A Victory's Bitter Taste
The void, once alive with the cacophony of battle, now stretched in a chilling silence, punctuated only by the distant hum of the Imperial Dragon Fleet consolidating its victory. Where the Northern Dominion's lead Dreadnought had imploded, a bitter coldness lingered, an emptiness that spoke of consumed despair, not just vanquished energy. Long Hu stood on the flagship's deck, utterly drained, the spectral screams of thousands of cultivators, fed to an unseen horror, echoing in his mind. The victory felt hollow, tainted.
Empress Xianxia dismissed her bridge officers with a curt nod, her gaze immediately seeking Long Hu. She strode to him, her armor gleaming, her presence a powerful beacon in the chilling aftermath. Her hand, encased in a gauntlet, reached out, not to question, but to gently cup his face, her thumb brushing away a streak of grime from his cheek. Her touch was firm, yet held a depth of concern that transcended the victory.
"You pushed yourself to your limits, Apprentice," she murmured, her voice low, a rare vulnerability softening its usual imperial command. "You saw too much. Come." She guided him away from the bustling deck, towards her private chambers.
Within the serene quiet of her sanctum, Xianxia personally administered a calming spiritual elixir, its warm essence soothing the raw edges of his psyche. She sat opposite him, her gaze unwavering, demanding the full truth. "The implosions," she began, her voice a hushed urgency. "They were not mere destruction. You felt them feed. Describe it."
Long Hu recounted the horrifying truth: the Dreadnought's core turning into a vortex of raw despair, the cultivators' fear and agony becoming a direct energy transfer, fueling the unseen Devourers. "They don't just thrive on conflict, Your Majesty," he rasped, the words a bitter taste. "They orchestrate it. Every death, every moment of terror, is a harvest. Their 'defeat' was merely another feast."
Xianxia listened, her perfect features still, but a profound dread deepened the pools of her eyes. This was true malevolence, an enemy that turned the very act of war into a victory for itself. Her initial cold calculation gave way to a surge of pure, protective fury for her realm. To fight them conventionally was to feed them.
She reached across the low table between them, her hand covering his. Her touch was not just a gesture of comfort, but a silent pact, a profound intimacy forged in the crucible of shared horror. He felt her determination, her unwavering resolve, and in that moment, the terrifying bond between them solidified further. They were truly alone against this cosmic blight.
Master Tian entered, his face grim despite the overall victory. "Your Majesty, reports from scouting parties. The Crimson Peaks and Aethelgard Alliance have halted their advances, reeling from the Northern Dominion's swift collapse. However, communications indicate they are now frantically attempting to 're-purify' their own forces, suggesting a dawning realization of their internal corruption. And... there are rumors of a strange, chilling plague spreading through the outer provinces of the Crimson Peaks, a surge of despair unlike any recorded."
Xianxia's eyes blazed. "They feed on despair. A plague would be a buffet. They are desperate, seeking new sources of suffering when their initial conduits are exposed." She stood, her hand still holding Long Hu's, pulling him subtly to his feet. "We cannot allow this. We cannot let war itself become their ultimate weapon."
Her gaze swept over the star-map, then returned to Long Hu, a fierce, desperate light in her eyes. "Apprentice," she commanded, her voice ringing with renewed resolve. "Our strategy shifts. We cannot merely defeat them. We must **starve** them. We will find a way to sever their connection to despair, to cleanse the very source of their sustenance. Master Tian, prepare for a counter-offensive. Not of direct combat, but of **spiritual purification**."
Long Hu felt the immense weight of her directive, the scale of the impossible task. To fight a war not with blades, but by healing the very despair the enemy devoured. It would be a battle for the soul of realms. His hand tightened around hers, a silent vow passing between them. They were no longer just engaging an army. They were facing a cosmic hunger, and their strange, intertwined destiny was the only hope for a galaxy on the brink of profound despair. The path ahead was arduous, but for the first time, he felt a flicker of hope, born from their shared, unyielding resolve.