Netori: Reborn as the Human Aphrodisiac

In the beginning, there was the Lord. Then came the Weaver. In those days, only the two existed—sharing endless nothingness. But even in that setting, the Lord found ways to keep the distance. Never giving the Weaver a fair chance.

And so, what started as a wholesome and authentic affection devolved into a barbaric obsession. An obsession that shaped the lives of trillions across the ages. But as the Weaver influenced the world from afar, Mithras swept Marcus' Temple of Meditations—considering his options.

Aurelia faced him still, reeling from the nonstop blast of lewd pheromones. Meanwhile, Marcus stood by the altar. With three judges at his back, and a battalion of stern scholars a step behind. Many more joined the show, passing through the main entrance and lining up in the ever-expanding temple.

The Roman architecture and clothing style were too obvious to ignore. But given the setting, Mithras turned a blind eye. Likewise, the scholars and magistrates ignored Aurelia, focusing on Mithras as they reviewed the facts of his trial.

Mithras was now on trial.

Only the Lord possessed a Perfect Soul. Mithras had not yet reached that step, so while his body was virtually indestructible and could recover from any scenario, his soul was nowhere near that busted. Meaning that just like Aurelia, Mithras' soul was his weakness—in theory at least.

If Marcus managed to shake Mithras' beliefs or disrupt his inner peace, the Temple would deal Mithras' soul a murderous blow. If he failed, he died.

At least that's how it should be. But the Weaver tweaked the rules. Helping Marcus make his temple supremely biased.

"'Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars and see yourself running with them.' Mithras, as the Idol of the Sun, you more than anyone should understand the wisdom of these words. So why do you refuse to embrace them? Why do you endeavor to make the world more corrupt and decadent than it already is?' Marcus kicked off the trial. Challenging Mithras on his trail of debauched deeds.

"Am I?"

"You are."

"If you say so. Then I guess it's because it's fun." Mithras replied with a shrug, the straightforward and leisurely answer taking Marcus by surprise.

"What?"

"'It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live.'

Marcus, you're one of the most intriguing scholars produced by human aristocracy. My favorite professor made me read your Meditations about a hundred times. And when I started Flame Manipulation, those same Meditations helped me tremendously.

But as a man who's been addicted to opium since he became a Blood Noble, I'm surprised you can't see the value of self-interest and indulgence.

Then again, I guess the man who let the noble and faithful wife who'd followed him to EVERY single battle of his mortal life get dragged down and murdered by his political opponents…can't be a fan of my ways.

Poor gal. They didn't even spare her memory, using scholars like the ones around you to thrash the dignity of a dead woman with disgusting rumors.

Sad. A man is so fortunate to find himself a girl who will love him proper and stand by his side before the trials and tribulations that fate puts in his way. When that golden girl appears, a wise man will protect her.

Marcus, why did you not protect your golden girl?" Mithras asked in a downcast voice, his words hitting Marcus so hard that for a second, the Fylkir suffered a dizzy spell—teetering at the altar.

Mithras didn't care, and with a sinister smile, he donned his Fylkir armor—ambling at Marcus.

"Self-control is what separates humans from animals. You…are self-absorbed and obsessively decadent! Within 100 years, you will lead billions to normalize perversion and destroy our society!"

"First of all, you're a veteran opium addict. So don't you ever mention self-control before me again.

The nerve of this fool.

Second! Unless you've achieved the Highest Wisdom, some measure of ego and perversion will be necessary for your self-fulfillment. Don't believe me? Look around and let the world prove me right. Stay updated via m-v l|e'm,p y r

Marcus, I ain't trying to save the world. But I do plan to make it a better place for me. Me and the gals who make my heart throb. And if in the process I do end up making this world more decadent, quite frankly it's for the best. My decadence is fun and will make the world a festival of moans and cheers."

"You…you…are addicted to—"

"Yes, yes. Addicted to money. Impassioned with whoring. And chasing both while trolling fools along the way. I know, what is there not to like? Please don't hug me too tight I don't swing that way."

"You!"

"Money solves problems, Marcus. Lots of them. Start the list of problems without an answer with a price tag attached and you realize there aren't that many.

Death? There's a necromancer out there who'll solve it for the right price.

Love? You can buy it if you're clever with your zeros and know the old trick of 'Spend to Attract.'

Ugly mug? Time? For crying out loud, even time has a price tag. A man a market value, and you lecture me for chasing my zeroes?

You're the one who said, 'the only wealth you will keep forever is the wealth you've given away.' But Marcus, what can I give away if I'm broke?" Mithras asked with bass in his voice. Rolling his eyes as he restrained a laugh.

Unprepared for Mithras' rhetoric, Marcus fumbled for words. Breaking into a cold sweat as he tried to come up with a counter.

"'Money only becomes powerless when mortals don't have the answer. But so long as the answer lies in mortal hands, money will buy the way.'

Keep these words as your funeral eulogy and meditate on them in hell.

Marcus! Drul…ak'nul!" A storm of solar flames swept through the Temple of Meditations, immolating scholars and magistrates as Mithras' Majesty ripped through the floundering Marcus…and tore him to shreds!

The Solar Blood Field expanded, overwhelming Marcus' unstable Palace and sucking him in for the final act!

Here, one of the burning magistrates went from screaming to laughing out loud. His body enduring the flames while his peers turned into ashes.

"Hohoho! My goodness, why the rush? Mithras, haven't you killed enough people today? I know it's bloodsuckers but still…show some restraints," the magistrate said, speaking with a nauseating voice that Mithras recognized at the first syllable:

The Weaver's voice!

"You?"

"Me! But no, please don't mind me. You can decimate Marcus if you want to, I'm not trying to intervene. There's just…something that's been bugging me.

As you've tragically discovered, my Aurelian is an Aurelia. This begs the question. Since Aurelia is the crystallization of my obsession—my obsession for the Lord, why is he a 'she'?"

"You've never seen the Lord's face," Mithras replied immediately.

"Oh please. I'm the Architect of Creation and the Master of Destiny. Finding the rough details of the Lord's appearance is really not that hard for me.

Think Mithras. I've made Aurelia in the Lord's image. At least the faces and figures should be similar. Leading to the obvious conclusion:

Mithras, the Lord…is a woman," the Weaver declared, and as soon as Mithras heard those words, he entered a vegetative state—paralyzed by ancient memories that surged from within his soul!

---

"Mithras, you will abandon Vritra and take the Lord as your wife. The Lord will become the Weaver. The Weaver will become the Devil. And you…will become the Lord!

Complete the universe and decimate the five Wrathful Gods! Before the Final Iteration, the Wrathful Gods…must be wiped out!"