Rebirth of the Villain
Chapter 65: The Price of Control

Chapter 65: The Price of Control

Dawn crept through the windows of Arthur’s private chambers, finding him exactly where it had left him the night before—hunched over his desk, surrounded by a fortress of books, scrolls, and hastily scrawled notes. The candles had burned down to stubs, wax pooling on papers covered in his increasingly frantic handwriting.

"Emotional state correlates directly with hunger intensity," he muttered, adding another line to what he’d labeled his ’Hunger Journal.’ "Anger—eight out of ten. Fear—six. Arousal—" His pen hesitated over the page as he remembered Urzara’s weakened form. "Ten."

Behind him, Urzara shifted in their bed, a small groan escaping her lips. Arthur turned to watch her sleep, noting the faint tracery of dark veins that appeared and disappeared beneath her green skin like shadow puppets playing under silk. They’d been doing that all night—growing more visible when she dreamed, fading when she settled.

*She’s changing because of me.*

He forced himself to look away, returning to his research. Lyralei’s information about Marcus Chen was frustratingly sparse. Shanghai, thirty years ago. Void Walker System. Consumed others. Imprisoned, not killed. But the details that mattered—how long the transformation took, what triggers accelerated it, if anyone had ever reversed it—those were missing.

"Can’t fight what you don’t understand," Arthur whispered, a lesson from his software debugging days. "So understand it. Break it down. Find the variables."

His System interface flickered:

[EVOLUTION PROTOCOL: 18% - INCREASING]

[HUNGER LEVEL: MANAGEABLE]

[TIME SINCE LAST FEEDING: 6 HOURS]

[RECOMMENDED ACTION: FEED]

"Helpful as always," Arthur muttered, dismissing the notification. But he logged it anyway, tracking the percentage increase. Three percent in six hours. At that rate...

A knock interrupted his calculations. "My lord," Hawklight’s voice carried through the door. "Morning court convenes in an hour."

Arthur closed his eyes. Court. Where he’d be surrounded by System users, each one a walking temptation. "I’ll be there."

"Sire, if you need to postpone—"

"A king who hides appears weak." Arthur stood, his body protesting the lack of sleep. "And weakness invites challenge."

---

The throne room of Lyranth buzzed with its usual morning energy—nobles politicking, merchants gossiping, guards maintaining their posts. Arthur entered through the private entrance, Isolde already seated in the queen’s throne beside his. She looked immaculate as always, silver hair crowned with a circlet of white gold, but through their bond he felt her concern spike the moment she saw him.

*You look terrible,* her voice whispered through their connection.

*Feel worse,* he admitted, taking his throne. The hunger stirred immediately, sensing the concentrated System energy in the room. Dozens of enhanced individuals, each one calling to the void growing inside him.

"Let the petitioners approach," Isolde announced, her voice carrying the authority Arthur currently couldn’t trust himself to project.

The morning proceeded with forced normalcy. Tax disputes. Trade agreements. A minor boundary issue between two lesser nobles. Arthur let Isolde take the lead, speaking only when absolutely necessary. He tracked his hunger levels obsessively—five during the tax discussion, six during trade negotiations, holding steady.

Then Lord Aldric stepped forward.

"Your Majesties," the portly noble said with a bow that bordered on mockery. "I must protest the new military levy on the eastern provinces. It’s bleeding us dry while the capital grows fat on our labor."

Arthur’s hunger spiked to seven. Eight. The disrespect in Aldric’s tone, the challenge to his authority—it made the void writhe with anticipation.

"The levy," Arthur said slowly, "funds the defenses that keep your provinces safe, Lord Aldric."

"Safe from what?" Aldric’s voice rose. "The Phoenix Emperor who you supposedly made peace with? Or perhaps from threats only you can see?"

Nine.

The throne room fell silent. Everyone sensed the shift in atmosphere, though they couldn’t name it. The shadows in the corners seemed to deepen, reaching toward the light.

"You question my judgment?" Arthur’s voice came out deeper than intended, carrying harmonics that belonged in nightmares rather than throne rooms.

Aldric stepped back instinctively, his System-enhanced courage wavering. "I... I merely suggest that perhaps Your Majesty’s recent... indisposition has affected your clarity."

Ten.

The hunger roared. Arthur gripped the throne’s armrests hard enough to crack the ancient wood. Shadow tendrils began forming around his hands, visible to those closest. He could see Aldric’s System signature pulsing with fear-spiked energy, could taste how easy it would be to reach out and—

"Lord Aldric raises interesting points," Isolde interjected smoothly, her hand finding Arthur’s and squeezing hard enough to hurt. "Points best discussed in private council rather than public forum. Court is adjourned for the morning."

The dismissal was abrupt enough to cause murmurs, but the nobles filed out obediently. All except Aldric, who lingered just long enough to catch the eyes of several other lords, silent communication passing between them.

When the throne room emptied, Arthur slumped forward, shadows dissipating. "I almost—"

"But you didn’t." Isolde’s voice was steady, but he could see her hands trembling. "Though Aldric certainly noticed something. He’ll use this."

"Let him try," Arthur growled.

"Arthur." She turned to face him fully. "You can’t intimidate your way through this. Not when you’re barely maintaining control in a simple court session."

He wanted to argue, but the hunger journal in his pocket held the truth—emotional volatility directly correlated with loss of control. And a king’s life was nothing but emotional volatility.

---

The strategy meeting that followed was tense. Hawklight laid out reports with military precision, each one painting a darker picture than the last.

"Three noble houses have delayed their tax payments," he reported. "The merchant guild is asking questions about ’stability of investment.’ And the troops..." He paused, choosing words carefully. "They’ve noticed your absence from regular inspections. Discipline is beginning to slip."

"Then I’ll inspect them," Arthur said.

"Surrounded by a thousand System-enhanced soldiers when you can barely control yourself around one disrespectful noble?" Hawklight’s scarred face showed rare emotion—genuine fear for his friend. "That’s not brave, Arthur. It’s suicide."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"Controlled appearances. Limited exposure. Let Isolde and the queens handle public duties while you—"

"Hide?" Arthur’s laugh was bitter. "A king who can’t appear before his own people isn’t a king. He’s a prisoner."

"Better a living prisoner than a dead monster," Hawklight said bluntly.

The words hung between them like a blade.

---

Meanwhile, in Beatrice’s tower, the queens gathered without their king. The circular chamber usually felt spacious, but tension made it claustrophobic.

"He nearly drained me dry," Urzara admitted, though her voice held more fascination than fear. "But when he pulled back, something stayed behind. I can feel it growing."

"Growing into what?" Lily asked from across the room—notably as far from Urzara as she could get. The young enchantress looked pale, her usual cheerfulness replaced by poorly hidden terror.

"I don’t know yet." Urzara examined her hands, where faint shadow patterns swirled beneath the skin. "But I’m not afraid of it."

"You should be," Isolde said coolly. "We all should be. This isn’t evolution—it’s corruption. And it’s spreading."

Beatrice looked up from her notes, dark circles under her eyes testament to her own sleepless night. "The magical theory suggests—"

"I don’t want theories," Lily interrupted, surprising everyone with her vehemence. "I want to know if my husband is going to eat me alive the next time we share a bed!"

Silence fell. It was the fear they all carried but none had voiced so bluntly.

"He won’t," Urzara said firmly. "He pulled back with me. He’ll control it."

"You mean like he controlled it at court?" Isolde asked. "I felt his hunger through our bond. If I hadn’t intervened, Lord Aldric would be a husk on the throne room floor."

"So we help him," Beatrice insisted. "I can research—"

"Research what?" Lily stood, pacing with agitation. "More dangerous rituals? More experimental magic? Your last ’help’ turned him into this!"

The accusation hit Beatrice like a physical blow. "I was trying to save him!"

"And look what happened!" Lily’s voice cracked. "Maybe... maybe we should distance ourselves. Just until—"

"You would abandon him?" Urzara surged to her feet, and for a moment shadows flickered around her own form.

"I would survive!" Lily shot back. "Is that so wrong? To not want to die?"

"Enough." Isolde’s queen’s voice cut through the argument. "We’re all afraid. But fracturing helps no one. We need unity, not—"

A knock interrupted. A servant entered, bowing low. "Your Majesties, Lord Aldric has called a meeting of the Eastern Lords. They’re discussing... concerns about His Majesty’s fitness to rule."

The queens exchanged looks. It was beginning.

---

Arthur discovered his loss of control with the servant girl purely by accident. He’d been walking to his study, mind focused on hunger patterns, when young Mara carrying linens bumped into him in the corridor.

"Your Majesty!" She dropped into a panicked bow, linens scattering. "Forgive me, I didn’t see—"

"It’s fine." Arthur reached to help her gather the sheets, their hands brushing for just a moment.

The contact lasted less than a second, but it was enough. A thread of her life force, thin as spider’s silk, flowed into him before he could stop it. Mara gasped, swaying on her feet, suddenly pale.

"Are you alright?" Arthur steadied her, careful not to make skin contact.

"I... I feel dizzy, Your Majesty. Just for a moment..."

"Report to the healers," Arthur ordered, voice carefully controlled. "Tell them you may be coming down with something. Rest for the day."

She bobbed another curtsey and hurried off, leaving Arthur staring at his hand. Such a brief touch. Such a small amount taken. But he’d felt her entire System in that instant, mapped its pathways, tasted its potential.

The hunger hadn’t even spiked. This was baseline now.

"Getting worse?" Hawklight emerged from a side passage, having witnessed the exchange.

"The percentage increases are accelerating." Arthur showed him the journal. "At this rate, I have maybe ten days before I can’t touch anyone safely."

"Then we need solutions faster than Lyralei’s ritual."

"I’m open to suggestions."

Hawklight studied him. "Physical exhaustion. Push your body until you have no energy for hunger."

It was worth trying. Anything was worth trying.

---

That night, Urzara stood before her private mirror, studying the changes. The shadow veins were more prominent now, creating patterns that almost looked artistic against her green skin. But it was the other changes that concerned her.

She’d woken up in the kitchen, standing before the meat stores with no memory of walking there. Her mouth had been watering, but not for cooked food. She wanted it raw. Bloody. Fresh.

Worse, when a kitchen maid had stumbled in, Urzara’s first instinct hadn’t been to help. It had been to hunt. She’d actually taken a step toward the girl before catching herself, horrified.

"What am I becoming?" she whispered to her reflection.

*Something wonderful,* a voice that wasn’t quite hers whispered back. *Something that can stand beside him in the dark.*

She should tell someone. Beatrice could examine her, could figure out what was happening. But that would mean admitting weakness, admitting that Arthur’s touch had changed her in ways she didn’t understand.

No. She was Urzara Bloodfang. She would master this change as she’d mastered everything else—through strength and will.

Even if the hunger grew stronger every hour.

---

The war room meeting the next evening shattered any illusion of control they’d maintained.

"Fifteen houses," the spy reported. "Lord Aldric has fifteen houses prepared to demand a regency if His Majesty shows any more signs of... instability."

"Fifteen out of sixty. We can manage that," Isolde said.

"There’s more." The spy produced a sealed letter. "From the Divine Capital. Hierophant Celestine’s personal seal."

Arthur took the letter, breaking the seal. His expression darkened as he read.

"Seven days," he said finally. "Divine inspection for void corruption. If I refuse, they declare holy war. If I fail..." He didn’t need to finish.

"Can we delay?" Beatrice asked.

"From Celestine? She’d use refusal as proof of corruption." Arthur laughed bitterly. "Seven days. Lyralei has three before his organs fail. I have seven before the Divine Host comes to purify me. And somewhere out there, Marcus’s student is watching it all unfold."

"Then we stop pretending everything is fine," Isolde said firmly. "We accelerate the restoration ritual."

"The preparations alone need three days," Beatrice protested.

"Then we start now." Urzara stood, and Arthur noticed she kept her hands clenched to hide their trembling. "We need that phoenix. Now."

Arthur looked around the room at his allies, his loves, his kingdom’s heart. Each face showed the strain of maintaining normality while everything crumbled. The hunger pulsed with each heartbeat, marking time until control became memory.

"Send word to Lyralei," he commanded. "Tell him we’re out of time for careful planning."

As messengers scattered and preparations began, Arthur made one final entry in his hunger journal:

*Day 3: Baseline hunger now constant at 4. Spikes to 10 with emotion. Brief contact causes involuntary feeding. Urzara showing signs of parallel corruption. Kingdom destabilizing. Divine ultimatum received.*

*Projection: Total loss of control in 5-7 days.*

*Note: Running out of time to be saved. May need to plan for other outcome.*

He closed the journal and prepared to face the longest week of his life, knowing that by the end of it, Arthur Lionheart would either be cured or would have become the very monster his enemies claimed he already was.