The Conquerors Path Chapter 1007 - 1005-Death Is Gothic?

In an instant, my sight returned, but as soon as I grasped my location, a torrent of sensations assaulted me all at once.

"Urgh...!"

A groan of struggle escaped my mouth while I endured the chorus of agony, hopelessness, rage, shock, injustice, and every plea directed at the summons of death. It was as if I could sense the gathered grievances of injustice from those departed spirits toward death, the most unjust inevitability in existence.

Since death is both just and unjust simultaneously.

Death claims everyone equally in the end, making it fair, yet it cruelly steals the existence of a healthy, blameless child famished on the streets while allowing a bloated, repulsive, swine-resembling aristocrat to thrive from such misery. It balances justice and cruelty, and I was experiencing the outcries of those afflicted, their fury and loathing manifesting as souls adhering to me, imploring desperately.

[Focus!]

The system's voice snapped me from my torment, granting a brief clarity.

[The summons of death are overpowering you! You must transcend them! You are a God! Even if it's only partially so! Do not allow the spirits and pleas of inferiors to sway you; direct them or dominate them beneath your heel; embrace the pride! You perished before, your connection to death that rivals life is strong! Surpass them! Elevate yourself above!]

The directives echoed in my mind, steering me as I shut my eyes briefly, gradually stiffening my posture while permitting my restrained arrogance to course through my form. The essence of corruption, the vitality of life encircling me—this deathly force detected it, the throbs acknowledged it. I am the Prince of Life; they seek to seize my vitality, shatter me, strip away existence. They yearn for me to grant them vitality, elevate them, restore them to being.

For just as Death, Life possesses fairness and unfairness...

It bestows birth upon you, true, but it also shapes your path, since sometimes emerging into the world is far from ideal. You might enter the vilest household that readily inflicts the harshest existence upon you, or you could arrive in the finest lineage offering utmost indulgence.

The existence that creates you determines the one you endure.

Thus, the essence of Life holds both equity and inequity within.

The murmurs and insights that Orpheus occasionally shares with me flooded my thoughts, and simultaneously, as one who had perished, having tasted death's desolation, I comprehended the reasons behind labeling it as unjust.

I met my end once, and upon awakening, only the sorrow of what I abandoned remained, yet this new existence offered another route, brimming with desire, affection, terrors, and beyond, unveiling fresh facets of myself. Death claimed me, but it delivered me to a transformed life. Having received both gifts, I deeply grasped the origins of these pleas.

Gradually, I lifted my right hand, my finger tracing the ambient space, altering, rotating, and contorting the very air, akin to an artist with a final flourish, I snapped my fingers, and abruptly, silence enveloped me. The clamor in my skull ceased, and the pleas and dreads surging over my frame vanished. I grinned as I honed my awareness, at last able to survey my surroundings.

I pondered while gazing at the enormous dark gothic fortress ahead, encircled by barren black trees stretching to the horizon. Currently, I stood upon a trail that pointed straight to the ebony citadel, its portals flung wide in invitation, and overhead, the wails of ravens resounded.

Caw... Caw... Caw...

Scanning the area, I spotted the crows soaring nearby, their gazes fixed upon me. Abruptly, I felt thrust into an archaic horror tale, my vision absorbing the scene. What intensified the unease was a nauseating sensation, as if deprived of air beneath the waves or similar, a repulsive churn, reminiscent of the clash between death and life raging within.

[The blessing of Life designating you as prince is reacting strongly here, your personal divinity remains heavily restrained since your essence hasn't achieved supremacy, thus the paramount one—Life—dominates, moreover Life and Death have eternally clashed fiercely, and as its toll, you cannot yield in this place at this time.]

Absorbing those words and recalling Orpheus's devotion to me, I refused to disappoint her now, so I straightened my spine further, my physique experiencing the tension as I restrained my innate divine energies, drawing instead upon the radiant vitality that perpetually sustains me. Before long, a splendid crown, apparently crafted from timber, materialized atop my head.

A soft emerald glow emanated around me, and momentarily, that same verdant luminescence flickered in my eyes, eddying throughout my being as I beamed. Through my sight, I perceived a shadowy ebony radiance igniting, evidently resenting it and converging upon me, as if intent on draining my vitality. I gestured with my hand, the deathly presence momentarily aligning with me, despite my embodiment of life.

Amid the clashing sentiments and feelings encircling me, I emerged bearing a fusion of Life and Death as I advanced along the stone-paved path before me, proceeding through it into the fortress. Everywhere, I encountered more of the somber black motifs surrounding me, the echoes of my footfalls resounding as I traversed the expansive corridor.

Strangely, throughout this domain, not a single doorway appeared. Actually, there were none, only the immense passage I navigated, until I came upon an unguarded entrance. Passing through, I entered the throne chamber. Upon arrival, my gaze settled on the strikingly gothic maiden before me.

Feeling the contradictory swirl of Life and Death pulsing through my veins, I surfaced from the cut-space and stepped onto the cold paved road. The air grew heavier, thicker, laced with the scent of decaying roses and frost-kissed marble. I moved through the vast, doorless hallway of her obsidian castle, my footsteps echoing like distant funeral bells against the black-veined walls that seemed to drink in every scrap of light.

No doors. Just endless shadowed corridors that whispered promises of oblivion. Soon the hallway opened into the throne room, and there she was.

The Goddess of Death herself.

’Damn... that is so fucking unfair.’

She looked barely more than a girl—late teens at most, perhaps seventeen in mortal years, with that delicate, petite frame. But I knew better. This eternal being had outlived stars and swallowed entire civilisations.

Her hair was a living waterfall of midnight black, tumbling down her back in wild, glossy waves that seemed to absorb light itself. Her eyes were bottomless abysses of pure black, no whites, no irises, just endless voids that promised to sip the soul right out of your body while you begged for more. They locked onto nothing and everything at once, pulling at the life force in my chest.

Her lips were painted the deepest, wettest black, plump and slightly parted, glistening as if freshly licked. A delicate silver nose ring glinted against her skin, matching the spiked black earrings that dangled from her lobes like tiny instruments of pleasurable torment. Her nails were long, razor-sharp, and painted the same void-black, clicking softly against the pages of the book she held.

She wore a gothic masterpiece of a dress—layers of sheer black silk and lace that clung to her inhumanly perfect little body like a second skin made of night. It was cut low and scandalously tight across her chest, accentuating what should have been modest but somehow looked obscenely tempting: small, perky tits that sat high and proud on her narrow ribcage, the faintest swell pressing against the fabric, nipples visibly stiff and dark beneath the thin material.

Her skin was a breathtaking pale grey—smooth as polished marble. Not quite human. Too flawless, too cool to the touch, I imagined. It made her look like a living statue carved for sin: delicate collarbones, a tiny waist you could span with both hands, and hips that flared just enough to be utterly sinful. A spiked black choker hugged her slender throat, the points pressing lightly into that grey flesh.

She lounged sideways on the massive throne like she owned every shadow in existence, one leg dangling lazily over the armrest, the other bent beneath her. No shoes—her bare feet were small and elegant, toes painted the same sinful black, adorned with a thin bangle etched in glowing, forbidden runes that pulsed like dying heartbeats.

The hem of her dress had ridden high up her thighs, revealing long, slender legs that looked deceptively fragile but carried the quiet strength of inevitability. Between those thighs, the black lace of her dress barely concealed the smooth, hairless mound of her pussy—tight, petite, and somehow radiating that same deathly allure.

Everything about her screamed forbidden temptation wrapped in gothic perfection. The way her small breasts rose and fell with slow, unnecessary breaths. The subtle curve of her tight little ass pressing into the throne. The faint, icy aura that made the air around her crackle with frost and raw sexual dread. She was petite, almost doll-like, yet every inch of her petite frame radiated dangerous, otherworldly sex appeal—built for slow, soul-shattering corruption rather than raw power.

She didn’t even glance up at first, lost in her book, treating the entire world (including me) like insignificant specks of fleeting meat.

I cleared my throat.

"Cough... Hello?"

The moment the sound left my lips, her abyss-black eyes lifted from the page and fixed directly on me.

The world tilted.

Life itself seemed to stutter in my veins. A slow, predatory little smile curved those black lips, revealing the faintest hint of too-sharp canines.