Netori: Reborn as the Human Aphrodisiac

'What…the hell is going on here? The Rite of Negation?

Am I supposed to believe that woman mastered the Rite of Negation…within a thousand years?' Confused by this absurd turn of events, Odoacer blanked out, his purple eyes trembling as he failed to comprehend how Akamana had managed to use an ability reserved for those who'd reached the absolute peak of the Dark Rites, unlocking the Power of Negation.

At the highest level, entities with broken abilities became commonplace. The Blood Gods, the Wrathful Gods, the Idols of Vanity, the Great Kings, and so on, all possessed some kind of overpowered ability that left unprepared enemies completely helpless.

And so, in the Higher Planes, all prestigious families and institutions taught some form of Negation Skill to their juniors. Or at least they tried to—failing more often than not. For negation skills often tapped into dark and occult forces that the average man couldn't mess with…less they devolved into mad and corrupt beasts.

And of all Negation Skills, the Rite of Negation unlocked through the Dark Rites ranked among the most busted—enabling the caster to outright disable their opponent's physical abilities and regeneration skills.

If not for Odoacer's regeneration skills being infinitely close to Perfection, the Fylkir's immortal life would have ended here. He'd just died in the hands of a junior—a woman—not once, but twice!

For the King of Kings, there could be no greater shame. His blood boiled with rage, but aware that a warrior could never lose his composure mid-battle, Odoacer suppressed his fury, reevaluating the situation.

'No. That's not possible. She is no doubt a master of the Dark Rites, but only an immortal body can shoulder the corruptive power of Negation.

She can't wield it. It's the dwarf. That thing…is a Demon King.' When the Fylkir's thoughts reached this point, he activated the Sensory Secret, scanning the demonic dwarf.

The result…left him shellshocked.

"Zagan…Preceptor and King of the Reincarnated Demon race. No wonder. Akamana di Angra…you dared to profane the corpse of a Great King? Your guts…fill me with admiration," Odoacer said, now realizing that Akamana not only managed to steal the corpse of a Great Demon King but also turned him into an undead servant.

Pure madness! Was the woman not worried that once the news spread, an entire race of superior beings would be aiming for her neck? Not only that, but just like Vel and the other Great Demon Kings, Zagan…was the son of a Ba'al!

Akamana was bold, but not insane. If not to save Menaka from Odoacer, she would have never taken that risk. The Grand Priestess would never admit it, but all on the scene knew…that she only went this far for her bestie's sake.

"Skilled and resourceful undead subordinates are a necromancer's best friend. And while most people are blinded by my Sid Manipulation skills, it is through the Dark Rites that I built my path to success.

So, if you think you can bully me in that area because of your teeny tiny bit of 'cursed blood'…you got another beatdown coming your way," Akamana said and snapped her fingers, conjuring a myriad of writhing shadows that arose from the ground, latching on Odoacer alongside the undead demon king.

The moment the shadows connected, Odoacer could see all the sins he'd ever committed flying past his eyes, repeating nonstop. The tears of his victims, the cries of their relatives, all tearing through the Fylkir's soul like the howl of a banshee!

The blood drained off his face, and as Odoacer's skin turned chalky-white, growing more haggard and emaciated by the second, the Fylkir closed his eyes, joining them in a prayer sign.

The sanguine altar came crashing down, firing a volley of scarlet flames and red lightning that hammered into the writhing shadows like divine punishment. The moment next, a burst of divine energy erupted from Odoacer's heart, reducing the remaining shadows into ashes.

Interestingly, this divine power didn't come from the Altar, but from the Fylkir's internal organs. And before Akamana could make sense of this feat, the Altar slammed into Odoacer, shrinking as it fused with his flesh and blood.

The moment next, Odoacer's armor turned into dust. A vertical scarlet wheel appearing at his back as horrifying waves of divine power flowed through his veins.

In that instant, the divine quality of Odoacer's body went through the roof, surpassing that of demigods like Belphegor, and getting dangerously close…to true divinity.

"Holy mother of cheats. Whose divine blood did you steal?" Only warriors with a large amount of divine blood in their veins could fuse with a divine artifact. So Akamana naturally concluded that Odoacer stole a god's blood.

However….

"Steal? Why would I steal something I was born with? You think the Weaver picked me to lead mankind because of my charisma or ambitions? Nonsense.

Since you're going to die anyway, I don't mind telling you…that the reason my powers transcend that of my siblings, is just that we do not have the same father.

In a moment of frenzied lust, the Wrathful God of War tricked and violated my mother, leaving her pregnant with me. He will never acknowledge us, but the Red God, Heruka...is my father. Mithras' grandfather. And the man I exist to destroy.

So, you see, Grand Priestess, we have a lot more in common than you'd like to admit. Just like you...I am the product of the monsters of my time," Odoacer said in a cold and deadpan tone, his hands morphing into crystalline claws as he lunged at the Grand Priestess.

Akamana had no time to process the news. The demonic dwarf reappeared at her side, the two joining hands to fire blasts of cursed energies at Odoacer, aiming to cripple his divine power.

It didn't work. And as Odoacer's divinity-charged claws were about to tear the Grand Priestess to shreds…a storm of divine power that went far beyond the Fylkir's took off at her back—bright violet flames shooting upward as Menaka stood up, the crumbled remains of her onyx treasure dropping towards the ground.

A dark-purple armor replaced the dragoness' dress, shining with solar rays as the illusory shape of a gargantuan dragon took shape in the sky.

Odoacer flew back, in a flash putting as much distance between Menaka and him as possible.

Still, a gaping hole now stood in his chest, and he dropped to one knee. Smoldering smoke oozing from the wound as it struggled to heal. The Fylkir gnawed his teeth, a mix of pain and rage twisting his face as he stared at Menaka.

But though Odoacer had just suffered a disastrous blow, the smile on Akamana's face had vanished—replaced by a sorrowful look.

"I wish it didn't have to come to that," Akamana said, lowering her head as Menaka appeared at her right.

"It's okay. It's my fight anyway." Menaka replied with a smile, and raised her right hand, summoning a colossal greatsword engraved with a dark-purple dragon: the Sword of Vritra!

The moment that dreadful weapon appeared, Odoacer paled. A look of disbelief on his face as his eyes shifted between the sword and his ex wife.

"Menaka…you're willing to go that far to end my quest? Why? Because of Ishtar? What's so wrong with having her make a temporary sacrifice for the glory of our house? I'm making her a goddess, not tossing her into a fiery pit! At the end of it all, I will make it all right!

Why can't you trust me and follow my lead as always?

It's you…Akamana! 12 years of absence was all it took for your corrupt influence to ruin my perfect wife!" Odoacer snapped, blood mist oozing from his pores as his skin took a ruby shade, and large pairs of flesh wings emerged from his back.

Menaka didn't mind. Confident in her ability to stop Odoacer, or anyone for that matter. For with that armor and sword in hand, she could tap into…all the powers of Vritra!

Even her father might not be able to defeat her in this form, so why should she be afraid of Odoacer?

But as the two were about to engage in a final murderous dance…

"Enough." An ancient and majestic voice rumbled from the heavens, stopping both Odoacer and Menaka dead in their tracks.

In that instant, both Menaka and Akamana had the same sensation, their battle instincts telling them to run as soon as possible.

'It's him.' Akamana recognized the voice's owner, and as the Grand Priestess' heart fell prey to fear and terror, a scarlet flame pillar dropped from the heavens, landing before Odoacer.

The sparks scattered, revealing a slender young man with short white hair and magenta eyes—he too dressed in the scarlet and gold armor of the Fylkirs. Akamana only saw his back, yet she took a step back, directly casting a mantra to seal herself and Menaka in an isolated dimension.

The newcomer noticed the move, silently impressed by Akamana's wit. However, he wasn't here for her—focused on Odoacer.

"Big brother, you are losing your mind for a woman. I don't recognize you. Menaka might have broken her ties with the Holy Balmaria, but she remains the Dragon King's daughter. What are you hoping to accomplish by drawing the attention of Balmaria now?

Galahad would be trouble enough. But do you need Agravain to kill us all before you remember that the world's strongest…is still the Dragon King?" The newcomer didn't mince his words, addressing Odoacer in such a bold and direct way that Menaka wondered where his confidence was coming from.

More impressive still, Odoacer took the critic in silence, balling his fists and looking sideways as if ashamed of himself. Akamana, however, wasn't surprised.

For if Sucuria was no doubt Odoacer's strongest general, it was this man who built the Empire with him. Nicknamed the King of Majesty for his ability to alter life with words alone. A level that even his big brother couldn't reach:

The Blood Monarch, Trajan!

"I lost my temper…and disgraced myself. This…will not happen again," Odoacer said, and satisfied with his brother's response, Trajan looked at the hole in his chest.

"Heal," he ordered, and to Menaka's shock, the wound she'd inflicted with the most ruinous force of the Spiritual World…healed instantly.

The moment next, four additional figures appeared around Odoacer. Their suffocating auras filling the air with the scent of war, blood, and gore!

These were the six men Mithras had to crush: the Fylkirs!

Without further ado, Odoacer turned heels, vanishing alongside his loyal subordinates. Only Trajan stayed behind, giving Menaka and Akamana a sidelong look.

"Grand Priestess, the ruins of this city will now serve as the border between our domain and yours. Take care of my nephew. But make no mistake. At the end of it all, Mithras will stand with his blood.

As for you, Menaka, our house has never allowed its women to run amok. You will return where you belong: by my brother's side.

Till then…enjoy your rebellion," leaving those words behind, Trajan left as well, vanishing in a swirl of scarlet flames.