Netori: Reborn as the Human Aphrodisiac

Back to the present. While Elektra closed the last Gate of Malice, Mithras swept the Spiritual World with his Sensory Secret, going all the way to the Sanctuary and beyond.

His eyes covered the immensity of the world, yet the Prince felt no sense of achievement. Quite the contrary, for the second time since his rebirth, the unbearable taste of regret filled his mouth. So much so that he clutched his chest—struggling to cool down his racing heart rate.

This…cannot end like this. I made a promise—a promise to my brothers—that they would have first-row seats to watch my story unfold. The Main Quest is just getting started and over 300 are gone already? What kind of shit seats are those?!

A man's word must mean something. I don't want to let them down. And I can't…leave Mana like this.

It wasn't easy to get Mana out of the darkness and get my professor back. Marduk, you can't ruin this for me.

Not even…in death!

Lord…sorry. At the end of the day, I might only be…another lousy devotee.

[Warning: The Host's Faith Vacillates!]

[The Drum of Praise has lost its powers!]

[If the host cannot steady his faith, Ba'al Agan will regain the Most Honored Seat!]

The System's voice rocked Mithras' soul, its robotic tone for once laced with an unmistakable sense of urgency. But as he so often did in scenarios of the sort, Mithras shut down—splitting his consciousness from the world to process things at his own pace.

Yes—now the world slowed down. All lives across the Spiritual World and beyond becoming sparks and stars in the vast expanse of Mithras' consciousness.

The Fundamentals Principles were not exempt—from afar sensing the weight of their Prince's gaze nailing them with blinding solar rays.

'Mithras, Divinity is hidden behind a veil of madness. Only the mad can touch the divine. Unveil your madness. Stop keeping it in check! Let it out! Let it all loose!

Our tribe has waited long enough…for the coronation of its True Sovereign!' The eerie cackle of a demented fiend raced through Mithras' mind, followed by the memories of a man that bore a striking resemblance to the late Caligula.

Mithras recognized both face and voice. The chaotic memories tied to them rankling his aching heart. Large, pulsing veins beat all over the Prince's arms and temples. His eyes filled with murderous rage. But as the glint of dementia took over, twisting his magnetic gaze, Mithras quieted—holding down his trembling fists.

"No. Caligula, you were stupid. Darkness will disgust you from being alive. There is nothing glorious about being insane. And I'm not so far gone as to celebrate the mad.

You are not a god.

There is no God…but the collective emanation…of Our Will," Mithras said in a quiet, almost deflated tone, and sat cross-legged amidst the Colosseum, joining his hands in a mudra that mirrored the symbol of infinity.

A choir of celestial beings descended the moment next, lighting up Springtime City with a vanguard of archangels and dancing Apsaras.

For what? To pay their respect to the Prince.

Or should we say the Devil?

It doesn't really matter now, does it?

Demons and Gods followed the celestials. Archfiends and Sage Kings hid in the midst. A gathering of immeasurable significance was taking shape before a million mortal eyes. With only a select few being able to tell what Mithras was trying to pull off.

"The Gathering Circle.

I can't believe it. He's decided to enthrone himself…as a god?

No…not just a god. Mithras is doing what Marduk never dared to. Staking his claim as a Triumvir…to replace the Lord…as the Godhead!" Vel couldn't believe her eyes—awestruck by the realization that Mithras was quite simply attempting to overturn the omniverse.

Becoming a god is not complicated. Anyone can do it—in theory. Master the first seven Divine Secrets and go through Nirvanic Rebirth—pop, you're a High God.

Fuse your Palace of Indulgence with your Pyromantic Thesis—pop, you're a Great God.

Eat a Divine Root as a Demigod—pop, you a Minor God.

It's even hereditary.

But all those are fake. Scrawny little fakers boasting for flawed divinity.

A True God is inviolable. Can't be killed, mind controlled, manipulated, perverted or altered in any way that they do not allow. And as the Absolute Masters of Divine Power, they stand above all but the Three, carrying the unique right and ability…to reshape Soul Scripts!

Yes. With a temporary derivation of the Lord's Authority, a True God can, in theory, reshape a Soul Script. But to achieve that feat, they would need to sacrifice about three billion Sid units.

Reduce your Sid level by three billion…just for one script. Even for those transcendent beings, the math didn't add up. So much so that of all True Gods in creation, only the Lord and Weaver ever used the ability—with the latter reserving the boon for his son, Caligula.

But now Mithras wanted to reshape over 300 Soul Scripts. A demented aspiration, no doubt, but not so impossible if he managed to steal Marduk's Throne of Destiny and fuse it with his own Throne of Duality...to replace the Lord…as the Godhead!

Mithras never wanted to challenge or offend his Lord. In myriad lives and reincarnations, the thought never once crossed his mind. So, do you think it's now that he willingly became the Lord's most hardcore devotee that he'd give it all up to become her executioner?

No. Of course not.

Mithras doesn't want to walk that path. It's boring and doesn't interest him.

But Mithras is tired! Tired of the pain! The risk! The suffering! The loss and regret! There are too many in the world who resent him for no reason.

Using their inner demons and mental disorders to justify the harassment they'd put him through for a billion years!

Sickening invertebrates with nothing to do but to find details to hate and hate some more. When hatred doesn't suffice, persecution follows. Why? Because they're sick in their heads. Entitlement and insecurity have driven them all insane. They're sick and don't want to find help, so they harass me instead.

Useless things.

Worthless wastes.

It has to stop.

It's stopping now!

Our Will…you win. I give up. My career as an entertainer can go to hell. My Path of Conquest begins anew! So, thank you…my dear degenerates…thank you…for unleashing me!

With a gentle smirk at odds with the overbearing desires surging within his chest, Mithras stood up, the black and white star between his elongated horns firing into the sky and morphing…into the Crown of Duality.

The Crown rested where it belonged. On Mithras' head. And from the Nexus of Sid, the Fundamental Principles' Thrones arose.

Heruka's Throne of Blood.

Ananta's Throne of Emptiness.

Ahriman's Throne of Darkness.

And many, many more.

Mithras seized them all, outright stripping the authorities of the Fundamental Principles that failed to crown themselves as the owners of the thrones he once bestowed upon them.

The likes of Bhaira and Ba'al Agan avoided the plunder. But in truth, none of these mattered. They just improved upon perfection. Mithras only had one target:

A pale-gray seat adorned with lapis and coiling serpents that bit and strangled one another in a grotesque dance of death.

Marduk's vacant Throne of Destiny.

Mithras made a grasping motion, under the eyes of the universe, pulling the Throne of Destiny…towards his Crown of Duality.

It was happening. No obstacle stood in the way. A bit more…and Mithras would obtain the power to rewrite creation.

But here…Ishtar rushed forth, to the audience's shock putting herself…between her brother and his fate.

"Don't. Marduk went insane sitting on the Throne of Destiny. The Pantheist Reality demands that the universe exists in perpetual evolution. The Lord is restrained by duty. The Sun, by humanity, and the Weaver by his own madness!

They don't know but how can you not?

There are other ways! If you do this…even if it's not today…down the road you're doomed to become…a more deranged monster than Marduk ever was.

Don't. Big brother…please don't do this to me.

I don't want…to lose you again!" Ishtar went all out, instantly hitting Mithras so hard that all the resolve he'd assembled for this gambit…threatened to crumble like a house of cards.

"Even if I were willing to let go. Who is to say that tomorrow, another Marduk or Heruka will not arise to trample upon my paradise? No. I can't have it. Why should I gamble our future when the power to dominate all across eternity is staring me in the eyes?

It doesn't make sense!

It's asinine!

Ishtar…what is yours cannot escape you. You can't lose me. But I will be damned if I spend another minute…under the thumb of my inferiors!

The Lord has her difficulties. We can't count on her to solve our troubles. So we must take it upon ourselves…to build a fortress so impregnable that none of those doddering idiots can find a way in!

This universe was created by the Weaver to be ruled by the Devil!

IT IS MY UNIVERSE!

I'm merely taking back…all that belongs to me." Mithras declared. But though the clear and straightforward tone left no doubt to his determination, deep down, he felt so ashamed.

Oh well…might as well. The Throne of Destiny flew by Ishtar's shoulder, in a heartbeat merging with Mithras' Duality to begin the formation…of a brand-new authority.

"But Mithras…how can you not see…that we just lost you?" Aware of the significance of this moment, Vel lowered her head. A drizzle of tears trickling down her cheek as the true love of her solitary lifetime embraced the darkest mantle.

Here, the unexpected occurred. A white-haired archfiend emerged from the Throne of Infernalism. Facing Mithras with a blend of frustration and disappointment.

"Mithras, what are you doing? What the hell are you doing?

Unbelievable. To think I got supplanted by one so easily swayed by the tragedies of eternal life.

Wake up, Idol of the Sun. You've spent so much time trying to figure yourself out…that you've forgotten you never had to suffer to begin with. Mithras, you don't need to struggle. To endure this pain or agony.

Ask your Lord for help…and she will help you for sure. She loves you, after all. Loves you so much that she constantly defies the very laws her powers originate from to stay by your side.

The Lord loves you, Mithras. Embrace that gift…and let it sublimate you.

Marduk is wrong.

You are the Sun, not the Devil. The darkness inside doesn't define you. It never will, because of all lifeforms to walk this Earth, only you can lay claim…to the Lord's adoration.

Your Lord loves you, Mithras. Stop playing hard to get and embrace her for real. Forever by your side, she has been waiting…for an eternity," Ba'al Agan said, vanishing the moment next.

The echo of his outrageous speech lingered, however. Leaving the audience so perplexed that their jaws now threatened to kiss the floor. Mithras was no exception. His eyes tearing up as the recollection of his memories with the Lord flickered in his Soul World.

Not just this life. All lifetimes without exception. The Lord was always there—guiding him from the shadows with an unmistakable blend of love and devotion. The realization of his folly settled, and Mithras' eyes tore up.

"Lord, I…I am so stupid. Whenever my back buckled, and the embers of my will died out, your cheers kept me upright, propping me up even as my shoulders slumped in loss and defeat.

Where would I be without you? I can't say. I dare not imagine. But now I doubt? Now I waver? For what?

I'm nowhere near as clever as I like to think. If I were…I couldn't have possibly gone through a million lifetimes without figuring out…that there was someone in the stars supporting me to the best of her abilities. Loving me from within the confines of her golden cage—and expecting nothing in return.

My very own stalker:

You.

You were always there. Trying your best to warn me…to protect me. But I could neither see the paint nor hear the melody…of your affection.

I…don't deserve you." Mithras burst into laughter, the veins on his hands and temples relaxing as his eyes turned red in shame and self-deprecation.

At that time, a lithe and gentle palm rubbed Mithras' right shoulder from behind. The quiet audience's eyes stretched. Eyes popping out as Mithras' eyelids shook, his legs ground to a standstill, and his heart rate spiraled out of control.

Another white-haired figure appeared. No. The resplendent light lacing the strands altered the onlooker's perception—turning the original silver shade into a weave of radiant white.

Mithras didn't dare to turn, so his instincts took over. Forcing him to pivot towards the owner of that palm.

Towards…the Lord!

And there she stood. Tall and slender. Divine and immaculate. Grace and seduction united for a matchless sex appeal, plus a hint of sass to add some life and an easygoing flair.

Perfect through and through. Even with the veil keeping the upper half of her face covered, Mithras had no doubt…that true perfection had appeared.

His Lord was unrivaled.

But something wasn't right. The rush of glee. The euphoria. It all plateaued—dwindling and plummeting as Mithras' eyes locked on the Lord's lips.

Hers.

Hers?

Those are…her lips?

A million thoughts raced through Mithras' mind. The Lord anticipated. Breaking the silence with a simple:

"Hey…" The Lord said, her true voice resounding at last to align with the face that Mithras dared not consider.

"Impossible."

"Such a word cannot exist in our reality.

Mithras, only the First Devotee can see the Lord's face. So before you pour your heart out. Unveil me…and take a good look…at your Lord and savior. Then we can decide once and for all…how to end our story," the Lord pressed her most favored, stroking Mithras' cheeks as his hands reached for her veil…unmasking her for his eyes only.

A familiar face came into view—sapping the wind from Mithras' chest.
Your adventure continues at m v|l-e'm,p| y- r

Different eye shade. Different hair color. But the height, frame and figure all matched 100%.

To the point that even if Mithras wanted to deny it, the facts allowed no rebuttal.

It's her.

She is the Lord.

"Truth be told, I used to hate your guts.

You are too handsome. It's distracting.

Too clever. It's irritating.

Darn sweet, funny, charming, and he always gets his way. What is there not to hate?

But then I looked, looked, and looked. Stalked your cute bum for a million lifetimes. Watched you fail, stand up and try again like a standard mortal. And at some point, along the way…I caught myself being unable to take my eyes off…that silly smile of yours.

Mithras, I once asked you…what it'd take to make an honest woman out of a girl. You replied: Devotion. Devotion is perfect. And I want nothing more…than a lifetime of mutual devotion.

From that moment on, Mithras, I wanted you.

But there was no hope. You were too attached to Ishtar, so I had to make room for me. Stalked you in the background. Supported you in every way I could think of while putting challenges in your love life…and doing my best…to keep you for myself. Marduk is right. I schemed to make you mine.

Incarnated myself time and time again to become my girl's rival…and steal her lover, forever.

I did it all…cause I'm a selfish Lord. Selfish and biased for you...my cutie pie," The Lord said, and by the time her veil had tumbled down…Akamana's eyes were staring into Mithras', leaving him disarmed and wholly bewildered.

"Cutie pie, sorry for forcing the harem life upon you. I know the original you wanted to be a proper hubby. But I like the current you better. The original was my obsession. But it is the you of here and now…that made me fall in love. The mortal you.

The vulnerable, carefree…and chaotic you. The you who dared to say:

I will make all the hussies of the world…pay for my meat.

Why change him? I won't allow it. Our Will can go to hell. I am in charge. And I say my cutie pie…can't ever be no devil!

Take my Throne of Unity if you will. Omnipotence is overrated, I don't mind. If you don't, it's fine. I will abuse my powers to lay to rest anyone who dares to try and take you from me.

I'm done playing nice. Also keeping your brothers in my Mandala—plus a couple surprises. If you want to see them…well, you got no other choice…but to come inside me!

Yes. It's blackmail. You scare me, cutie pie. So now, I gotta use war tactics…to prevent you from killing…the love of my life." With a silly smile on her face, Akamana held Mithras' cheeks, pulling his lips into hers for a slow, sensuous kiss.

A stream of tears cascaded down Mithras' cheeks, and prompted by a sudden impulse, he wrapped his arms around his beloved professor's shoulders, holding her so tight that her face squeezed into his.

"I praise the Lord for this day and the breath that I take. That I may live on through her…in the One True Paradise.

The Lord is my savior. Praise be her name. In her heart I trust. To her mercy…I humbly surrender," Mithras whispered in Akamana's ear, letting go of the Throne of Destiny…and kickstarting a brand-new covenant between the Lord…and her beloved.

----

"The King of Kings would rather shoulder the world than take care of his house. So, the Prince became a family man, and let the empire rot in waste and decay.

This is the story of Mithras and Odoacer, a story that Marduk has been engineering and re-enacting since the fall of the Veridi Horde.

Now that Marduk is dead, the Prince has found peace, and the King regained his heart, that story has no reason to go on.

Thank you, My Lord…for putting it to rest.

Our Will…accepts this ending."

THE END!