settled over the room. The patrons, who just moments ago were brimming with defiance, now felt the weight of fear pressing down on them. Even Ignir, who had been silently watching from the corner, shivered. His wide eyes never left Lucian, torn between awe and terror.
Lucian glanced at his Codex, his smirk faltering for just a heartbeat. A faint tremor ran through his fingers before he steadied himself, the darkness clawing at the edges of his mind. "Looks like... that's my limit for now," he muttered, voice low and tight. With a flick of his wrist, he snapped the book shut, the ominous glow sputtering out as the sinister presence reluctantly slunk back into the recesses of his thoughts.
With a snap of his fingers, the blood strings collapsed, splattering to the floor in small, viscous puddles, tracing the paths where they had once been. The tension in the room seemed to release with it, but the fear lingered, etched into everyone's minds.
Lucian hopped off the table, dusting off his coat as if nothing had happened. "Well?" He tilted his head, his voice suddenly calm, almost casual. "Still think you'd rather die pointlessly? Or would you prefer to see what happens when you take that risk and follow someone who's willing to change your fate?"
The barkeep swallowed hard, wiping the sweat from his brow. He glanced around the room—at the hesitant, fearful faces of his regulars, at the puddles of blood on the floor, and finally back at Lucian, who looked almost bored now, as if the entire ordeal had been a minor inconvenience.
For a moment, no one moved. The blood strings collapsed, pooling on the ground like crimson snakes, and the room seemed to breathe as one—an uneasy silence. The barkeep wiped sweat from his brow, while the patrons shifted on their feet, caught between fear and curiosity.
Then, one of the older patrons, the same one who had spoken earlier, stepped forward. "If... if you're serious about this—about giving us a reason to fight—then I'll follow." He glanced back at the others, his expression firm despite the lingering fear. "Better to gamble on something real than rot here forever."
One by one, others nodded in agreement, some more reluctantly than others, but the shift was undeniable.
Lucian smiled, a slow, satisfied curl of his lips. "Smart choice." He glanced back at Ignir, who was still watching him with that same wide-eyed look. "See, kid? Lesson number two: strength isn't just about power. It's about making people believe."