She stood before me with that predatory grace, and I realized I was about to learn exactly what Level 180 Ascendant really meant when it decided to stop playing games.
"Now then," she said, her voice carrying that same maternal tone she'd used to teach me table manners as a child, "mama is going to show you how real power works."
Real power. Not just magical classification—something deeper?
Her hands moved to my chest, pressing gently but with unmistakable authority. "Sit," she commanded softly.
I found myself obeying without conscious thought, settling onto the chair she'd guided me to. The positioning put her standing above me, looking down with maternal satisfaction.
"Good boy," she praised, her fingers threading through my hair with possessive affection. "You're already learning to listen to mama properly."
The way she says 'mama' makes it sound like a title. Like something that demands absolute reverence.
"Now, sweetheart," she continued, beginning to pace around my chair with measured steps, "mama wants to talk to you about your little adventure with Cassandra."
My breath caught, but she continued before I could speak.
"You did very well with her," she said, genuine pride in her voice. "Taking control, making her submit, showing her what it feels like to belong to someone stronger. Mama is so proud of her clever boy."
Wait. She's... praising me for dominating Cassandra?
"You have such natural instincts for it," she continued, her hand trailing across my shoulders as she circled me. "The way you made her beg, the way you controlled her pleasure. Absolutely beautiful to sense from across the house."
"And you should do the same with all of them," she said, stopping behind me to lean down and whisper in my ear. "Every woman you encounter. Take control. Dominate them. Make them yours completely."
Her breath against my skin made me shiver. "That's what you were born for, darling. To be above them. To make them submit."
She's encouraging me to dominate other women. That's... not what I expected.
"But with mama..." She moved to stand in front of me again, cupping my face with both hands like I was the most precious thing in the world. "With mama, you're my baby. My sweet, obedient little boy who does exactly what mama tells him."
The contradiction should have been jarring, but somehow it felt... right. Natural. Like she was influencing me?
"Do you understand the difference?" she asked, her thumbs stroking my cheekbones.
I nodded, though I wasn't entirely sure I did.
"Explain it to me," she prompted. "Tell mama what you understand."
"With... with other women, I should be in control," I said slowly, working through the concept. "But with you, I'm..."
"You're what, sweetheart?"
"I'm yours," I finished, the words feeling inevitable.
Her smile was radiant. "Exactly. My perfect, brilliant boy. You understand perfectly."
There's something about the way she says these things. Like she's discussing universal laws rather than personal preferences.
She began removing her outer robe with casual elegance, revealing a dress that clung to her curves in ways that made my mouth go dry. "You see, darling, most people in this world don't understand how power really works."
Most people in this world. The phrasing is odd. Like she's...
"They think strength is about magical classification, about political position, about who can throw the biggest spells." She laughed, the sound carrying centuries of amusement. "So... limited."
Centuries? She's only been alive for—
"Real power," she continued, settling herself on the edge of the desk again, "is about understanding your place in the natural order. About recognizing who you serve and who serves you."
Her violet eyes seemed to hold depths that went beyond her apparent age, beyond this world entirely. "And you, my precious boy, are going to serve mama while everyone else serves you."
The way she talks about 'natural order'... like she's seen civilizations rise and fall. Like she's been playing games on a scale I can't even comprehend.
"Come here," she said, patting her lap like I was still five years old.
I hesitated for a moment, and her expression shifted subtly—not angry, but containing a hint of something vast and patient and absolutely immovable.
"Now, Marcus."
I stood and moved to her, letting her guide me to sit across her lap like a child seeking comfort. The position should have been humiliating, but instead it felt... safe. Protected.
"There's my good boy," she murmured, one arm around my waist while the other hand stroked my hair. "Mama's perfect little monster."
Monster. She called me a monster.
It wasn't an insult. It was pride. Like she was discussing a masterpiece she'd spent years creating.
"You're going to reshape this world, aren't you, sweetheart?" she asked, the question rhetorical. "Going to take all those powerful women and make them yours. The academy girls, the princesses, maybe even some of those proud immortals."
She knows about my plans. Of course she knows.
"And mama will watch you do it," she continued, her voice filled with maternal satisfaction. "Watch her beautiful boy become everything he was meant to be."
Her hand moved to cup my chin, tilting my face up to meet her gaze. "But no matter how powerful you become, no matter how many women kneel before you, you'll always be mama's baby. Won't you?"
The question carried weight that went beyond words. Like she was asking me to accept a fundamental truth about the universe.
"Yes, mama," I whispered.
"Good." She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, the gesture achingly tender. "Because mama has such plans for you. Such wonderful, terrible plans."
Plans that go beyond this world, beyond this life. She's not just some duchess who happens to be powerful. She's something else entirely.
Something that's been waiting. Watching. Preparing.
"Now," she said, her tone shifting to something more immediate, "mama thinks it's time for your first real lesson. About power, about control, about learning to submit to someone who actually deserves it."
Her hand began to wander, no longer maternal but something hungrier. "You're going to learn what it feels like to be completely owned, completely controlled. And then you're going to take that knowledge and use it on everyone else."
She's going to teach me submission by example. Show me exactly what I should be doing to other women by doing it to me first.
"Don't worry, baby," she whispered, her touch becoming more purposeful. "Mama is going to take very, very good care of you."
Just like those ancient mothers in the stories, raising their little monsters to conquer worlds.
Like cultivation novels. Like ancient beings who transcend mortal understanding, who raise disciples to reshape reality while remaining eternally loyal to their masters.
What the hell is my mother, really?
But as her hands began to work their magic on my increasingly compliant body, I found that I didn't particularly care about the answer.
All that mattered was that I was with her.
And she was going to help me into something magnificent.