Sinners' Kingdom #1: The Book of Lust (Complete)

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In my childhood fantasies, sometimes I was a child of prophecy, wielding legendary swords that could only be held by Chosen Ones, or magically gifted — yes, I know, ironic — with the ability to become an instant weapons master who could raze entire evil armies, one to ten thousand. Those were good times, back when I didn't yet know enough of the worlds to realize that was nothing to fantasize about. Children of prophecy weren't uncommon, after all. There were all sorts of natural weapons masters, too, and those born into bloodlines that gave them more glory in their pinky fingers than others would ever achieve in their lifetime combined. Razing evil armies single-handedly was a routine thing, even, for those systematically sought out by the head Coven of every nation for their latent abilities. That was what elite Arcane Institutes were for, gathering all those gifted witches of every breed and turning them into the pinnacle of war machines to keep our realm safe.

Being a hero wasn't glamorous. Being a hero got you turned into a branded slave to a system that profited from your heroics. Then you bred more little heroes for them according to their all-important Charters, like champion racehorses. When you outlived your usefulness, you died on the battlefield, fodder for the heroes to come after you. The end.

Thank God that Mom and Grandma kept me safe from that world. Thank God I didn't have a lick of real magic in my veins, even if I somehow became the target of a demon who hounded me in my dreams and insisted I was meant to be his all along, and even if that weird thing happened with the Enochian symbols under the Kunlun Temple, and even if while holding the Indra's Net, the strangest feeling of old, old familiarity flowed into my fingers, as if I recognized the thrumming energy from a lifetime ago.

I absolutely did not recognize it. If I did, it was only because I'd held this weapon literally hours ago when Sarina gave it to me. So of course, it would feel familiar. And the unsettling notion that I had felt this same exact sensation then, too? And that I had simply ignored it the first time because we were surrounded by chaos and violence and I had no time for mysterious glimmers and tingles? I'd dismissed it then, attributing it to the eerie aura of any old magical artifact, but I could no longer pretend it away. Without my sight, all of my remaining senses were unfairly heightened, making it that much more difficult to explain away inconvenient things.

Wait. What was I talking about? Who did I think I was talking to?

I'd spent my whole life sheltered from the magical world, and taught precisely how to pretend away anything. That was my greatest skill, drilled into me relentlessly by my mother and grandmother until I became a master in the art. Who was I trying to fool? I most definitely could ignore whatever I wanted to ignore, every inconvenient thing better left unnoticed. Easily.

And — there. I did it.

The whip remained gripped in my hand, and I rejected the thrumming energy that tried to leak into my body. Basic artifact aura and nothing more, of course, just like I'd thought before. No problem. I was pretty much human, anyway, regardless of my heritage. As an ordinary human, I really couldn't sense things like that, and even if I did, it was only because the aura was so powerful that even completely magic-insensitive people could feel it, too. There. See? Easy to explain. Anyway, how much farther did we have left to go? About time to get there—

"Sable, my love."

"What."

"The engravings on the Indra's handle seem to be lighting up."

"No, they're not."

"It seems they are. I can describe it to you in detail if you'd like—"

"No, thanks."