Chapter 274

[Third Person's PoV]

"You've grown wings," Artorius observed with a small frown. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, "What new magic have you learned? Is it some never-before-seen sorcery from the vessel you're possessing?"

Aurora's expression remained cold. "If you must know," she said icily, "I've ascended—I've become a higher existence. Something you and your kind have spent eons trying and failing to accomplish." She smirked, savoring the moment as she wanted their death to be slow and painful "And now, I intend to make your deaths anything but easy."

"Oh? And how exactly did you manage that?" Artorius asked, his whimsical smirk barely concealing his unease.

He had lived for countless millennia, witnessing civilizations rise and fall. His instincts, honed through endless battles, had never failed him—they had kept him alive for this long. And right now, those very instincts were screaming that he was in grave danger.

Aurora's smirk deepened. "Simple. I fell in love."

Alpha stifled a laugh, while Artorius blinked, unimpressed.

Lancelot, meanwhile, called out towards Artorius and muttered, "Sir, doesn't she look familiar?"

"Hm? Oh, you're right! She looks like that elf—"

Before he could finish, Artorius suddenly unsheathed his sword, his stance shifting into a defensive posture.

Aurora was already in front of him.

With a thunderous impact, her fist met his blade—and to his astonishment, the so-called indestructible artifact shattered like brittle glass. The force of her punch carried through, slamming into his chest. His armor buckled and cracked as he was lifted off his feet and sent hurtling through the air.

He crashed through multiple walls, tearing through stone and steel, before finally landing outside. His body skidded across the grass, carving deep trenches into the earth.

Aurora followed effortlessly, one powerful flap of her wings propelling her forward in a blur. She descended onto the battlefield with an almost serene grace, but the suffocating pressure she exuded was anything but calm. The sheer force of it threatened to crush anything—or anyone—unworthy of standing before her.

Artorius groaned, glancing down at his shattered weapon. It was an indestructible artifact. 'How... how did she break it?'

Aurora extended her hand, and with Ruler's Authority, she lifted him from the ground as if he weighed nothing. "Get up," she ordered, her voice quiet but absolute. "This is far from over. As the Ruler of Fate I have decided— Your end won't be a happy one"

Meanwhile, Alpha observed the stunned Lancelot with mild amusement.

"I see," Lancelot muttered, snapping his fingers as if trying to recall a distant memory. "You must be from that organization—the one that's been interfering with our plans. Shadow... something."

"Shadow Garden," Alpha corrected with an eye roll. "And I have a question for you. What did you do to my mother?" Her voice was calm, but the air around her grew heavy. "I may not remember much about her, but she is still my mother. So I suggest you answer honestly."

Lancelot scoffed. "You seriously expect me to remember the face of every elf that's served under me? The only reason I recognize you is because you look just like the so-called 'hero' we created."

Then, in the blink of an eye, he vanished—transformed into a silver blur.

The old Alpha wouldn't have even seen his movement. She would have been caught off guard. But this Alpha was different.

Without so much as a flinch, she caught his sword—between two fingers.

A shockwave erupted from the sheer force of his halted attack.

Lancelot's eyes widened in disbelief. His speed was unparalleled. When he moved, it was as if time itself had stopped—an illusion of stillness masking his velocity. And yet, she had not only reacted but stopped his strike effortlessly.

Alpha's gaze was unimpressed. "I asked you a simple question," she said. "In what way did that warrant an attack?"

Lancelot gritted his teeth and tried to pull his sword free. But before he could, Alpha coated her fingers with a trace of destruction.

Cracks spread along the blade's length in an instant—before it crumbled to dust.

"What?" Lancelot gasped.

He attempted to flee, turning into another silver blur, but the shadows were faster. They surged from behind, wrapping around him like living chains, rendering escape impossible.

Alpha sighed, raising a palm. With her authority over creation, she conjured a single seed—one that pulsed ominously with an unknown power.

Placing a hand against her cheek, she mused, "Oh well. If you won't answer my question willingly... then you leave me no choice."

"What—wait!—" Lancelot's voice cracked with panic. He didn't like the feeling that seed was giving him. Not one bit.

Alpha didn't hesitate. Ignoring his pleas, she pressed the seed into his forehead.

Lancelot let out a strangled scream, his body convulsing as the seed took root. It greedily consumed his own magic, using it to grow. Vines erupted across his face, weaving around his eyes like grotesque veins. He thrashed violently, desperate to rid himself of the mind-numbing agony, but every burst of magic only fueled the seed's expansion. It spread through his nervous system like a parasite, coiling around his brain and taking control.

Soon, his face was completely obscured by a large, blood-red flower. Beneath his skin, dark vines pulsed like thick, unnatural veins. Only his mouth remained visible as his screams finally died down. His head drooped. Silence.

"Now," Alpha said coldly, her piercing gaze locked onto the sub-leader of the Cult of Diabolos, "I'll ask you again. What do you know about my mother? What did you do to her?"

Lancelot's body twitched. Then, in a monotone voice, he answered.

"We originally only kept tabs on her. She was, after all, a descendant of the Original Hero we created. We watched and waited—until the curse activated. Once it did, we planned to bring her outside and forge another hero… a hero for us to control. But she never showed any signs of the curse."

Alpha scoffed. 'So he knew exactly who I was. Knew exactly who my mother was. Liar.' 

"We continued our observation, as we do with all direct descendants of the three heroes. Then she had a child… a little girl. Our focus shifted. When the daughter began showing signs of the curse, we acted. We guided slave traders and bandits toward the village. The mission was simple: the mother was of no use to us. Kill her. Bring the daughter to us."

Lancelot paused. Then, in a hollow voice, he finished:

"But that never happened. The girl slipped from our grasp. Something—or someone—intervened. The traders failed to deliver her."

A murderous aura erupted from Alpha. It mixed with Dragon Fear, sending an oppressive wave of malice through the air.

Then, in a blur, her fist slammed into Lancelot's head.

His skull ruptured instantly. Blood and brain matter splattered across the ground in a gruesome spray.

Alpha's body trembled. She hadn't meant to do it—not so quickly. But the rage had taken over. The pain.

Then came the tears.

She clenched her fists, willing them to stop. But they fell anyway, tracing silent paths down her cheeks as her lips quivered.

A presence appeared behind her.

She turned sharply—only to collapse into Cid's arms.

Her whole body trembled against him. He held her close, running a hand through her hair in quiet reassurance.

Alpha hiccupped, choking on a sob, as she buried herself in his embrace.

Meanwhile, Cid's gaze flickered toward the mangled corpse. His expression darkened, cold and unreadable.

'Such a quick death… was too kind for the likes of you.'

But that would have to wait.

Right now, his wife needed him.