After an indeterminate amount of ti, the grand gates of Anthicheg's palace slowly creaked open.
Ansel , who had co to confront the Empress, stood resolutely at the entrance, leaning on his scepter.
"Why not co in, Ansel?"
A voice echoed from the depths of the hall, causing Ansel to raise an eyebrow slightly. The seductive tone, dripping with disdain… made it clear that the Empress held him in utter, utter contempt.
However, provoking a divine species without wielding the necessary power was foolish, and the Empress's current attitude of complete control was, in fact, expected.
The young Hydral rely smiled and walked calmly into the hall.
The palace doors closed with a thunderous grind, and the flamboyant blood flas ignited in the braziers on either side of the hall.
Anthicheg remained as Ansel had last seen it, with the grand canopy bed positioned before the Source Fla. This ti, however, the Empress was not reclining behind the curtains.
She stood at the forefront, her gaze as if she intended to devour him whole.
"It has been so ti, Your Majesty."
Ansel maintained his composed deanor, but Ephesande had no patience for pleasantries. In an instant, she appeared before Ansel, reaching out to caress his face, her eyes betraying her greed.
"Look at you... Ansel."
The woman chuckled softly with delight. "What brings you to at this hour, hmm?"
She savored the pleasure of touching the young man before her. Ephesande suddenly understood why her foolish daughter was so infatuated with Ansel.
His unparalleled quality was one thing, but more importantly, he ignited their divine desire for… conquest.
Conquering the continent could never compare to the joy of conquering a divine being.
The thrill of manipulating, toying with, and eventually ravaging the future divine species, the son of her late adversary, exceeded Ephesande's wildest imaginations.
Yet, beneath this pleasure, her pursuit remained unchanged.
"You know..."
The flas in the Empress's eyes seed to be fueled by an insatiable desire—not for pleasure, but for survival and transformation.
"You know what I want, don't you?"
She pressed herself against Ansel, embracing him tightly, her breath scorching.
Her current behavior was both an outlet for her desires and a tactic to hasten Ansel's submission.
Ephesande's craving for self-preservation surpassed all else.
She was so desperate to force Ansel's compliance that she abandoned all imperial decorum and negotiation etiquette, behaving like a lustful animal. It was absurdly… incomprehensible.
Who could have imagined that the woman now writhing against Ansel, so debased and laughable, was the Empress who ruled the entire empire, a deity overlooking all beings?
It was no wonder that in the future, Suellen, who fought Seraphina, showed such intense disdain for Ephesande.
Clearly, Ephesande was on the brink of complete madness… Dignity and everything else had to give way to the imperative of survival.
A motive that required no justification, was entirely reasonable, yet left one at a loss for words, even appearing sowhat absurd.
Ansel, pressed by those soft flesh, couldn't help but sigh inwardly. Perhaps having such an adversary was the greatest fortune amidst countless misfortunes.
He had prepared a set of argunts to confront the Empress, ensuring that Flalle and Annelisa would remain undiscovered. Ansel had to be fully prepared; otherwise, if she used them as leverage, he would be utterly helpless.
However, the young Hydral realized he had overthought. Once Ephesande saw him delivered to her doorstep, nothing else mattered in her eyes.
The only comndable thing about this woman was her discernnt—her ability to recognize the essence of his spirit.
The power Ansel unleashed when he destroyed the assassin, though shielded by the millennia-old might of the Hydral lineage, was still too terrifying and had caught the Empress's attention.
From that mont, she had been keenly observing Ansel's spiritual essence, and it was only after realizing this that Ansel devised his plan to coerce Flalle and obtain the sixth-stage power.
"Tell ... Ansel... tell ."
Ephesande cradled Ansel's face, whispering urgently, "Tell about your spirit essence... your power. That's what I want, isn't it? Isn't it!"
The last words were almost a scream, and the force she applied to Ansel's face intensified abruptly. Her sudden hysteria, despite her current beauty, was chilling.
Ansel rely smiled and gently pushed Ephesande away, speaking calmly:
"I wish to make a deal with you, Your Majesty."
"...A deal? What kind of deal? Power? Evora? ? The Empire?
It doesn't matter! Tell ! Tell what your spirit essence is!"
Ephesande, not yet having received an answer, had transford from her earlier seductive allure into a frenzied, tyrannical figure… This was the true end of a divine species—utter madness, unable to control emotions or self.
The blood flas above Anthicheg surged violently, their brutal pressure sweeping across the entire imperial city, even causing so passersby to die of fright, collapsing with pale faces.
"Please calm down, Your Majesty... I will give you the answer now."
Ansel, however, remained serene. After making that heartfelt decision, he had never felt so calm.
The all-consuming darkness spread from beneath Ansel's feet in all directions.
The Source Fla within Anthicheg swelled instantly, not in hostility, but in a kind of... joy.
The joy of being fed.
Under the suppression of the Source Fla, the abyss Ansel unleashed was confined to a radius of about three ters around him. Ephesande, gazing at the erging darkness and the writhing, grotesque tendrils extending from it, seed entranced, reaching her hand into the fearso blackness.
"Ah... ah!!"
Ephesande's body trembled violently, her unsteady legs making her appear on the verge of collapse. She emitted utterly indecent moans and gasps, her eyes filled with twisted fervor and madness, sending chills down one's spine.
"I see it... I see it!"
Her eyes were gradually stained with darkness, yet the Flafeast Royal's all-consuming fire burned them in turn. The two forces tugged at each other repeatedly, making it nearly impossible to discern the victor.
Ephesande's flushed face and frenzied expression seed to indicate that she didn't care about the erosion; all her attention was focused on what she "saw."
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