Arthur lay on the floor. The green fluid dried on his skin. It felt cold. He shivered. His new body was incredibly weak. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. His joints ached. He looked at the empty bio-pod. The glass was cracked. The poison Vanya gave him was supposed to kill his soul quietly. She wanted him to die in his sleep. She wanted it to look like his weak body just gave out.
He stood up slowly. He used the wall for support. The wall was made of smooth, white bone. It was not concrete or steel. It was actual bone grown in a lab. This entire palace was a biological nightmare.
He walked to a mirror in the corner of the room. He wiped the condensation off the glass. He stared at his new face.
Jin. The seventh prince.
The kid looked pathetic. He had pale skin and dark bags under his eyes. His shoulders were narrow. There was no muscle on his frame. In a family of genetically enhanced monsters, he looked like a sick Victorian child.
Arthur touched his own cheek. He felt his pulse. It was fast. He was alive. But for how long? Death was dancing on his head. It was a constant, heavy pressure. On Earth, he worried about late shipments and angry clients. The worst thing that could happen was getting fired. Here, getting fired meant someone tearing his spine out.
Vanya thought he was dead. But soon, a servant would come to check on him. If they found him walking around, word would get back to her. She would realize the poison failed. She would just send someone with a knife next time.
He needed a plan. He needed to treat this like a hostile corporate takeover. He was at the bottom of the food chain. He had zero assets. He had zero allies. He only had his brain.
He spent the next three days locked in his private quarters. He locked the heavy metal door from the inside. He told the guards in the hallway he was cultivating. He told them not to disturb him. It was a common excuse in the palace. People locked themselves away for months to absorb Aether. The guards did not care. They thought he was trash anyway.
Those three days were brutal. Arthur had to map out his new reality. He sat cross-legged on the floor and sifted through Jin's memories. It was like reading a massive, chaotic filing cabinet in his head.
He learned about the Emperor. The old man was an Earth Immortal. A walking god. But he was rotting from a genetic disease. He was bedridden. That was why Vanya made her move. She was clearing the board before the old man died.
He learned about the Cultivation system. The Gene-Dao. People breathed in mutagenic energy to rewrite their DNA. Jin was stuck at Foundation Level 3. His body violently rejected any beast genes he tried to absorb. That was why everyone called him trash.
Arthur also had to learn how to be Jin. This was the hardest part.
If he walked out of this room acting like a confident, thirty-two-year-old logistics manager, people would notice. In this world, soul possession was a known threat. High-level cultivators sometimes stole the bodies of weaker people. If his siblings suspected a foreign soul was driving Jin's body, they would burn him alive just to be safe.
He had to play the part perfectly. He had to be the trash prince.
Arthur stood in front of the mirror for hours. He practiced his posture. Arthur naturally stood straight. He had good posture from years of sitting in ergonomic office chairs. Jin slouched. Jin kept his head down. Jin made himself small to avoid getting hit by his older brothers.
Arthur forced his spine to curve. He let his shoulders slump forward. It felt unnatural. It made his back hurt. But he held the pose.
He practiced his facial expressions. Arthur usually kept a blank, neutral face. It was his poker face for business meetings. Jin was different. Jin was bitter. He sneered when he was angry. He looked terrified when he was intimidated.
Arthur practiced looking terrified. He widened his eyes. He made his bottom lip tremble. He hated it. It felt humiliating. But it was necessary. Pride was useless. Survival was the only metric that mattered.
On the third day, someone knocked on the door.
It was old Varus. He was the head servant of Jin's quarters. He had served Jin's late mother. He knew Jin better than anyone else in the palace. This was the ultimate test.
Arthur took a deep breath. He slumped his shoulders. He put a bitter scowl on his face. He unlocked the door.
Varus stepped inside. He held a tray of food. It was synthetic nutrient paste. The cheap stuff. Even the servants ate better meat than Jin did.
"My Prince," Varus said. He bowed his head slightly. "You have been in here for three days. You need to eat."
Varus looked at him closely. His old, grey eyes scanned Jin's face.
Arthur felt a spike of adrenaline. He suppressed his natural urge to politely say thank you. Instead, he channeled Jin's resentment.
He slapped the tray out of the old man's hands.
The metal tray clattered against the bone floor. The grey nutrient paste spilled everywhere.
"I told you not to disturb me!" Arthur yelled. His voice cracked perfectly. He sounded petulant. He sounded weak. "The medicine Vanya gave me made me sick. Everything in this palace makes me sick. Get out."
Varus did not look angry. He just looked sad. He looked at Jin with deep pity. It was the same look you gave a dying dog.
"As you wish, My Prince," Varus said quietly. He bent down and picked up the empty tray. He left the room without another word.
The heavy door clicked shut.
Arthur let out a long breath. He dropped the angry act. He stood up straight again and rubbed his face. It worked. Varus bought it completely. He thought Jin was just throwing another pathetic tantrum. The cover was intact. He was safe for now.
But he knew he was living on borrowed time. The Emperor was still holding on. The palace was a powder keg. Everyone was just waiting for the match to be lit.
Arthur spent the fourth day trying to figure out his own body.
He sat on the floor and tried to meditate. He followed the instructions from Jin's memories. He focused on his breathing. He tried to pull the Aether from the air into his lungs.
The air in Chimeria was heavy. It tasted metallic. As he breathed deep, he felt a strange energy enter his chest. It moved through his veins like cold water.
Jin's memories said this process was supposed to hurt. It was supposed to feel like swallowing broken glass. That was why Jin could never advance past Level 3. His body always fought the energy.
But Arthur felt no pain.
The cold energy settled in his stomach. It felt calm. It felt pure. He did not understand it yet. But he knew something was different. Vanya's poison had burned away his soul, but it had also acted like a violent chemical flush. It wiped his genetic slate clean. He was empty. He was ready to be filled.
He did not have time to test it further.
Night fell on the fourth day. The bio-luminescent moss on the ceiling dimmed to a dark blue. Arthur lay on his bed. He stared at the ceiling. He was trying to calculate his next move. He needed an ally. He needed resources. He needed a way to get out of the palace before the war started.
Then, the floor vibrated.
It was a deep, physical tremor. It shook the heavy bone walls of his room. It rattled his teeth.
A second later, the sound hit him.
It was a massive, deafening chime. It sounded like a church bell the size of a mountain. It echoed across the entire capital city. It was a sound of absolute finality.
Arthur sat up fast. The blood drained from his face.
The Death Knell.
The old man was dead. The Emperor of the Apex Empire had finally stopped breathing.
The rules of the game just changed. The waiting period was over. The genetic purge was officially sanctioned. The strongest siblings were now free to butcher the weak ones to consolidate their claim to the throne.
Arthur scrambled off the bed. He looked around his room. He had no armor. He had no weapons. He had a decorative bone knife on his desk. It was dull. It was meant for opening letters. He grabbed it anyway. He held it tight in his right hand.
He backed away from the door. He pressed his back against the far wall.
Death was not just dancing on his head anymore. Death was walking down the hallway.
He heard heavy, synchronized footsteps outside his door. The guards who usually stood there did not shout. They did not try to stop whoever was coming. They were probably paid off. Or they were already dead.
The heavy metal door did not open. It exploded.
The reinforced hinges snapped like dry twigs. The door slammed into the floor, kicking up a cloud of grey dust.
Three massive figures stepped through the doorway.
They were huge. They were easily seven feet tall. They wore heavy armor made of black insect chitin. Their arms were grotesquely swollen. Thick, serrated mantis blades grew directly out of their forearms in place of hands. Their eyes were multifaceted and glowed a dull, angry orange in the dark room.
Assassins from the Iron-Carapace Brotherhood. The First Prince's personal butchers.
They stepped into the room. They spread out, blocking any chance of escape. They looked at Arthur. They did not see a threat. They saw a target practice dummy.
Arthur tightened his grip on the small letter opener. It was a pathetic gesture. He was a Foundation Level 3 human holding a blunt knife. These men were Core Formation monsters. They could cut him in half before he even blinked.
His corporate logic kicked in. It analyzed the situation in a fraction of a second.
Threat level: Critical.
Assets available: None.
Probability of survival: Zero percent.
This was it. He survived the poison just to get chopped into pieces three days later. It was a bad joke. He braced himself for the pain. He refused to close his eyes. If he was going to die again, he was going to watch it happen.
The lead assassin raised his mantis blade. The serrated edge caught the blue light of the moss. He took a heavy step forward. He prepared to swing.
But the blade never came down.
The shadows in the corner of the room detached from the wall, and Nyx stepped forward.