Netori: Reborn as the Human Aphrodisiac

The moment the Black Dragon Stone collapsed, a crumple of dark metallic powder dropped from Menaka's fist, becoming a veil of malignant energies that laced the dragoness' figure.

Dark-purple heavy armor fell on her shoulders, followed by a colossal greatsword whose coal-colored blade reflected the corpses of ancient beasts.

The ominous set's descent seized the Fate Gods' attention. Their eyes stretching at the realization that Vritra's Armaments had appeared in the Mortal Plane.

Sargon and Ahurani, a set of legendary armaments forged by the Weaver, tempered by the Sun, and blessed by the Lord as Vritra's wedding gift.

Eons later, Vritra would use that same sword and armor to hack down the Weaver's only begotten son. Then challenged the Lord. Managing the impossible feat of wounding the supreme one!

Vritra is gangsta.

Menaka didn't dream of such feats. But at the very least, she dared say the Spiritual World didn't have anyone who could defeat her in this form.

One on one, that is!

Tongues of violet flames coiled up Menaka's armor plates. Becoming a smoldering blaze as the most berserk of Wrathful God Fires erupted at maximum power! In that instant, Menaka's aura dwarfed even the six deities, forcing their leader to step forward and bear the brunt of her pressure.

"Occasionally, I forget you are also a demigoddess. Yet that doesn't explain why you're so compatible with the Black Dragon Stones. What kind of austerities did you perform that a dead deity is trying so hard for you?

I'm…intrigued." In a whirl of sanguine flames, Trajan's Abomination appeared at Menaka's side, hands folded as his Blood-Smelting Art operated in silence—sinking under the surface and spreading across the whole city.

Drakneil and three fellow Abominations stood a step behind. Their eyes locked on the Fate Gods.

"Trajan? Or should I call you Trajan's Abomination? Feels redundant. I cannot stand redundancy," Menaka ignored the Abomination's probes. Her jab putting a smile on his face.

"The main quest of an Abomination's life is to steal the original's existence. I have completed my main quest. So, I suppose there's no harm…in calling me Trajan," spoken like a proper thief, Trajan's words echoed like nature's will. Sounding so natural that the listener could find no reason to argue.

"Trajan it is then."

"My Lady honors me. While my prince crosses his tribulation, allow me to assist you with this trial of your own," Trajan said and stepped forward. The Muk'Bal stadium vibrating from top to bottom as pillars of sanguine flames billowed from the earth, sealing the stadium in a dome of blood fire.

[Divine Blood Reconstruction]

Trajan's Blood Smelting Art got to work, restructuring the Muk'Bal stadium to fuse it with his Blood Colosseum.

The Brothers and Sisters of Mithras lined up in the seats, standing shoulder to shoulder with blood knights and warghests that stirred for a gory feast.

"Trajan. You should have become a deity. But instead your name will live on in infamy. Shame. We were looking forward to your ascension to our temple," the enemy general, an armored colossus of exceptional divine power, said.

If the winged heavy armor and spiked helmet were not spoiler enough, the silver stars shining in his eyes left no doubt to his identity:

An Arbiter of the Third Temple—the group of deities tasked to write the destinies of mortals!

"Quite the contrary. Now attached to the Sun, my name is destined for the Hall of Fame," Trajan clapped back. And in that same breath, the Altar of the Blood God, previously stolen from Hadubrangr by Mithras, appeared at his back. Its divine power amplifying the battle prowess of the Colosseum's 6,000 constructs.

The Mithraic camp's momentum had never been stronger. The confidence in their eyes making the Arbiter scowl in disgust.

"The mediocrity of the mortal plane makes you forget your place. I am a God. A God hailing from the Divine Line of Marduk. Your duty is to kneel and beg for Lord Marduk's mercy, not stay defiant in the face of certain death." The Arbiter made a bold statement. But while most on the scene couldn't make sense of his words' implications, Vel and Menaka both spaced out, shaken by the weight of that name.

Of "Lord Marduk."

"Marduk…as in the Weaver? You…are a member of the Weaver's house?"

"Indeed. Now behold and die. This…is power!" The Arbiter clenched his fists, knees flexing as the full might of his divine power erupted in torrential waves. The colosseum lost its sanguine shades, altered into a gloomy gray as hundreds of blood knights, warghests and even brothers of Mithras disintegrated instantly! Their existences wholly wiped out…by the Power of Fate!

A sense of terror fell immediately. The brothers and sisters of Mithras reeling at the realization that any moment now…they could vanish for good. Not even allowed a chance at an afterlife!

"Lord Nabu, you are too noble to lose your temper for such small fries. Please restrain yourself," a subordinate deity said, reminding Nabu that he was losing his composure for lesser beings.

"What now? Do you still have the heart to face the Fate Pantheon? Sure you got the numbers on your side. Thousands against hundreds. Yet we all know how this will end. With your souls crushed and your lives forfeit.

It petrifies you…and it should. I wrote your forefathers' fates. Your grandparents worshipped my altars. And even your progenitors…all bowed to my name.

Gods cannot lose to mortals. For that…is Our Will." The moment the words "Our Will" crossed Nabu's mouth, from Vel'Asha to the weakest Mithraic crewmate, all felt an impossible weight press on their shoulders for a split second.

The Abominations felt nothing—protected by their lack of soul. Still, Trajan could tell that Nabu's performances had a catastrophic impact on the troops' morale—making the brothers and sisters paralyzed from fright.

At the end of the day, those people were originally all servants. Elevated by Mithras' Perfect Blood to the ranks of country-toppling warriors. With their backgrounds and upbringing, how could they stay composed before the divine?

But as Trajan tried to come up with the words to restore the troops' confidence, where no one expected her, Ishtar stepped forward. Putting herself at the front with a series of graceful steps.

Her irresistible cyan eyes swept the audience, reaching the souls of brothers and sisters.

"If you believe the scriptures…Nabu was punished by the Weaver for a Transgression, reduced from Great God to Minor God a 100,000 years ago.

This means that while now reduced to the 12th level of Embryonic Wisdom, with a Sid Level of 7,000,000, Nabu used to be…an Imperfect Brahman." Ishtar started, and if before the brothers just stood like idle stones, their knees now buckled—eyes almost popping out.

Imperfect Brahman, the demarcation line between the great and the rest. Those who reached that step were recognized as hegemonic powerhouses wherever they went. Their words and deeds impacting myriad lives.

If that god used to be an Imperfect Brahman…then there was only one man in the Spiritual World who could defeat him. What was Ishtar trying to accomplish by releasing such devastating news?

But as Trajan was losing it, sister Ishtar pressed on.

"Fate is one of the most ruinous forces in existence—so overbearing that even gods are not safe from its touch. Most of you didn't even know what you're dealing with. Yet instinctively, you all gave up. Why? Because you're facing the Power of Fate.

I cannot in good conscience ask a man to defy destiny. There's no harm in surrendering…is what I'd like to say, but your boss' house is in danger. If you don't get a grip, at least half of us will be dead by the time Mithras returns.

More most likely." Ishtar didn't mince her words, speaking with such a compelling bluntness that even Trajan blanked out—listening like the rest.

"Though gathered through distinct paths, the men and women on this side of the Muk'Bal field are all united by one thing: my brother's smirk.

My brother is coming back. Can you imagine the look on his face when he comes back to the corpses of his most beloved piled up on the sidewalk?

You can. And you can't stand it. The very thought of letting him down sickens you. As it should! There is no master and servant here! Mithras' beloved are your beloved, his relatives your relatives, his house your house!

And Ishtar, your big sister!

Your house cannot survive without your sacrifice. So now your big sister is humbly asking you…to forget your lives! Abandon your sense of fear! And rip those dogs to shreds!

Mortals can't kill gods? So what?! My brother's blood flows through your veins! It is gods who should look up to you—not the other way around!

This is the Mortal Plane! Your turf! They're putting on a brave front and trying to crush your will because they know that once you go all out they stand no fucking chance!

Will you let them have their way? I don't think so! Unleash yourselves! Shatter their souls!

If at any point you feel you can't hold on, raise your eyes and you will see me at the frontline, slicing up those who would dare to deny us our dreams!" Ishtar bellowed! Her voice rumbling throughout the Colosseum and shaking all across the field!

What Ishtar accomplished on this day would become a feat of such epic proportions that the retelling of the event would keep the Higher Planes busy for years to come.

The brothers and sisters trembled, unable to control the waves of excitement flooding their hearts and souls! Guttural roars answered Ishtar's call! Trails of colorful flames that reminded of Mithras' Solar Genesis coiling up the brothers' frames!

Ishtar spun. Facing the Arbiters with a look so cold and suffocating that Nabu subconsciously unfolded his arms—stepping back till he butted into a subordinate.

"Huh?" The ancient deity had never been more confused by himself. But when the Violet Flame of the Wrathful God Fire erupted from Ishtar's form, becoming a pillar of tyrannical divine power, Nabu suddenly realized…that he might have underestimated the dangers of this assignment.
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Tears soaked Menaka's cheeks. Never in her life had she felt more complacent—blessed and honored to have given birth…to such an outstanding woman.

Mithras' Purple Mantle replaced Ishtar's dress, pairing with her divine power that geysered upward—shrinking the pressure of Nabu's aura while blessing the brothers and sisters with a boon of Violet Flames!

"Brothers of Mithras…forward," Ishtar extended her right hand, and the troops answered—pressing forth with a burst of wrathful fire!

Yes, that's it. Right here—this image! The sight of 3,000 berserkers charging with reckless abandon into a cohort of gods and divine beasts! It's here, ripping through the entrails of Destiny Beasts that the Brothers of Mithras would earn their moniker. Baptized and reborn…as the Blood Disciples!