Netori: Reborn as the Human Aphrodisiac

(Very important chapter to understand upcoming events. Please don't skip! You'll break my cold heart)

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<Idol of Vanity (tyrant class): A talent and title reserved for the progenitors of the Great Demon clans, the Ba'al, just like the complete Wrathful God Fire, this ability comes straight from the Lord, granting its wielder a portion of the Lord's Essence.

The actual ability varies from one Ba'al to another—changing according to the wielder's personality. The host's Vanity enables him to copy the skills, mantras, abilities, and talents of all those he faced.

Note: Doesn't work on Inner Flames and the like. Certain abilities might exceed the limits of the host's body>

<Elixir of Eternal Life (tyrant class): A golden elixir stored in the host's abdomen. Refined with the Lord's tears, the Elixir of Eternal Life acts as a second heart, enabling the host to achieve miracles and grant a variety of physical boons powered by the Lord's Tears.

Note: Finite and limited supply. Alters the properties of the host's blood. Use with moderation>

<Blood Genesis (divine class): The mark of a Blood Noble, the Blood Flame is at the core of the Blood Aristocracy's rites, ceremonies, and abilities. The weakest Blood Flames start at the king class and the strongest peak at the divine class.

Yet compared to Inner Flames of the same level, Blood Flames are abnormally powerful. The more overpowered the bloodline, the more overpowered the Blood Flame.

Note: Only the first-generation Fylkirs possess divine class Blood Flames, with Blood Genesis being the strongest, shared only by Odoacer and the host.

Blood Genesis' authority over life and death makes even Gods envious—use with caution>

<Blood Potency: 18 years (neonate)

Note: In the Blood Aristocracy, age, and generation rank trump all.

Fledgling (0 to 10 years) < Neonate (10 to 50 years) < Praetor (50 to 500) < Consul (500 to 3,000), Elder (3,000 to 10,000) < Princeps (Over 10,000 years old) < Primogen (the first generation)>

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As the servants he inherited from Gaiseric assembled, Mithras reviewed his recent gains, figuring out the last details of his audacious plan.

About 2,000 more servants joined the ranks, all members of the Astalon workforce who'd pledged loyalty to Mithras and the Lord.

By now, all knew that to join the Human Aphrodisiac as a male follower, they had to accept the Lord in their life and sing the Lord's praise. Without that level of devotion, men couldn't join Mithras' banner.

Why? Pragmatism. With women, the Human Aphrodisiac had all the tools he needed to keep them loyal and devoted. But with men, how could he ensure they wouldn't turn traitors down the road and use his gifts to backstab him? The Drum of Praise was the only reliable answer. And the Drum only worked on ordinary folks devoted to the Lord.

This nonstop promotion of the Lord's name and gathering of devotees gained Mithras many friends in the Three-Way Church, and many more enemies. But since the Three-Way Church was made exclusively of mortals who on the surface praised the lord while in truth serving the Weaver, Mithras couldn't care less—sweeping his followers with a radiant smile.

"My OG followers of House Astalon, step forward," Mithras ordered, and as if prompted by irresistible divine power, the group of 8,000 realigned with the discipline of veteran soldiers, enabling the Astalon servants to line up at the vanguard of the formation.

All dropped to their knees, bowing to their prince.

"From artisan guilds to mercenary companies. From street bands to professional armies, gangs have existed from the dawn of time, their names and goals changing to reflect cultural shifts and the needs of their communities.

But before the meaning got twisted by the corrupt and crooked, gangs were simply an association of peers, united by mutual interests, with clear leadership, and a common goal. Protection, brotherhood, survival…made up the foundation of the original gangs.

The ideal might be lost to the new generation, but as a boy from South Side Rosaria—Ravenwood born and bred, I can neither let go nor forget…the ideals of my forefathers.

And today, I share that ideal with you—not on a bed of empty words, but with my flesh and blood as the offering…to cement our brotherhood," Mithras said and opened his mouth, his teeth extending into large draconic fangs as he bit into his arm, tearing through his own flesh!

Toughness was one of Mithras' most overpowered traits. His body already far more durable than the average Blood Longevity monster. But powered by a burst of tyrannical energies, Mithras' fangs ripped through his skin, making his incomparably precious blood gush forth.

A large cauldron appeared underneath, collecting Mithras' blood and mixing it with a translucent liquid. The mixture transmuted, becoming boiling red magma whose mere presence made the sky, earth, and trees restless.

The scent spread far and wide, and to say nothing of these ordinary folks, even a Golden Palace tier powerhouse such as Cassandra couldn't help but salivate at the scent, her body and soul convincing her…that inside that mixture hid…the secrets of divine power and immortality!

"For fate enabled us to meet before my prime, my story is yours as well. You are the first witnesses of my life: the Brothers of Mithras. Now arise as such, and let's take the world by storm.

All that we aim for we shall obtain. Threats to our peace and dreams we exterminate.

Nothing can stop us. No one stands in the way. For this brotherhood bound in my blood only has one final destination…" Here, Mithras raised his bloodied arm, his right index aiming at the sky as his voice rumbled throughout the heavens and earth:

"The peak!" The Prince declared, through these words kindling a surge of matchless fervor and infinite devotion in the hearts of his followers.

One after the other, they stepped forward, forming a perfect line and never breaking rank as they closed in on the cauldron.

But once they reached the searing container, standing face-to-face with the magmatic mixture, the horrifying power within left them all shellshocked.

At the end of the day, these were just ordinary people. They might not even get to see a third-class mantra in their life. So how could they stay composed before a force that clearly touched the divine?

"Drink and arise, not as the servants of the Astalon…but as the brothers of Mithras," Mithras ordered, instantly sweeping his brothers' doubts out of the way.

"My lord calls…and I answer," the first brother said, filling the chalice Mithras had summoned for him without fears…and drinking with gusto!

The moment next, the brother dropped dead—convulsing in a violent seizure!

But as Cassandra started wondering if Mithras hadn't underestimated the power of his blood, the man's spasms quieted. And after a moment of dreary silence, he stood up—going from a chubby 1.75m tall man to an imposing 1.88 monster, with a herculean frame and bulging muscles that rippled with crushing might!

A sanguine rose appeared on the man's shoulder, and his eyes turned scarlet red, with the slit pupils of the dragon race flashing in the middle.

"Ut'zraak, drak neil! Vitae…aeternia!" The first brother spoke the old tongue, and though Mithras didn't learn that language growing up…he understood the words instantly:

'My lord honors me! And my life is his!'

A gratifying pledge. And it is around those words that a new brotherhood would form—destined to bring the Great Blood Empire…to its natural conclusion.

The 7,999 followed the first brother's lead, drinking one after the other. Falling and arising…as the Brothers of Mithras.

But in the years to come, the world would give them another name. Simple yet sinister, and carrying with it the screeching cries of Mithras' enemies:

The Blood Disciples!