[LotM Roleplay] Chapter 10: One Day to Live Pt1

Content Warning: This chapter contains references to implications of sexual assault (no explicit depiction). Reader discretion is advised.

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Weak. So unbearably weak.

Seated in his chair, Victor reached for the finely crafted ring resting before him, unable to suppress the bitterness that welled within. Frailty had become his constant companion. Every movement reminded him of the strength that age had stolen, every ache a quiet humiliation inflicted by passing years.

Age had robbed him of his vitality, his authority, his power. The deeper that weakness settled into his bones, the more fiercely he hungered for everything it had taken from him.

He slowly turned the ring between his fingers, it’s polished surface catching the dim light. More than wealth or influence, he craved the vigor of youth itself—the effortless strength that had once answered his every command.

His gaze drifted toward the young man standing beside the long table, hands clasped neatly behind his back. Dark shadows rested beneath eyes so deep they were almost black, giving him the appearance of someone who had long forgotten the meaning of proper sleep. After a moment, Victor’s attention returned to the ring.

How thoroughly he had restrained his impatience.

Thousands of gold pounds—his gold pounds—had vanished into raising that boy into an Artisan. Formulas, workshops, mystical materials, rare ingredients… each expense had made his jaw tighten with barely restrained irritation.

Even so, the investment had proven more fruitful than he had dared expect.

Truthfully, he would not have been surprised if the boy had died after consuming the Sequence 9 potion. That had always been the most likely outcome.

Even more surprise was that he had reached Sequence 6.

Victor had prepared for failure. He had drafted plans accounting for one failed attempt after another, fully expecting to begin again with a different candidate if necessary. Yet fortune had favored him. Against every reasonable expectation, he had succeeded on his very first investment.

Now, with the ring resting in his palm, it was finally time to discover whether every coin had truly been worth spending.

“What are the negative effects?” Victor finally asked.

He had devoted years to studying mysticism and the occult. Had he not ruined his own body through excess, had time not hollowed him into an old man, he would have chosen to become a Beyonder himself.

He understood the dangers well enough.

If the boy standing before him had climbed as far as Sequence 6, Victor saw no reason he would have fared any worse.

Those thoughts, however, belonged to a life already lost.

Age had stolen that opportunity as surely as it had stolen everything else.

“You’ll develop a preference for rare meat,” Killian, the boy replied in his usual calm tone. “You’ll find yourself preferring it barely cooked… and bloody.”

“Inconvenient.”

Victor’s response carried little more than mild annoyance, he liked his meat thoroughly cooked.

He had studied Sealed Artifacts extensively. Their versatility had been the very reason he chose to cultivate an Artisan in the first place. Unlike naturally formed artifacts, an Artisan could deliberately craft one while minimizing its negative effects.

He had hoped Killian would produce something with consequences so trivial they were scarcely worth mentioning.

Still… the boy had never been particularly remarkable, even as a child, it should already be considered a miracle he was a sequence 6.

It would suffice.

For now.

The instant the ring settled at the base of his finger, Victor felt it awaken.

A peculiar tug spread through him, subtle yet impossible to ignore, as though something unseen had reached into his body and gently pulled. Just as suddenly as it arrived, the sensation vanished.

In its place came something altogether stranger.

Awareness.

Not merely of wearing the ring, but of knowing it.

Every engraved line, every polished curve, every minute imperfection presented itself with impossible clarity. It felt less like jewelry and more like an extension of his own body. No—more familiar than his own body. His awareness of the ring surpassed even his awareness of his own flesh.

He scarcely had time to dwell on the sensation before another overtook him.

Beneath his skin, his muscles shifted.

He did not merely feel them moving.

He watched them.

His flesh flowed with slow, deliberate purpose, molding itself like softened clay beneath invisible hands. Age spots faded before his eyes. The dark veins beneath parchment-thin skin gradually disappeared. Wrinkles tightened and smoothed as warmth and life seemed to seep back into tissue that had long since surrendered to time.

It all began beneath the ring.

Then the change climbed steadily upward.

The sensation continued spreading through his arm and across his body as he found himself moving toward the large standing mirror across the room, unable to resist witnessing the transformation for himself.

His shoulders drew back.

His bent spine cracked again and again as each vertebra settled into proper alignment. Sunken cheeks filled. White hair steadily darkened, strand by strand, while the countless lines carved across his face dissolved as though erased.

His narrow frame broadened.

Muscle gathered beneath his skin with impossible speed, weaving itself into powerful cords where weakness had once lingered. Bone, sinew, and flesh reshaped themselves with effortless precision, rebuilding years of decay in moments.

The process should have been agonizing.

Instead, it felt oddly detached.

He sensed every change, every shifting muscle and reforming bone, yet the pain remained strangely distant, as though the body being remade belonged to someone else entirely.

For several long minutes, the transformation continued.

By the time it ended, the old man had vanished.

The face reflected in the mirror was not simply the one he remembered from his youth.

There were similarities, certainly.

Enough to recognize himself.

Yet the man staring back possessed none of the imperfections he once carried. He stood taller than he ever had. His physique was broader, stronger, every proportion refined beyond nature’s original design.

Vitality radiated from his features.

His face possessed a symmetry that surpassed even his fondest memories of his prime. His jaw had become sharper, his shoulders wider, his posture effortlessly straight. Strength seemed to emanate from him with quiet certainty, as though the decades stolen by age had not merely been returned, but repaid with interest.

For the first time in years, death no longer felt close enough to whisper in his ear.

A laugh escaped him.

Soft at first.

Then fuller.

Then rich with exhilaration.

He slowly turned before the mirror, admiring himself from every angle, savoring the effortless precision of each movement. Every breath expanded his lungs completely. Every motion felt light, controlled, powerful.

He was back.

No…

He had become something greater than he had ever been.

Opening and closing his hands, he reveled in the effortless strength flowing through them. Tendons shifted beneath flawless skin. Muscles tightened and released with intoxicating ease.

Power coursed through every inch of him.

His entire body seemed to radiate vitality.

The clothes he had been wearing split apart at their seams, unable to contain the broader frame they had never been tailored to fit.

The energy surging through him refused to remain still.

The room itself suddenly felt confining.

The stale air.

The low ceiling.

The tired walls.

Everything about the manor seemed cramped, faded, beneath him.

No.

Not merely the manor.

The clothes, the furniture, the house itself—

they all belonged to the old Victor.

“I’ll be returning this evening,” Victor declared, his decision already made. He intended to celebrate this rebirth, and he had no intention of doing so inside this decaying house. “I expect new staff to be hired, and this place to be thoroughly cleaned.”

“Sir.”

Killian inclined his head in a slight bow, acknowledging the order with the same quiet composure as always.

Yes.

Perhaps the boy could become the new head butler.

Nosurr had served faithfully enough, but he was growing old.

And he certainly was not a Sequence 6 Artisan.

Victor made his way toward his room ascending the stairs to his room two at a time, no longer forced to drag himself upward one weary step after another. Every effortless stride filled him with fresh exhilaration as his thoughts raced toward the future.

Then he stopped.

His hands slowly tightened into fists.

A realization struck him.

With this body…

He could become a Beyonder.

His acquaintance had spoken for years about the organization he belonged to. Victor had listened with only passing interest then, resigned to opportunities forever beyond his reach.

Now…

Everything had changed.

Reaching his bedroom, he found himself struggling to locate clothes that properly fit his new physique.

A tailor would have to be his first destination.

His acquaintance had described the abilities of the Lawyer pathway often enough.

Yes.

If he could walk that pathway himself, joining the organization would be more than worthwhile.

Especially now that he possessed a Sequence 6 Artisan as his personal assistant.

The more he considered it, the more perfect the future appeared.

Descending once more, he found Killian already seated with an open book, calmly writing within its pages.

Efficient.

Good.

As Victor approached, he caught the quiet melody the boy absentmindedly sang beneath his breath.

~ “What would you do, with just one day to live?” ~

~ Said the king to his people, ~

~ And the king was surprised. ~

~ For they felt no different; they simply replied: ~

~ “We would do what we need to ~

~ “To simply survive.” ~

Victor ignored the song entirely.

Stepping outside in clothes that only barely accommodated his transformed body, he drew in a deep breath beneath the warmth of the morning sun.

The air itself felt different.

Sharper.

Cleaner.

More alive.

With renewed strength carrying him effortlessly forward, it did not take long before he arrived at an upscale tailor’s shop.

Inside, he indulged himself without restraint.

One outfit after another.

Each more expensive than the last.

Only when he stood before the mirror once more, dressed in elegant attire that finally matched the man reflected within it, did he allow himself to stop.

Satisfied, he left the shop.

Only then did he notice the faint growl in his stomach.

As the thought crossed his mind, his eyes fell upon a beautiful young woman walking alongside who he assumed to be her husband.

Viktor’s gaze lingered upon the woman with undisguised hunger.

She possessed a striking figure, one her elegant attire complemented perfectly. The way she held her husband’s arm while laughing lent her an air of innocent charm, making her beauty all the more captivating.

“Sir!”

The sharp voice of the man at her side finally drew Viktor’s attention away.

The fellow stood roughly as tall as Viktor himself had once been. Now, however, Viktor towered over him by nearly a full head.

The man was young. So was the woman. It was obvious they were recently married, or at the very least a new couple.

Viktor offered the man no reply.

He simply looked down at him.

He took quiet satisfaction in the hesitation that briefly crossed the man’s face beneath his unwavering stare.

This was what he had been denied for so many years.

Once, men had yielded because of his wealth, his political influence, and the consequences he could inflict upon them through those means.

This stranger knew nothing of his name, his fortune, or his status.

Yet he still shrank beneath him.

The realization was intoxicating.

“I’ll ask you only once,” the man said, his voice noticeably less certain than before, “not to leer at my wife like that, sir.”

“Or what?”

A crooked smile spread across Viktor’s face.

“What if I intend to admire your wife’s beauty in a closer manner, a much closer manner?” he continued, each word carrying deliberate provocation.

A part of him wanted more than an argument.

He wanted to discover precisely what this new body was capable of.

“L-let’s go,” the woman whispered, clutching her husband’s arm more tightly. Fear had crept into her voice as her eyes darted anxiously around the street.

There were plenty of passersby.

None seemed eager to involve themselves.

Viktor scarcely cared.

He held enough influence with the local police that something as insignificant as this could be quietly dealt with, should anyone choose to report it.

“Perhaps you should listen to your wife,” Viktor said with mocking amusement. “Run along.”

His grin widened.

“Run away with your tail tucked between your legs.”

The young man’s face flushed crimson with rage. Veins stood prominently against his neck, and both hands curled into trembling fists.

Just a little more, Viktor thought.

His gaze returned to the woman.

“Of course,” he said smoothly, “if your beautiful wife wishes to stay…”

His smile twisted further.

“I certainly wouldn’t object.”

“I could show her what a night with a real man feels like.”

Whatever restraint the young husband still possessed shattered.

With an angry shout, he lunged forward, his fist driving toward Viktor’s face.

To Viktor’s astonishment…

It seemed slow.

He raised one hand almost absentmindedly and caught the incoming fist with effortless precision. The man’s entire hand disappeared within Viktor’s grip.

The expression of utter disbelief that spread across the young man’s face filled Viktor with immense satisfaction.

Then he squeezed.

At first, only enough to force a cry from the man.

Then harder.

The woman gasped in panic, throwing herself toward Viktor as she desperately tried to pry his fingers apart. She pulled with both hands, struggling with everything she had.

He barely noticed.

With his free hand, Viktor casually shoved her aside.

The motion required no more effort than brushing away an insect.

She stumbled backward as though struck by a force far greater than she had expected.

Viktor tightened his grip again.

The man’s knees buckled beneath him.

He collapsed to the ground, unable to remain standing.

Still Viktor did not release him.

Then came the crunch.

A sickening crack echoed through the street as bones finally yielded beneath the crushing pressure of his hand.

The man’s scream tore through the morning air.

Blood began to seep between Viktor’s fingers.

Only then did he loosen his grip.

The young man crumpled onto the ground, clutching his ruined hand as his wife rushed to his side, panic written plainly across her face.

Viktor scarcely spared them another glance.

Instead, he admired the hand that had accomplished it.

The strength flowing through his body was beyond anything he had ever imagined.

A slow smile spread across his face.

Satisfied, he turned and continued down the street.

He was hungry.

It did not take Viktor long to arrive at a restaurant he had once frequented before age had confined him to his manor.

Once seated, Viktor ordered without restraint.

Plate after plate arrived before him until the table was crowded with dishes. Four nearly identical steaks sat before him, each bearing only a few cuts where he had sampled them before moving on to the next. His attention settled upon the final one.

Barely cooked.

It was, by far, the finest he had tasted.

The rich juices, the warmth of the meat, the metallic depth of the blood—it all possessed a strangely irresistible flavor. Every bite seemed to satisfy something deeper than simple hunger, awakening an appetite he had never known before.

Desserts soon followed, along with expensive wines and spirits.

The table steadily disappeared beneath an assortment of delicacies.

He wished to taste everything.

To indulge every craving that years of frailty had denied him.

Even as he dined, however, his thoughts continually drifted elsewhere.

To women.

To how best he might celebrate the return of his youth, of his vigour, of his virility.

He considered hiring a number of young maids. It was always enjoyable breaking them in.

With this new body, he could probably break in more than a couple at one time.

He no longer needed to concern himself with the limitations that old age had imposed.

His lips curved into a satisfied smile.

It was unfortunate the Hunt was still some time away.

Had it been sooner, it would have served as the perfect celebration of his rebirth. He could have personally selected especially desirable prey before participating himself.

Yes…

Had he been given the choice, that would have been the ideal occasion.

Still, he had waited long enough.

There was nothing saying he couldn’t indulge some more once the Hunt came.

The young woman at the tailor’s shop would make an excellent choice when the time came.

For the present…

He would simply find another diversion.

Eventually, Viktor leaned back in his chair, thoroughly satisfied.

After settling the bill, he stepped back onto the street.

Rather than return directly home, he decided to stroll through the nearby park.

Perhaps fortune would provide him with pleasant company before the evening ended.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, bathing the park in warm amber light.

Viktor settled comfortably upon a bench and quietly observed those passing by.

He enjoyed the lingering glances women cast in his direction.

They had followed him throughout the entire day.

Clearly, they found him attractive.

He had briefly considered indulging one of them.

But that felt…

Too easy.

The pursuit itself would hold little satisfaction.

Lost in those thoughts, his attention drifted toward a family walking beside the broad pond.

Two young boys raced ahead, laughing as they chased one another along the path. Behind them, their parents walked arm in arm, sharing quiet conversation and easy smiles.

Then recognition struck him.

Stelyn Sammers.

Of course.

He remembered her.

A slow smile spread across his face.

He remembered how often she had rejected him in the past, only to come crawling back when desperation had finally overtaken her.

For nothing more than a little bread.

The irony alone had delighted him.

The memory became sweeter the longer he dwelled upon it.

Unfortunately, by then, age had already begun consuming him.

His failing body had diminished much of the satisfaction he believed he should have taken from that encounter.

Now…

Everything was different.

With this youthful body.

With this renewed vigor.

He imagined savoring every moment far more completely than before.

His gaze shifted to the man walking beside her.

The husband appeared perfectly content.

Apparently, she had never revealed that chapter of her past.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

The thought alone entertained him.

The more he imagined it—the look that might cross her face, the fear, the desperation to preserve the life she had built—the more appealing the idea became.

Yes.

This…

This would make for a fitting celebration.

While Viktor entertained himself with these thoughts, the sun sank steadily lower, painting the water with streaks of crimson and gold.

He began considering how best to approach the family.

They would never recognize him now.

He could easily earn their trust before revealing exactly who he was.

Only then…

Only then would he make use of the secret she believed safely buried.

As Viktor rose from the bench, an unexpected numbness spread through one of his hands.

His brow furrowed.

Instinctively, he looked down.

His pupils contracted.

The finger bearing the ring looked nothing like the rest of his body.

Its flesh had become dry, shriveled, and gray, resembling old parchment stretched tightly over bone.

It reminded him of the preserved corpses he had once seen displayed in scholarly collections.

A mummy’s finger.

Panic surged through him.

Without another thought, Viktor turned and hurried back toward the manor.

What had that boy done?

Had the artifact failed?

His expression twisted with mounting fury.

Killian had made a mistake.

He would correct it.

He would repair whatever had gone wrong.

And he would pay dearly for allowing it to happen.

Glancing down once more, Viktor felt his heartbeat quicken.

The withered flesh had already begun creeping beyond his finger, steadily advancing across the back of his hand.

His pace immediately quickened.

Every other thought vanished.

Only the spreading decay remained.

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Additional Notes:

Firstly: Stelyn Sammer’s trauma was completely healed, this was done by a sequence 6 Hypnotist. They were able to completely cure her trauma and she’s able to live happily with her husband who also knows of this and has also been helped by the Hypnotist. This was already shown in a previous chapter but I felt I should reiterate it here again.

Secondly: I’ve changed my characters name from Cyril to Killian. It just felt like a better name to me.

Thirdly: Part 2 is already posted.