I was truly helpless.
The mark she embedded within me pulsed violently, digging into my sanity like a hot needle. It burned, twisted, screamed inside my mind—like it wanted to drive me insane all over again.
She smiled, clearly satisfied with my helplessness. Her eyes narrowed slightly in amusement. "Hmm… my little servant really is something."
Despite her amusement, she seemed genuinely surprised at how strong I'd become. Her gaze flicked toward the swords surrounding her—each one etched with intricate formations and divine patterns. She could feel it. Even with her power, breaking through them wouldn't be easy.
She nodded again in satisfaction, and the mark within me surged.
Gritting my teeth, I realized this wasn't punishment.
No, it was domination. Not to hurt me, but to break me. To force me to submit again. She wanted my will—not just my body—to bend to her control.
With deliberate, teasing cruelty, she touched my chin and forced me to look her in the eyes.
Her presence was overwhelming. Dominant. Utterly dominant. It wasn't just in her cultivation or strength—it was in her very existence. Her pleasure came from control. From seeing me powerless before her.
And though I didn't exactly hate it… I didn't like it either.
It was confusing. Especially with the mark intensifying like a demon whispering in my ear.
She nodded once more, then slowly, almost playfully, placed a single finger into my mouth.
Her eyes held a dark amusement. The pleasure in her gaze was unsettling, dangerous even. It made my heart race for all the wrong reasons.
If I didn't play this right, I might very well experience that pain again—the kind that strips away your dignity and leaves nothing but submission.
And I wasn't ready to lose myself. Not yet.
---
Far above, beyond the very heavens, a creature slumbered—a beast the size of a mountain, bound by chains that shimmered with celestial seals.
Its entire form was blackened, scarred from ages of confinement. Its massive wings had been torn away, leaving only bloodied stumps.
Dozens of angels hovered around it, watching, chanting, reinforcing the seal day after day. They were its wardens, its jailers.
Then, suddenly, it laughed.
A low, manic, thunderous laugh that made the heavens tremble.
"Do you really think you can bind me for another thousand years?" it snarled.
The angels recoiled. Fear filled their hearts. They exchanged horrified glances. The shackles—once shining with divine power—now flickered weakly. The seal was failing.
"I am Azoth," it roared, "the God of Destruction! The ancient god who sealed me is long dead!"
The angels stood in stunned silence. Their god, their savior, had departed to the Void Realm a millennium ago… and never returned. No message. No sign. Only faith kept them going.
But Azoth's words rang with truth—and dread.
Without their god, who could seal Azoth again?
They clung to hope. To the belief that their god would return. That he'd appear just in time to stop the apocalypse.
---
Deep within the earth, hidden in ancient caverns, seals began to crumble.
One by one, seven long-buried beings stirred from their slumber.
The Seven Sins—creatures birthed by Azoth himself—awoke. Their seals, which had endured for centuries, were now gone. Broken.
As they stirred, so too did their counterparts.
The Seven Virtues—divine warriors created by the ancient god—opened their eyes for the first time in centuries.
They had once fought to stop the Sins… and now, the war was about to begin anew.
The world would soon be thrust into a new era—one filled with chaos, war, and the return of forgotten powers.
---
Meanwhile, Irish had finally composed herself.
After the chaos in the dungeon, after the blood, the fear, and the loss… she was ready.
Ready for answers.
There was one person at the center of it all: Marquel.
He was mysterious, quiet, unreadable—and that only made her more curious. How had he known so much about her? How had he saved her?
She clenched her fists, a mixture of confusion, bitterness, and longing swirling in her chest. So many of her classmates were dead. And yet… she couldn't bring herself to hate him. Not fully.
No, if she could just understand him… maybe the truth would make everything clear.
That's why she was heading to his room now.
Her movements were fluid, graceful—like water flowing through the air. She was a dancer of battle, elegance in motion.
Along the way, she met a few friends. They looked at her with concern.
"Are you alright?" one of them asked gently.
"I'm fine," she said with a soft smile. "Really. I just need to talk to someone."
After some brief conversation, she continued on, eventually arriving at Marquel's door.
She stood there in silence, staring at the polished wood.
Should she knock?
Should she just barge in?
Should she scream at him until he told her everything?
Her heart pounded. She felt like turning around, running back to her room, and pretending none of this existed.
But she needed answers.
Her eyes lit with determination. It was, honestly, kind of cute.
And so—she barged in.
"Explain everything now!" she shouted, eyes ablaze.
Then she froze.
Her voice caught in her throat.
In front of her stood Marquel—shirt torn, hair disheveled, breath unsteady.
And right beside him… was her.
The Empress.
Finger still in his mouth.
The mark glowing ominously on his Cheek.
The atmosphere in the room twisted into something strange, heavy, and deeply awkward.
The mark inside me stopped pulsing abruptly, as if startled by her entrance.
Both of us turned toward the door.
I looked at Irish.
She looked at me.
And I realized, in that exact moment, that I was absolutely, completely, and royally fucked.
The Empress, ever calm, gave a slow, enigmatic smile.
"Oh my," she purred, tilting her head with mock curiosity.
[I'll release the next chapter after few hours and the Powerstone are really overwhelming i will not able to keep up and 4 Powerstone I'll publish new chapters sorry it increased I'll not be able to keep up if it's just two Powerstone T-T]