VoC: B1 — 1. Sentenced to Death (Patreon)

Author Note: I forgot to update this for those who only read on Patreon! I've made some significant changes to Chapter 1 to hopefully improve it, such as adding Aria's status window.

Veil Of Chaos Index

Previous Chapter

PoV: 

1. Damon (Our New 24-Year-Old MC!)

---------------------

[System Trickery: Failed]

Damon’s eyes snapped open to blinding light, shackles biting his wrists—

Wrong skin. Wrong hair. Wrong body.

He was wrong.

The panic hit like ice water. He counted breaths. Four in, hold two, out six.

Focus. Breath. Adapt.

The stone was cold against his knees—ancient marble, the kind of marble that had never known sunlight.

He tested his weight against the shackles—iron, etched with something that made his skin crawl just looking at it. Scripture, maybe. The gilded sconces above cast everything in that particular shade of governmental intimidation.

He counted breaths. Four in, hold two, out six.

A guard to his left had a nervous tic—kept adjusting his ceremonial belt every thirty seconds. The noble gallery smelled like old money and fresh contempt.

He wasn’t in Hell’s Kitchen anymore.

“Dark Elf!”

The voice was a gavel struck by God, every word rattling his bones.

“Finally awake!”

The voice in his head made him jolt. Familiar. Sarcastic. His sister.

The judgment thundered above him. “By the just laws of Mentris, you have been sentenced to death for the sin of concealing your true nature as an enemy of the kingdom and follower of The Spider.”

Damon’s inner wrist burned, making him flinch as a black tattoo of an arachnid throbbed there—twisting under his skin as if it wanted to crawl free.

[Divine Curse: The Spider’s Mark]

A noble in the gallery—bald, sweating despite the chamber’s chill—leaned forward with genuine horror in his voice.

“Your Majesty, do you not grasp what [System Trickery] means? The System is our foundation—every contract, every oath, every inheritance record! If this Feat can forge a Divine Oath, alter a class designation, or falsify noble bloodlines, then nothing we rely on is safe. Not law. Not the Church. Not even your throne!”

The chamber went silent as a crypt. Even the breathing stopped.

Cool, Damon thought, fighting down hysteria. So I’m not just a heretic in the nightmare. I’m apparently the apocalypse in a ten-year-old body. What’s next, my little sister going full Shego on me? You aren’t an evil wizard or supervillain now, are you?

“Hey!” Aria protested inside his head. “That’s not—okay, that’s actually pretty accurate. But still!”

“Ack!?” he rasped, his voice—not his voice—cracking like a ten-year-old’s as he rubbed his wrist. This didn’t feel like any nightmare he’d had. “Wait, you are here?! Is this real? Where—”

“Shhhhh!”

He winced, blinking rapidly against the blinding overhead light. Gilded sconces cradled hovering orbs, their brilliance flooding the marble chamber in oppressive waves.

Constrained on the cold stone floor, he squinted up at tiered balconies where nobles leaned over the railing, jeweled collars glinting like watchful eyes.

It was a grand, circular courtroom—too polished, too theatrical, like a stage set for his execution.

“Damon! Shut up and listen. You’re about to die. Think, don’t talk!”

Totally lost as to what was happening, Damon glanced down in shock to see far darker skin than he knew he had. Violet? That was weird. And there were thick, raven locks that hung wildly around his chest, which showed different muscles, and also…smaller? A child’s?

The hell is going on, Aria? Weren’t we in Hell’s Kitchen? Who are these people?

He could faintly make out a host of people on the second floor, oddly enough, dressed in medieval fashion, leering down at him as if he’d stolen their last Twinkie; his little sister’s voice helped his foggy and fragmented mind focus—visions of the past flipped through his brain, visions of a childhood in another world.

“Long story short: you’re a dark elf prince, you’re ten, and we’re totally not in New York anymore,” Aria’s mental voice chirped with forced cheer. “Welcome to medieval fantasy court, where apparently being born a dark elf gets you a death sentence, especially when a part of some evil plot. Fun times! I know it wasn’t your thing, but think about a system menu, like a game. Eh, not ‘my games,’ but think about yourself, specifically.”

Damon’s mind reeled as fragments of memory crashed together like broken glass. A car crash. Flashing lights. Some fairy-like goddess. Then…nothing. Until now.

Like your anime shows? I’m being sentenced to death, and you’re talking about games? What…is going on, Aria?!

“Just try it! It’ll make sense.”

A holographic screen flickered into existence before his eyes:

Name: Damon

Race: Dhampir 

Class: Sage

Subclass: Unity Tamer

Level: 1

Status: [Sealed: Divine Light] [Reincarnate] [Cursed by The Spider]

“Nice. You’re a natural. Important parts: One, that dhampir part? Half-vampire, half-dark elf, one hundred percent screwed if grandpa has his way—the big divine light artifact is revealing your System window by force. Two, Unity Tamer. You might be a weak-ass little ten-year-old, but there’s way more to this world than that!”

Liar… I’m still lost, airhead.

“Oh, shut up! I’m showing you we’re in a new world!”

Sure. I get that. And our grandpa?! he repeated, still trying to keep up as he glanced at the neutral-faced king sitting front and center above them in his opposing throne. So, not a dream. Aria, is this like one of your…

“Yeah. Well, kind of—I’m not really related since, you know, I’m a—well, we can get into that later. Grandpa may not be my biological grandfather, but it’s easier for me to call him grandpa because of Mom. She, like, adopted me! Grandpa still has no idea. I’m invisible! But we died—Isekai style. You’re a dark elf prince on trial. Try not to get executed. I’m the bling around your neck.”

Damon frowned. She sounded so certain, but he caught the wobble under her bravado. It was the same note she used when she’d done a half-hour cram session because she’d been gaming instead of studying the night before—like she was patching half-formed memories together and calling it fact.

For real?

“For real, for real.”

How much do you actually know, Aria?

“Eh. Mmm…” Her tone took on a pout. “Okay, so I don’t know ‘everything.’ Maybe I’m piecing together some stuff and might be…a little off. Like, a tiny bit. But mostly right! C’mon, trust me!”

Sure… Hold up…

A strange calm settled over him as fragmented memories snapped into place—the meeting with Titania. The chaotic-good fae goddess. Her voice was like wind chimes in a storm. One of the nine Greater Deities. The one who had chosen him to be her ‘champion’ of all things.

Green eyes…blindingly bright hair…laughter that felt like summer… Her words echoed in his mind:

“You seek to bring your sister and girlfriend along? An emotionally troubled teen with familial trauma… She will cling to family even when it leads her astray. And a young woman who hides devastating secrets… She steps toward her own damnation, yet you would follow her into any hell she brings? Love and fear, veiled in shadows, are a force that blinds and devastates… But hearts can be mended…”

Sophia. The name hit him like getting clocked in the chin.

Where was she? We were in the car—everything went sideways. She grabbed my hand as the lights came at us… We died, and met Titania… Soph! Aria, where is Sophia?! She came with us, didn’t she?

“Your GF’s not here…yet.” His sister’s voice was calm but clipped. “Chill. You can’t help me—or her—unless you’re calm. Deep breaths. Idiot. Can we focus on not dying first? Please?”

The deflection in her voice made his stomach drop. But before he could press—

Damon’s gut twisted like a knife with restored feelings and realizations—Sophia was hiding things from him?

Their fights flashed up, sharp and unfinished. Her half-answers, the way she’d fold meaning into poetry instead of saying it plain. He’d told himself it was just her way. But Titania’s words made it feel like a red flag more than something to work through.

Titania’s voice wasn’t done weaving through his mind, though:

“Yes, that can be arranged. Oh, and you wish to know how I would personally undergo this journey? Fascinating. In that case, yes, there are loopholes in the System. A System even I am bound by. But I only have one true reincarnate slot, which means you’ll need to share your points… All the knowledge I grant you will fade once out of my realm.”

The rest was a blur—flashes of golden warmth, the scent of summer flowers, and Titania’s laughter like wind chimes in a storm. He’d begged her for help, for knowledge, for a way to save them all.

“You are the first in thousands to ask how I’d personally game the System,” she’d giggled. “A wise soul. With your temperament? I know just the class…”

Shards of remembered sensations—golden warmth, the scent of summer flowers, the feeling of impossible power flowing through his veins. The choices had been rushed, overwhelming, instinctual. He’d entrusted himself to a chaotic goddess, and now here they were, about to be executed.

The king—his grandfather—sat motionless on his throne. King Enrir’s face revealed nothing, but there was something in his eyes when he looked at Damon. Not hatred, as Aria’s reaction led to believe. Something else.

What looked to be a divine priest stepped forward, reading from a scroll in a monotone drone. Damon found himself doing that thing from work—cataloging arguments, filing counterpoints, and sussing relationships he could use to find opportunity.

When work was life or death, every day he had to pay close attention to the temperament of others. Some habits died harder than people, apparently.

“As a reincarnate who infiltrated the Tenebrin royal family through conspiracy with Princess Catelyn, we stand today to pass judgment before His holy court…”

Damon didn’t even know how to respond to that. Didn’t even try. He just rubbed his wrist where the mark burned, the same unconscious gesture he’d had with his fake college class ring; he’d used it to sell credentials to get work.

Eyes darting left and right, Damon focused intently, his mind catching up with flashes of past memories. Suddenly, it hit a block.

Taking a deep breath, he let it go, pulling back into himself and refocusing to get a better grasp of the situation. Okay. I’m listening… Why are they saying I’m a follower of The Spider? Wait, Aria, we have a mother here!

“Yeah, don’t go freezing on me, Damon! And I can’t explain everything right now. Shhh. I’m trying to listen to Uncle Stephen. I think there’s a plan.”

A distinguished voice cut through the accusations, firm and authoritative—a voice that tickled the back of his childhood memories. “Your Majesty, if I may…”

His attention locked onto Uncle Stephen—tall, sharp-featured, and composed—whose calm voice carried farther than the nobles’ jeers, though his smile never reached his eyes as he spoke to the king.

“These allegations are based on a false premise, My Lord, due to the [System Trickery] Feat that this court has chosen to focus on,” Stephen continued, gaze steady, weighing every noble who dared meet them. “The dark elf before you serves not The Spider, but Titania.”

Gasps and mutters rippled through the court as Aria cheered inside, yet Damon winced again, cursing under his breath from the heat searing his wrist—the mark.

What the hell is this pain?

The status menu flashed in front of his face with his curse at his internal question:

[The Spider’s Curse - All dark elves who do not worship The Spider suffer Soul Pain when hearing Her name. Damage intensifies if Her true name is spoken.]

Damn, that sucks… Wait, doesn’t that prove I’m not a follower?

“Damon, let Uncle handle it! Shhh!”

He grimaced and looked up as the king’s face—their grandfather’s face—could have been cut from marble, devoid of all emotion.

The nobles recoiled—sneers, whispered slurs, shifting back as if his very presence were a contagion. Their jeweled collars caught the light like the knockoff Rolexes on Canal Street—all flash, no substance.

One particularly anxious noble—weak chin, thinning hair, and what looked to be a nervous tick making his neck shift from time to time—was the only one to raise his voice.

“Preposterous, Marquess! Every dark elf serves Her! [System Trickery] is nothing but a ruse—to smuggle this creature into our court. It strikes at the very foundation of our faith in the System itself! My King, this is treason. Blasphemy by Princess Catelyn! The law allows no alternative!”

“What?!” Aria balked. “What kind of logic is that? What a loser-ass—”

Aria… I can’t hear.

“Mmgm! Humph.”

Their uncle showed a small smirk up at the indignant man. “Please, Marquess Aldric, drink a little wine to calm your nerves. We wouldn’t want your high blood pressure making you say something…regrettable.”

“Get ‘em, Uncle!”

The king’s gaze hadn’t left their defender as he spoke up, quieting the whole room.

“Marquess Delmore, this is a serious claim that contradicts everything we know about dark elves. Your own standing is in question for how long you’ve been around my daughter without sensing her deception…which is very questionable, considering your level, training, and renown.”

“Indeed, I am the subject of suspicion, but the nobility biting at my heels knows this court has little overall sway when it comes to me and my sovereign territory,” Stephen calmly stated without blinking an eye. “What matters here is not emotion or my own standing but the law regarding the prince. And to expose this error by the court, I’ve brought a Cleric of Titania to verify my assertion.”

Their noble uncle cast his gaze around the sour-faced assembly, probably at the prince title still applying to him. “I hope you all will not let prejudices cloud the sanctity of law within this court and that of the word of High Cleric Sorrel Nightbloom.”

At his gesture, a serene figure glided out from behind a curtain, leading to the waiting room. Damon immediately recognized the name—the highest authority within Titania’s following in this kingdom. A dryad who was bound to a tree blessed by Titania herself, which had been here long before the lawful deity took over worship in this kingdom.

“So cool!” Aria squealed. “You know they hate her, right? Apparently, the kingdom used to worship Titania a few centuries back before the lawful god gained popularity. She’s from that time!”

I remember from our studies… It’s spotty, but it’s coming back to me, Damon noted, trying to keep up. Aria… What about Sophia? Where is she?

“It’s all good, Damon! Just…try to worry about yourself right now. Soph is okay…”

Damon didn’t like that hesitant tone regarding his absent girlfriend; it was classic Aria deflection. He had vague memories of some sort of accident, but his brain was clouded on the details. However, he didn’t have many options at the moment. That topic would be poked at as soon as possible, though. 

High Cleric Sorrel Nightbloom moved with supernatural grace, her skin a deep bark-brown. Small flowers bloomed and withered in her moss-green hair, and her flowing green-and-silver robes rustled like leaves in a summer breeze. The four-leafed symbol of Titania gleamed on her chest.

As she approached, the court fell silent, many nobles instinctively leaning away from the dryad.

“Your presence honors us, High Cleric,” his grandfather stated, his formal acknowledgment doing little to mask his discomfort as his gaze darted to the marquess.

Sorrel’s eyes, the color of amber with flecks of emerald, flashed momentarily as she approached Damon. She smelled of fresh moss and wild berries as she placed a bark-textured hand upon his forehead—immediately, he felt relief and understanding swim through his veins.

“A follower of The Spider would recoil at my touch,” she said, her voice melodic yet intense, like branches bending in the wind. “But this child does not.”

Damon braced for the burn.

It never came.

A soft emerald light emanated from her palm, spreading over Damon’s violet skin like a gentle tide. The light pulsed once, twice, then small flowers began to sprout and dance across the connection between them before dissolving into motes of light.

“It is true,” the dryad announced, her voice resonating with natural authority as she moved her gaze to the king. “This dark elf bears the blessing of Titania. His soul resonates with her chaotic-good nature. To claim otherwise would be to deny the very growth of trees.”

The court erupted—gasps, accusations, the sound of noble certainty cracking like ice in spring. More murmurs spread through the court, mixed with confusion and disbelief.

Damon let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. The burning in his wrist faded to an ache, then nothing. For the first time since waking, the noose around his neck felt loose enough to think.

He wasn’t safe—not even close. But he wasn’t dead either.

And if their grandfather wanted to play by the letter of the law, if this kingdom really did worship their precious System above all else, then he’d use their own rules to beat them.

One rule was so widespread at this point, even a child knew it, and his memories fished it up as the dryad’s voice entered his mind.

“I formally welcome you to this messy world, Damon. It is intriguing She chose a dhampir to be Her champion for the Sage Class… And it also will be the spark of much mourning across the world.”

Thanks, I think? Damon internally chuckled, unsure if she could hear him while rubbing his wrist again. The law still festered in the back of his mind while scanning the perturbed nobility. Aria was listening intently. I look forward to unpacking what that exactly means. How come the curse didn’t activate?

“Indeed. And the curse only functions if the one speaking it fears The Spider. A small trick she utilizes as the fuel for the power behind the curse. Unfortunately, her true name will trigger it regardless due to its power, opening the way for her to communicate with those present.”

I guess that’s why she has a nickname. Good to know…

He could practically feel his little sister vibrating to jump in, yet she held her tongue for once in her life. It seemed she was hiding some secrets, as well.

“That said, on the other hand, you, Aria, a lich seedling, serve no deity, yet bear the approval of Titania… She’s temporarily hiding you from their standard detection artifacts, but the Seat of Judgment itself…that’s the Holy Emperor’s direct power, channeled through the king. 

“Intervening directly inside the Holy Emperor’s inner circle is quite…like Her. Yet, even She must tread carefully here. I cannot be sure what the king sees, yet he clearly has not vocalized it, since, if it were known your brother was bonded to a Lich, we would be having a whole different conversation. But My Summer Lady, hiding a naturally born lich? Curious.”

Damon could feel his sister stiffen. He glanced down at the necklace around his throat. Aria! What the hell did you do? A lich is supposed to be evil, right? So you did go the evil route!

“H-Hey! It has some amazing starting stats! You had to approve everything in the end, Mr. Reincarnate! I’m not evil. You made sure of that. So don’t bite my head off, asshole.”

She paused, then giggled with forced mischief.

“Oh, and FYI? Technically, I’m your first tamed creature. Some people back in New York would call that sus. First bonded soul? Your lich little sister. Sounds like an anime.”

Damon groaned. Of course, she’d phrase it like that.

Ugh… What am I going to do with you?

“Nothing, because I did nothing wrong! Look, you can see my basic menu, too!”

Name: Aria

Race: Lich Sun Elf  

Class: Wizard

Subclass: Chronomancer

Level: 1

Status: [Soul Bonded: Amulet/Damon] [Reincarnate] [Sun Elf Pride]

“Maybe not bonded by blood in this world, but bonded by soul? Nice! Oh, but you have that tone in your voice—the one where you’re about to flip the entire argument. I’m getting excited!”

More a hunch than anything else, he muttered back, watching as Sorrel broke into the tense silence.

“You may verify my reading with your own Clerics, Your Majesty,” the holy tree woman added, stepping back as a few scattered petals fell from her hair to the marble floor. “Although Titania’s mark is tricky, and She often enjoys playing with your Holy Emperor. She might make it look like his own.”

His grandfather’s face remained stoic, controlled. “Even if what you say is true, High Cleric, Marquess, this changes nothing about the deception of his birth and the ramifications this will have on the public. Transparency is within the law. All will know my daughter’s sin, follower of Titania or not; he is a dark elf. He and his mother concealed his true nature from the public…and even her own family, for years, hiding behind a transformation bracelet.”

“Which brings us to the matter of sentencing,” Stephen replied smoothly. “As our kingdom follows the Holy Emperor, you must acknowledge that our laws permit the worship of any non-evil deity, including chaotic ones.

“In fact,” the marquess continued, “his aunt wrongfully accused Damon of being a vampire, which is against our laws. Yet, clearly, as all can see with his revealed status window under the Seat of Judgment, he is not. You may argue that the unique addition [System Trickery] introduces questions and could break our trust in the System itself, but there is no law against such a Feat, nor any record of it in general. Unless you doubt the Seat of Judgment and the Holy Emperor’s blessing…”

That got a few more scowls that had Aria internally snickering.

“No? Well, then, there should be no issues with that. And there is no law condemning or even mentioning dhampirs. Therefore, the accusation is moot. He is not Undead, since he can gain sustenance through blood or typical food. We are here for law, not personal moral quibbles.”

His supposed crime wasn’t worshipping an evil goddess after all—it was racism, pure and simple. Well, that and perhaps mixed with the deception of his nature, his connection to the chaotic faction in this lawful kingdom, and possibly even the fact that he was a reincarnate.

Damon recentered on his grandfather as the man relaxed a little, leaning against the side of his throne and stroking his partially graying beard.

“You are right, as usual, Marquess. The only laws broken were concealing in nature, if to the most extreme degree, which will have dire ramifications for public trust in the royal family.”

He paused, studying Damon for several tense seconds. It could have been the blinding light, but Damon thought he saw something there for only a second: Sorrow? An apology?

I need to take my life back into my own hands… he thought. I’m not the ten-year-old she needs to protect anymore.

He lifted his chin, met his grandfather’s stone gaze, and spoke with a voice that carried to the furthest gallery. Eyes hardening, he repeated what he’d heard once from a legal hearing his mother had him sit in on when he was eight.

“I call upon the Clemency Act.”

---------------

Next Chapter