Noon sun beat down on the village square like a hammer on hot iron, turning the air thick with dust and the scent of fresh sweat. Damien stood at the center of it all, a makeshift throne of stacked crates serving as his vantage point.
The survivors moved around him in orchestrated patterns hauling stones, pounding stakes into earth for new foundations, sorting through rubble for anything salvageable. Eleven had become thirteen that morning when two more stragglers wandered in from the eastern woods: a burly hunter named Garrick with a scarred face and a quiet woman called Sylva, her hands marked by the green stains of an herbalist.
He had welcomed them with the same loving authority he used on Rosalynn, warm words that hid the steel beneath.
"You come to us broken," he had said, voice soft and compelling. "But under my guidance, you will mend. You will build. You will belong."
They had nodded eagerly, eyes glazing slightly as though his gaze alone pulled them into agreement. Damien noted it then, a subtle shift in their expressions, a willingness that went beyond mere survival instinct. He filed the observation away, turning his attention to the tasks at hand.
"Tobin," he called now, pointing to the old man who supervised the timber stacking. "Take the boys and mark out the perimeter for a palisade. Use the straightest poles. We fortify before we expand."
Tobin bowed his head. "As you command, Damien."
To Mara and Lira, who knelt sorting seeds into neat piles: "Plant the hardy grains along the southern slope. Water them twice daily. Our stores must grow with our numbers."
Mara looked up, chestnut braids swinging, her doe eyes shining with something more than obedience. "Yes, my lord. We'll make the earth bloom for you."
He smiled at her slow and approving, then he felt that same strange pull again. Her cheeks flushed deeper, and she went back to her work with renewed vigor.
Elara carried water buckets back and forth from the stream, her thin frame straining but never complaining. When she passed close, Damien caught her arm gently.
"You've done well," he murmured. "Rest a moment. Tell me about yourself."
She froze, eyes wide and trembling. "I… I don't have much to tell, my lord. Just a girl from the mill family. But… sometimes I see things. Before they happen. Flashes. Like dreams awake."
His interest sharpened. A special ability. The boy's memories whispered of such things rare gifts scattered among the folk, born from ancient bloodlines or whims of the spirits. Not everyone had them, but those who did often hid them, fearing envy or worse.
"Show me," he said softly, locking his gaze on hers.
Elara blinked, then nodded as though compelled. She closed her eyes, breathed deep, and shuddered. "I see… walls rising here. Tall and strong. People coming from the hills. Women with pointed ears. Danger following them. But you… you stand at the gate, sword in hand, and the danger breaks like waves on rock."
When she opened her eyes again, they were hazy, almost worshipful.
Damien felt a warmth bloom in his chest not just satisfaction, but power. Raw and untamed. It spread through his veins like liquid fire, strengthening his limbs, sharpening his senses. He realized then: his words, his eyes, they mesmerized. Compelled obedience. Bent wills to his own.
He tested it immediately.
"Elara," he whispered, leaning close. "You will serve me faithfully. You will tell no one of your visions unless I ask. And tonight… you will come to the cottage alone."
Her lips parted on a soft gasp. "Yes… my lord. Anything."
She hurried away, but not before he saw the flush creep down her neck.
Rosalynn watched from the cottage doorway, silver hair tied back with a strip of cloth, her lush form clad only in a simple apron as he had commanded that morning. She stirred a pot over the outdoor fire, preparing stew for the midday meal, but her emerald eyes never left him. When he approached, she set the ladle aside and threw herself into his arms.
"My son," she breathed, pressing close. "You command them like a god among mortals. Mother's heart swells with pride."
He kissed her deeply, hands sliding down to cup the soft curves beneath the apron.
"My beautiful Mother," he murmured against her lips. "They build for us. For the kingdom that will be ours."
She nodded fervently, but a shadow crossed her face when her gaze flicked to Mara, who still stole glances their way.
"Those girls… they look at you with hunger, my son. It makes Mother's blood boil. No one should gaze upon you that way but me."
He stroked her cheek, voice tender. "They will serve, Mother. But you are first. Always first. Your son promises."
The words soothed her, but the yandere fire lingered in her eyes, a possessive blaze he cherished.
By evening, the first signs of structure emerged: a cleared square, foundation trenches dug, the beginnings of a palisade wall. Damien gathered them all around the central fire, sharing the stew Rosalynn had prepared. He spoke of grander things, fields that would yield endless harvests, homes that would stand against storms, alliances with distant realms. His voice wove through the air like silk threads, pulling them closer, making their eyes shine with borrowed dreams.
And as he spoke, he felt the mesmerism strengthen. It was no mere trick; it was a power awakening inside him, tied to something deeper. The boy's memories offered no explanation, but Victor Kane's calculative mind pieced it together: this world held magic in rare souls, and his reincarnation had unlocked one of the rarest.
When the survivors dispersed to their makeshift shelters in the barn, Elara lingered as commanded. She approached the cottage with hesitant steps, her torn shawl clutched tight.
"You called for me, my lord?"
Damien nodded from the doorway, Rosalynn at his side.
"Come inside, Elara. We have much to discuss."
The girl entered, eyes downcast. The firelight danced on her pale skin, highlighting the youthful innocence that stirred his darker appetites.
"Tell me more of your visions," he said softly, stepping close. His gaze locked on hers, and he felt the mesmerism flow, warm, insistent, bending her will like soft clay.
She trembled. "They come unbidden… glimpses of what might be. I saw you stronger than any man, my lord. Surrounded by women who adore you. But danger too… shadows from the north."
He reached out, tilted her chin up.
"You have a gift. A special ability, born in your blood. Few in this world possess such things, healers who mend with a touch, warriors with unnatural strength, seers like you. And now… you will share it with me."
Her breath quickened. "How, my lord?"
He smiled, slow and loving not for her, but for the power she represented.
"By giving yourself to me. Completely."
Rosalynn stiffened beside him, but he squeezed her hand reassuringly.
"Mother," he whispered. "Watch. See how your son grows stronger. For us."
She nodded, though her eyes burned with jealous fire. "Yes, my son. For us."
Elara's cheeks flushed under the mesmerism's pull. She nodded without resistance, letting the shawl fall. Beneath, her body was slender and untouched a virgin's grace, small breasts budding like spring flowers, hips narrow but promising.
Damien drew her to the pallet, laying her down with gentle hands. Rosalynn knelt nearby, watching with trembling lips.
"You're so young," he murmured to Elara, voice laced with false tenderness. "So pure. You will cherish this gift."
He undressed slowly, letting her eyes widen at the sight of his aroused form. Then he covered her body with his own, kissing her neck, her collarbone, whispering praises that echoed those he gave Rosalynn.
"You feel like dawn's first light," he breathed. "Open for me, Elara. Let me claim your innermost warmth."
She gasped as he positioned himself at her silken entrance, then pushed forward slowly. The tightness was exquisite, a velvet grip that yielded inch by inch. She cried out softly, nails digging into his back, but the mesmerism turned pain to pleasure.
"Oh… my lord…" she whimpered.
He moved with deliberate rhythm, each thrust deepening the connection. And as their bodies joined in ancient dance, he felt it the surge. Strength flooded his muscles, sharper vision pierced the dim light, and flashes of future glimpses danced behind his eyes. Her ability copied into him, woven into his soul through the act of union. Every time he spilled his essence, he grew stronger, absorbing what made her special.
Rosalynn watched, tears streaming, but her hand slipped between her own thighs, circling the aching heat there.
"My son… so powerful…" she moaned. "Take her gift. Make it yours."
He quickened, driving deeper, until Elara shattered around him body clenching like a storm wave, crying his name.
He followed, pouring his gift deep inside her, the release amplifying the transfer. Visions exploded in his mind: elven refugees approaching, bandits regrouping, a dragon's shadow on distant peaks.
When it ended, Elara lay spent, eyes adoring.
"You… you took my sight," she whispered in awe. "But I feel it in you now. Stronger."
Damien kissed her forehead. "You serve me now. As part of this villange. Go rest in the barn. Tell no one."
She obeyed without question, dressing and slipping into the night.
Rosalynn crawled to him immediately, possessive hunger blazing.
"My son," she hissed, straddling his lap. "She was nothing compared to Mother. Let me remind you."
He pulled her close, entering her fully in one smooth motion. The familiar velvet depths welcomed him, tighter now from his newfound strength.
"You are everything," he whispered lovingly. "My beautiful Mother. Feel how much stronger your son is because of her. But this… this belongs to you."
She rode him fiercely, moaning "My son… my only son…" as jealousy fueled her passion.
He met her thrust for thrust, copying nothing from her for she had no special ability but growing stronger still, the act itself amplifying his core.
When they climaxed together, spilling essence and cries into the night, he saw more visions: his kingdom rising, harem swelling with gifted women elves with arcane talents, beasts with primal fury, spirits bound in flesh.
The power was his now. Mesmerism to command. Union to absorb.
And the world would bend before him.
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