Perhaps they rejoiced that the Western Lands might finally be spared from draconic calamity, or perhaps they were utterly subjugated by Hydral's awe-inspiring mastery over the abyss. More likely, most exulted at the prospect of an unprecedented windfall.
How formidable must the dragons that survived this onslaught be? And if slain… what maddening value might their corpses hold?
The ferocity and avarice of the extraordinary beings reached a fever pitch. Those who had rely held their positions behind aether barriers and magical fortifications now surged forward in a killing frenzy. Slaughtering lesser dragonkin paled in comparison to the astronomical value of the surviving ancient dragons or the supre glory of vanquishing such beings.
These prospects inflad the extraordinary beings' souls, their desire for ascension and greed stimulated to the utmost.
Now, there was no need to fear the defensive line breaking or the Western Lands succumbing to draconic devastation. No matter the dragons' reserves, they could not possibly muster another dozen top-tier fifth-stage colossi at this juncture. Even if fate disregarded all reason, it remained an impossibility.
But... at what cost?
The nine-headed serpent dissipated from the firmant, revealing Ansel of Hydral's silhouette. His aether was utterly depleted, a desiccation so profound it would require an eternity or an endless influx of resources to replenish.
In his current state, how could he possibly "reclaim" Evora? Let alone command the God from the Machine; even sustaining Nidhoggur's aether now relied solely on Ravenna's own reserves.
"...Ansel."
Ravenna materialized beside him, instinctively steadying the youth. The undisguisable weariness etched upon his visage caused her heart to constrict with anguish.
Ansel gently patted Ravenna's arm, offering solace: "Fear not, I've no intention of concluding matters thus."
"But you..."
Ravenna's mind had conjured myriad scenarios regarding how Ansel might overco this impasse.
The most abhorrent of these was not rely Ansel being forced to choose between two dire options—be it abandoning the struggle against fate or forsaking the West's commoners—both of which Ravenna found unacceptable. Beyond this...
there lood a more pressing concern: Ravenna dreaded that Ansel, in his determination to achieve both objectives, might recklessly employ the Abyssal Sermon upon himself once more, disregarding his own well-being.
As the Head of Abyss, privy to the elents possessed by Hydral, Ravenna comprehended better than anyone the... burden Ansel bore as a Hydral.
His terrifying aptitude, encompassing mastery of nearly every domain and elent, was not innate but rather a consequence of that fateful Sermon which had rendered him uncontrollable.
—To save his mother, he had willingly plunged into the abyss, beseeching its all-consuming power. The abyss, fond of this young Hydral, had responded with boundless generosity.
Ansel thus acquired talents verging on omnipotence, but at the cost of his sanity, wholly corrupted by the abyss. Annelisa had suppressed this corruption by sacrificing her formidable soul, yet the abyss had not reclaid these talents.
For these very talents were the abyss's curse—the more elents one controlled, the closer one drew to the abyss. Ansel, possessing the spiritual essence of the Abyssal Sermon, endured the most severe corruption among all Hydrals, bar none.
Should Ansel rashly employ the Sermon upon himself again, could he control its extent? How much would the abyss's corruption intensify? Without the Head of Souls, each incrent of abyssal corruption was irrevocable. Ravenna fervently hoped Ansel would not, for this cause, step once more into the abyss he so loathed to tread.
Yet Ansel had already accomplished so much; how could he possibly retain the strength to confront the monstrosity erging from the rift? Surely he wouldn't...
Ansel, however, afforded Ravenna little ti for contemplation. Despite his depleted aether, he seed to retain a modicum of spatial traversal ability. In an instant, his form leapt towards the crimson rift, materializing in its vicinity after a series of rapid flashes.
Only upon reaching this vantage point could one truly comprehend the horrifying nature of the monstrosity that had forcibly erged from the blood-hued rift.
Its colossal form, visible even from afar, now appeared utterly imnse, towering at least several hundred ters high. Yet its size was rely secondary to its grotesque composition—it resembled a chira crudely stitched together by an inexperienced biological alchemist. Stay tuned to My Virtual Library Empire
The claws that had rent the rift asunder resembled dragon talons, but were elongated and twisted, sprouting sharp digits at each joint like gnarled branches. These formidable appendages extended from what appeared to be the creature's "head"—a misnor, for the enormous cranium protruding from the rift was more akin to a tumor, not only massive and misshapen but seemingly adorned with dozens of...
faces?
"A-N-S-E-L!"
The deafening, multitudinous roar confird that this was no illusion, but stark reality.
"...Devoured by that throne?"
Ansel's brow furrowed as comprehension dawned regarding the nature of this aberrant entity.
Within the blood-fla infused rift of the labyrinth, Ansel hadn't truly slain the extraordinary beings, but rather utilized abyssal corruption to immolate them with the Flafeast.
The skeletal throne that had imprisoned Evora possessed an extrely bizarre devouring power. It was entirely possible that after Ansel and the remaining extraordinary beings had departed, it had... consud all those Ansel had cast into the rift!
"Ansel... kill you... save ... Ansel!"
Amidst the frenzied bellowing, Ansel discerned a voice he knew all too well. Even without hearing it, he could have identified the core of this malford body.
At the center of the enormous, deford head, amidst dozens of faces and bulging, twisted sinews, Ansel beheld Evora, her eyes rolled back, utterly unconscious.
Her physical form remained intact, as if embedded within the massive, deford tumor rather than fused into it. No... the entire twisted, malford growth had burgeoned forth from her very flesh!
Evora had seemingly employed so thod to extricate herself from the skeletal throne, but in doing so, had been transmuted into this... neither human nor monster abomination.
Ansel had to admit... this madwoman, who had dared to move against her own mother, the reigning empress, even before donning the crown, truly possessed exceptional talent. Even in such dire straits, she had fulfilled her promise, "creating" this opportunity. It appeared she might have nearly escaped on her own, without Ansel's intervention.
—The several golden chains firmly embedded in the tumor's rear ensured her escape remained rely a possibility.
"Save ... kill... Ah—!!"
Standing beside Ansel, Ravenna furrowed her brow: "Is this Evora? No... what is this?"
She regarded the monstrosity with trepidation, concerned whether Ansel could contend with it in his current state.
Ansel gazed at the malford tumor-beast for a prolonged mont, his eyes narrowing slightly:
"So many fifth-stage extraordinary beings' powers and elents, crudely and forcibly amalgamated without any compatibility. It bears a slight resemblance to Hydral's Head of Devouring, though vastly inferior."
At this juncture, Ansel's gaze turned glacial.
This imitation of Hydral's Head of Devouring, coupled with the Tidecaller's corpse within the skeletal cranium, and the siphoning of Flafeast's power...
Truly… an ominous portent.
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