Chapter 2: The Devourer System

The world returned in a flash, light streaming from somewhere in the room, highlighting the smooth white walls and low ceilings. The room was circular and descended in steps, filled with people kneeling and muttering low prayers. Kevin could only see the ceiling, however, and no matter how he tried to move his head to follow the muttering, it wouldn’t budge. His neck felt like a stone swivel, his hands like metal bars and yet his body was weaker than putty. A low cry escaped his mouth, and the sound shocked him. Was that his voice? He sounded like a wounded calf. Above him was a flat circular ceiling with a hole in its center that allowed a beam of light to pour into the room, and in front of him was a giant woman. Her hair was long and golden, her eyes were dark and peaceful. She was beautiful, probably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in real lìfe. She was beautiful, but Kevin had spent a long span of his life being terrified of human beings. His heart sped up, and confused cries escaped his mouth. The woman looked down at him, frowning. Her eyes darted between him and something behind. Her soft voice hushed him and begged, "Please, little one. Mommy will make everything okay." His cries immediately stopped, confusing her. Kevin stared up at her, then tried to move his heavy hands. They were trapped under something—he was swaddled. He was a damn baby. Immediately, he thought back to the small number of reincarnation manga he had read, feeling very unprepared for this. The only thought in his mind was his mother. Was she also saved by that entity? Suddenly, the silent murmurs filling the room and the white stone roof made sense. They were in some kind of church... or an occult sacrifice. "Come forth," a strained and cracking voice called out. His mother rose with him, and the feeling of being carried so easily was uncomfortable. She held him out to a man with a face like old paper, brown and wrinkly. Where eyebrows sat, this man had midnight-blue crystal, tinted with specks of red and yellow. The man’s face was severe and disgusted as he took Kevin into his hands, lowering him into a cool pool of water, right below the circular hole in the roof. His crystal eyebrows glimmered under the light. Kevin squirmed and let out little gasps, the water felt like needles of ice. He peered through the hole in the roof. A massive arc of golden light curved in the upper atmosphere, barely visible. The man baptising him had a scary look on his face, and Kevin quietly hoped the priest wouldn’t drown him. The priest sprinkled water over him, lifted him out of the pool with a slightly hasty look on his face, and handed him back to his mother. She held him to her bosom, looking up at the priest’s face hopefully. The light behind the elderly man cast a sinister shadow across his features. "The lord has given him the name, Lucen, and has accepted him into the fold." The priest looked unhappy with each word, but Kevin’s new mother beamed, holding back a scream of joy. She bowed and turned, taking him back toward a group of women with babies kneeling at the altar. Behind them was a throng of worshippers, kneeling on mats spread over the ascending stone steps of the temple. [Loading Devourer system...] [Determining probabilities...] [Reading Soul strength...] Kevin gasped, an obsidian game screen hovered over his eyes. Now what? Was this the next aspect of his reincarnation? But he had only read one reincarnation story with system mechanics. Come to think of it, he had no problem understanding the language. [Devourer system fully loaded! Your fate is currently stable, but inescapable danger lingers approximately sixteen years from now!] [Prepare yourself!] [Welcome to your new world. Fight and devour the power of your enemies.] [Lucen Lightcloak.] Rank: mortal Vitality: Low Will: Low Might: Low Insight: Minor Dominance: Low Discovery: 2% Status Effects: tired Equipment: None His mother peered right through the screen, bopping him on the nose occasionally. He was the only one that could see it. Kevin—or rather, Lucen—read its prediction of fate over and over again. Danger? Lucen sighed internally. Sure, why not? ■——■ The ceremony ended, and instead of leaving through the entrance at the top of the temple, Lucen’s mother remained behind. She put him in her lap as she arranged her shining blonde hair and touched her pretty face with a handkerchief to wipe away dirt. She did the same for him, having changed his clothes and blankets earlier. Lucen’s body crawled from her touch. How was he supposed to feel about this? All he could think about was his last moments. It was over, just like that. If he was the only one that died, he’d be happy. His waste of space gone from his mother’s life, but now... The priest who had baptised him beckoned his mother forward. They walked into a low, dark corridor that led to a small office packed with parchment, brown rolls of paper, and a small lamp on the table. In the office were five fearsome men, wearing black wool shirts and brown trousers. Their hair was an inky-black, and all had golden eyes that glowed with a suppressed light. The youngest of the men, beardless and not as well built, stepped forward and looked down at him. Lucen’s mother bowed. "Raise your head," said the young man, "He seems strong for a mudborn." The oldest of the five men leaned against a chair, his thick beard and wild hair were tempered by his steady gaze. "He’s been touched by the lord. Given the ancestor’s name," He said with an edge to his voice. "Lucen VII will not be called mudborn, Heimar." The younger man, Heimar, nodded. "He is of the direct line—my own son—so it’s obvious he’d be accepted." "God is not as frivolous as you, my son," the older man answered, "He will return with us to the main house, be trained with your wife’s children, to serve the family." The silence in the room stretched . His mother’s hand shook a little, and Lucen glanced over to Heimar, his father. At some point in his life, Lucen thought Heimar was the type of father you’d need to make something of yourself. But he didn’t like the man, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. "Well then, Selene," the older man—Lucen’s grandfather—said, walking towards the entrance. "I hope you have your things packed." "Yes, Lord Koril," his mother answered, bowing as she moved away from the door. All five of the men left, and Lucen and his mother, Selene, followed right behind them. When they finally escaped the temple, Lucen breathed in the new world. Over the dim horizon was an arc of light that seemed to span the entire world. Its radiance was dim and weak, like the dawn of a new day. They were atop a hill, and in the land below, surrounded by beautiful purple flowers and fields of green grass, was a little hamlet with a couple of wells and shaky wooden houses, scattered over the fields. Selene took in the village one last time. The radiance and cold wind of the world washing over her, the familiar smells of pie after a sermon, and the laughter of children playing in the fields of wheat. She took a large breath, a single tear falling from her eye, before jogging after the striding men. At the bottom of the hill, an older woman handed her a rucksack and a wrapped meal of bread and porridge, smiling cheerfully. "Take care, Selene. Come back to us anytime, and bring little Lucen with you." More tears poured from her eyes. Selene hugged the woman, which was extremely uncomfortable for Lucen, and then ran to the row of carriages—Lord Koril waiting patiently while Heimar glared. "Get comfortable," said Koril, pointing to a carriage. "It’s a long journey to the edge of the Void." As Lucen was carried into the carriage, he couldn’t help but wonder what pulled them. They were made of a sleek, white material, had no wheels or horses, and just a covered space on top—filled with boxes and chairs that seemed to grow from the body of the vehicle. The word, Void, also didn’t sit well with him. Selene also seemed confused by this, climbing in and finding a seat in the empty carriage. Then the head of the white vehicle extended, and eight long, spindly legs rose from the carriages in front of them. His mother let out a girlish scream as their carriage elevated itself. Koril and Heimar entered the living carriage with simple leaps that carried them meters into the air. They sat opposite his mother, leaning back and relaxing, while she stared at them. The monstrous beast began to walk. The carriage rose and fell a bit, but that was enough to make a baby sick, apparently. Lucen squirmed and twisted his face as the carriage moved. Selene looked glad he didn’t cry, eyes darting to the two men with her. Lucen had been calling her woman, but Selene looked so young as she cried earlier. Was it just the hair, or was she actually really young? Lucen felt a bit uncomfortable thinking about it. Mother... She was his mother. Lucen smiled bitterly. His father was an older man, maybe twenty-one or so, and his solemn face looked peaceful when his eyes were closed. Koril, who was beside him, asked, "Did you hear what happened in Eshara?" Heimar opened his eyes, looking from his father to Selene and his son. Selene lowered her head. He scowled and answered. "The dragon?" "Yes," said Koril, "it broke through the walls, hid its approach till it arrived. It’s surreal. The last time the walls of Eshara were broken, I was still a child—almost two hundred years ago." "The fact that it got to the capital undetected is strange," Heimar agreed, "But they said it was an Elder Dragon. I’m not surprised it breached the walls... we no longer have the Dragon Knights." They were both silent after that. Koril sighed, "The king calls for Lightcloak forces to help chase the elder dragon down. They’ll most likely send you and Falgner." A sullen look crept onto Heimar’s face, he nodded. "It shames me to answer the ’King’s’ call, but I will fight." "You’d best get used to his rule," Koril warned, "All the great Houses, still with us, have endorsed him" "Has he not dishonoured us enough?" Heimar muttered under his breath. Koril didn’t answer. Heimar clicked his tongue and closed his eyes again. Lucen juggled all this information in his head. He had sixteen years, more or less, to prepare for the danger coming. And he wouldn’t be caught with his pants down.