"If I cut your throat right now, will your royal blood turn to black mud before it hits the floor?"
Luigi whispered the words into the heavy, suffocating silence of the private chamber. His hand hovered mere inches above Prince Michael’s exposed neck. The skin there pulse with a faint, rhythmic heartbeat, a steady reminder of the life that had stolen everything from him. Michael lay motionless, deep in a chemically induced slumber, completely oblivious to the phantom standing over his bed. The air in the room smelled of expensive myrrh and the metallic tang of residual aether energy. Luigi squeezed his fingers, his dirty, broken nails digging into his own palms until he felt the sharp sting of pain. The urge to plunge a blade into that throat was a roaring fire in his chest. It would be so easy to end it tonight, to let the blood spill and run away into the shadows of the lower sectors.
"The system detects a massive spike in host adrenaline," a cold, mechanical voice echoed directly inside his mind, sounding as if someone were standing right next to him. "Warning. Immediate termination of the target will trigger the palace wide security array within three seconds. Your current physical vessel cannot survive the escape."
Luigi let out a low, bitter laugh, his chest heaving under his ragged servant tunic. "Do you think I fear their guards, Devourer? I have already died once. Giving up this stolen flesh means nothing to me if I can drag him to hell with me."
"Your soul energy is currently bound to this vessel," the voice replied instantly, its tone devoid of any human empathy. "If this body perishes before the neural reconstruction is complete, your consciousness will dissolve into the void. Is that the vengeance you desired?"
Luigi stared down at Michael’s handsome, arrogant face. Even in sleep, the prince wore a mask of absolute superiority. The sight made Luigi's stomach twist with absolute revulsion. He looked at his own hands, the hands of Boru, the low caste slave he now inhabited. They were calloused, scarred, and stained with the filth of the palace floor. The contrast was a painful reminder of what he had lost. He was no longer the proud prince of his past, he was a ghost trapped in a servant's skin.
"No," Luigi muttered, his voice dropping to a harsh rasp. "A quick death is too merciful for him. He needs to lose everything first. He needs to see his kingdom fall apart piece by piece."
"Then you must choose," the system stated calmly. "Flee now into exile and live as a broken fugitive, or accept the mark of the shadow. Become the servant. Infiltrate the deepest layers of the palace. Destroy them from within their own walls."
Luigi closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of the room. He could hear the distant patter of rain against the crystalline windows of the high tower. The sound was rhythmic, almost like the ticking of a clock counting down his remaining choices. If he left now, he would be free, but he would be powerless. He would spend the rest of his days hiding in the mud, watching his enemies celebrate their stolen victory.
"I will not run," Luigi said, opening his eyes, which flashed with a dangerous, heterochromatic light. "I choose the shadow. I will become the most loyal dog this palace has ever seen, until the day I bite through their throats."
"Choice confirmed," the mechanical voice resonated, vibrating through his bones. "The Devourer System is locking your neural signature to the servant caste database. Suppressing original silver blood aura now."
A sudden, agonizing heat flared in Luigi's chest, making him gasp for air. He forced himself to remain silent, gripping the bedpost to keep from collapsing to the floor. The pain felt like liquid fire pouring through his veins, burning away the last remnants of his royal pride and replacing it with the cold, hard resolve of a assassin. He could feel the system rewriting his energy patterns, masking his true identity beneath the dull, unremarkable presence of Boru.
"The suppression is complete," the voice reported as the pain slowly subsided into a dull ache. "You are now invisible to the palace high tier scanners. Prince Michael is stirring. Prepare your demeanor."
Luigi immediately shifted his posture. He slumped his shoulders, lowered his head, and let his arms hang limply at his sides. The fierce, vengeful prince vanished, replaced instantly by the timid, submissive slave.
Michael groaned softly, his long eyelashes fluttering open as the heavy blankets shifted. He rubbed his temples, his eyes clouded with the lingering effects of the sleeping draft. "Boru? Is that you standing there?"
"Yes, Your Highness," Luigi replied, his voice trembling with a perfectly fabricated terror. "I was only checking the incense burners, milord. I did not mean to disturb your royal rest."
Michael sat up slowly, casting a cold, dismissive glance at the servant. "You are a creepy creature, always lurking in the dark. Did anyone teach you how to move like a normal human?"
"Forgive me, Your Highness," Luigi said, dropping to his knees and pressing his forehead against the cold stone floor. "My joints are stiff from the winter dampness. I will be more careful."
"Get up," Michael snapped, waving his hand dismissively. "Pour me some water. My throat feels like it is filled with ash. This headache is getting worse every single day."
Luigi rose quickly, walking over to the silver pitcher on the side table. As he poured the water, his fingers brushed against the small pouch hidden in his sleeve. He knew he had to play the long game. Every interaction, every word, had to be a calculated step toward his ultimate goal. He brought the crystal goblet to the prince, holding it with both hands as a sign of complete submission.
"Here is your water, Your Highness," Luigi murmured, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the floor. "Should I summon the royal physician to look at your condition?"
Michael snatched the cup, drinking the water in greedy gulps before tossing the empty vessel back onto the bed. "No. Those fools know nothing. They keep telling me it is just fatigue. They are useless, all of them."
"Perhaps you require a different kind of care, milord," Luigi suggested softly, his tone laced with a subtle, hidden malice that the prince was too dull to notice. "The palace is large, and there are many remedies hidden in the lower sectors."
"Are you suggesting I take medicine meant for rats, slave?" Michael sneered, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Luigi. "Watch your tongue, or I will have Mario skin your back again."
"I crave your mercy, Your Highness," Luigi said, trembling on cue. "I only wish for your health to return. Your burden is heavy, and the palace relies entirely on your strength."
Michael seemed slightly placated by the flattery, leaning back against his silk pillows. "At least you understand your place, unlike some of the council members. Everyone wants a piece of my crown, Boru. Everyone is watching for a single mistake."
"Then let me be your shadow, milord," Luigi whispered, the words carrying a double meaning that burned his throat. "A shadow sees everything but holds no ambition. I can be your eyes where the nobility refuses to look."
Michael looked at him for a long moment, a cruel, amused smile touching his lips. "A shadow, you say? You are a pathetic, broken thing, Boru. But perhaps a pathetic thing is exactly what I need right now. The nobles are getting restless."
"I am whatever you need me to be, Your Highness," Luigi replied, bowing low to conceal the murderous smirk spreading across his own face.
"Very well," Michael muttered, closing his eyes once more as the fatigue washed over him again. "You will remain by my side. Do not leave this chamber without my explicit command. If I find out you have been speaking to anyone else, I will personally throw you into the core furnace."
"Your command is my absolute law, milord," Luigi said, his voice dripping with false devotion.
As the prince drifted back into a restless sleep, Luigi stood up straight, his submission evaporating instantly. The choice was made. There was no turning back now. He was the shadow inside the palace, a venomous serpent coiled tightly around the throne, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
"Target is asleep," the Devourer System confirmed in his mind. "The infiltration phase has officially begun. The web is set."
Luigi smiled in the darkness, his gaze locked onto the sleeping prince. "Sleep well, Michael. Enjoy your kingdom while you still can."
Aksara