A. lay low for a year, perfecting your new power in secret

You decide to lay low for a year, perfecting your new power in secret, until you’re ready to make your next move.

That year turns out to be the most enjoyable time of your life. Every night, you lay in the bed with your nubile stepmother, savoring every inch of her nude body, leaving your mark on her as you deposit your seed deep inside her belly, over and over again. You can't keep your hands off of her nude body, pulling her hair, spanking her buttocks, and fondling her ample breasts at your leisure.

You no longer have to manipulate her mind. Isolde has embraced her role as your lover. Every morning, you wake up to find her mouth on your cock. She skillfully kisses, licks, and sucks, all while keeping eye contact, until you release in her mouth, which she eagerly swallows.

Months pass. Winter comes, bringing biting cold, but you and Isolde share your warmth. Every night, she is yours, her soft breasts pressed against you, naked bodies pressed together beneath the heavy blankets. Meanwhile, your father sleeps in a separate room, reduced to nothing more than a servant, toiling in the fields at your command, fully aware that his young wife is now warming his son's bed.

While the villagers still perceive him and Isolde as husband and wife, you’ve ensured he’ll never touch her again. "You are forbidden to touch her," you told him months ago, your voice dripping with power. Your father obeyed, as he always does now, without hesitation or protest.

Testing your dark abilities on him and Isolde has taught you much. Mind control, you’ve discovered, is like breaking in a wild horse. Once someone’s will is bent to yours, it becomes easier to dominate them again.

You have also come to understand that your power works best when it aligns with the subject’s desires. Isolde, for instance, "wanted" to be yours, though she could never admit it aloud. That desire made her fall all the more easily under your spell. If she didn't desire you, the battle for control would have been much harder.

Over the months, you use your father as a test subject, honing your abilities. You spend countless hours testing your powers on him, learning their intricacies. His obedience to you is absolute, though the core of his personality remains intact, and the other villagers notice nothing unusual.

Your father, Dammar Ellan’s, days are spent toiling in the dirt, planting seeds, and harvesting crops like the obedient servant you’ve made him. His once smug, gruff demeanor has been reduced to a submissive shell, and you relish every moment of it. You sometimes command him to watch when you have sex with his young wife at night, but you humiliate him not out of whimsy, but for justice.

You remember your mother, Elisha Ellan, a strong and kind woman who deserved far better than the life Dammar gave her. After her ****, your father didn't bother to hunt the beast that killed her. He wasted no time replacing her, marrying the much younger Isolde, sleeping with and treating her as a broodmare to pop out more sons, all while exploiting you, his firstborn, as little more than cheap labor.

He denied your dreams to be more than a farm boy, dismissing your ambitions as foolish, chaining you to his vision of mediocrity. Every order you give him, every act of humiliation, feels like rightful retribution now. You work him hard from dawn to dusk, just as he once did to you.

You’ve taken his and Isolde's sons, too - your half-brothers, Stier and Eber. They used to be unruly brats, but you have reshaped the little shits into obedient, well-mannered boys. Their youth made them pliable and their minds were easy to dominate. Now, they follow your commands without question. "Go to bed," you often tell them early in the evening, so you can fuck their mother without interruption.

Isolde, meanwhile, has blossomed under your influence. Her belly is already swollen with your child, her third and your first, the result of the many nights you’ve spent claiming her as yours. It’s no surprise she conceived, given how often you’ve taken her, and how much you have released inside her womb.

The thought of her carrying your seed fills you with pride. She is utterly devoted to you now, no longer requiring your control to know her place at your side. You adore her baby bump, knowing your child is growing inside her.

"Offer your prayers to Faelorn," you command your father one evening as he wipes the sweat from his brow. "For the health of my child growing in your wife’s belly. Pray every day. She is carrying my seed, after all."

Dammar hesitates for only a moment, the faintest flicker of rebellion, before the weight of your power crushes it. "Yes, master," he mutters, trudging off to fulfill your will.

With Dammar’s days consumed by endless work in the fields, you find yourself with ample time to focus on your own growth.

Your first goal is to master the sword. You visit Arsan, an old veteran who fought for the king during the Fourth Orc Invasion, and request his guidance.

"Why would I waste my time teaching a farm boy the sword?" he asks, his tone dismissive and gruff.

You meet his resistance with a subtle exertion of your power, your words imbued with a soft persuasive echo. "Because you pity me and want to teach me the ropes," you say, and the change in his demeanor is immediate.

"All right," he nods, conceding. "Meet me at dawn. We’ll see if you’ve got the mettle for this."

Arsan’s lessons are grueling, but his years of experience quickly hone your skills. Within a few months, you wield a blade with a confidence you never imagined possible. Your progression is swift, the edge of the sword becoming an extension of your will.

Acquiring the weapon itself is another triumph of your cunning. A traveling dwarven merchant, Darin, passes through the village, and you use your charm and power to manipulate him.

"You’re right, lad," he chuckles after a brief negotiation, "I should give you the discount."

The fine dwarven steel, acquired for less than a tenth of its true value, feels almost alive in your hands. You revel in the weight of the blade, a tool not just for survival but for domination.

Beyond the sword, you test your dark abilities on other living beings. Domesticated animals like dogs and horses yield to your will with ease, their obedience almost natural. Wild creatures, however, foxes, wolves, and the like, are more resistant. Yet, through patience and persistence, you learn to control even them, pushing them to perform feats beyond their natural limits.

For now, you lay low and avoid drawing too much attention to yourself, steering clear of Darya the wild mage and the church of Healos.

Their connection to the divine makes them uniquely attuned to the taint of Karnath’s power coursing through you. You feel their unease when your paths cross, a faint but unmistakable tension that warns you to keep your distance - for now.

Ten months after you received your powers, your son is born.

The boy is born strong and healthy, and as you cradle him in your arms, you promise your stepmother in hushed tones, "We’ll make another soon. A girl this time, perhaps." Isolde smiles, resting her head on your chest, her submission complete.

The villagers gather to celebrate the birth, oblivious to the truth of the boy’s parentage. To them, he is simply another son of Dammar Ellan. You let them believe the lie. There is no need to reveal the truth -yet.

But not everyone keeps their opinions to themselves.

"Looks like Isolde’s popped out another one," sneers Krull, the miller’s son, as you pass him in the village square.

Krull is a few years older than you and has been a thorn in your side since childhood. He stands with his arms crossed, his smirk infuriating.

"Guess your old man’s still got it, huh? Not that you’d know anything about it."

You smile, cold and calculating, hiding the storm brewing inside you. Krull doesn’t know that the child is yours, but the insult still cuts deep. Your power hums faintly at the edge of your thoughts, urging you to act. You resist - for now.

Krull is nothing but a bully and a fool, yet even fools can serve a purpose. You’ve already begun plotting your ****, envisioning a lesson so profound he’ll never forget. Power isn’t just about control, it’s also about showing others what happens when they dare to challenge it.

The possibilities excite you. Krull could be made into another servant, broken and humiliated under your command. But there are ways to wound him even more deeply. His mother, the miller’s wife. His sister, the miller’s daughter. Or perhaps his lover, the girl he hopes to marry. Any of them could be yours if you choose to take them.

The first year of your new life has been a foundation, one built on control, discipline, and preparation. You’ve taken over your home, secured your first heir, and begun the journey toward greater ambitions. The village is next, and beyond that, the possibilities stretch endlessly.

As you lay in bed that night, Isolde curled against you, her warmth a reminder of all you’ve claimed, your thoughts drift to the future.

This is only the beginning. Soon, you will have more power.

You decide -

A. to break Krull, your childhood bully, making him your thrall and exacting your **** by taking one or more women from his life - his mother, his sister, or the girl he plans to marry.

B. to infiltrate the local church, feigning devotion to Healos, the god of healing, while secretly corrupting its priests and followers from within.

C. to venture into the forest and confront Darya, the half-elven mage, using your power to either enslave her or **** her to teach you advanced magic.

D. to hunt the beast that killed your mother. Killing or enslaving such a powerful creature would grant you both **** and power.

E. to head to the inn, seeking news of the outside world. Adventurers and merchants may hold valuable information - or prove useful pawns for your plans.

F. to apply for a servant’s position in your feudal lord’s manor, aiming to rise through manipulation and intrigue until you seize control of his power and influence.