Sillad's mind was racing, trying desperately to formulate some kind of escape plan. He needed to notify Antares—this wasn't a threat any single Monarch could handle. This required their strongest, possibly the Rulers as well, possibly—
His thoughts were cut off as Ethan's voice entered his mind directly, bypassing all mental defenses through sheer overwhelming power.
"Still trying to call for help? Still planning escape? You need a little more education, I think."
Ethan snapped his fingers in front of Sillad again.
Snap.
Sillad ceased to exist.
Resurrected...
He reappeared instantly, gasping for air as if his lungs had forgotten how to function. "Wait—"
Snap.
Gone... And then pulled back from the abyss.
"Stop—"
Snap... Destroyed and Resurrected.
"Please—"
Snap... Destroyed and Resurrected.
"I'll fight! I'll—"
Snap... Destroyed and Resurrected.
The cycle continued five more times before Jean and Anna both shouted simultaneously, "ETHAN! ENOUGH!"
Their voices carried genuine concern, even a hint of anger. They'd seen what they needed to see—the point had been made.
Continuing further would cross a line from lesson to torture, and neither of them wanted Ethan to become someone who took pleasure in unnecessary cruelty.
Ethan stopped immediately at their voices. He resurrected Sillad one final time but didn't snap again.
Sillad collapsed to his knees the moment the telekinetic pressure lessened enough to allow movement. He was panting like he'd just run a marathon, his eyes unfocused and distant.
He could still feel it—the sensation of being destroyed and brought back, over and over. Each death had been absolute. Each resurrection had been jarring, his consciousness ripped from void and shoved back into existence without warning or preparation.
It had drained him mentally in a way that centuries of warfare never had. This wasn't combat. This wasn't even torture in the traditional sense.
This was a demonstration of absolute, meaningless power—showing him that his existence, his will, his very essence meant nothing to the being standing before him.
Ethan looked down at the broken Monarch with something approaching pity. "Jean and Anna are too kind," he said quietly. "They care about preventing unnecessary suffering, even for beings who were perfectly willing to torture and kill them just minutes ago."
He crouched down to meet Sillad's eye level. "So I'll ask you one more time, and I want a clear answer, Will you fight Jean properly? Will you give her a genuine challenge, use your full power, and provide her with the combat experience she's seeking? Or do we need to continue this educational cycle until you understand that cooperation is your only option?"
Sillad's mouth was dry. His pride—the pride of a Monarch, of a being who'd ruled over concepts for millennia—was completely shattered.
When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and broken, "I... I'll fight. Whatever you want. Just... no more. Please."
"Good choice," Ethan said before standing up and smiling again. The warmth returned to his expression, as if the casual destruction and resurrection had never happened. "I'm glad we could reach an understanding."
But Jean's attention had shifted away from Sillad entirely. Her gaze was locked on Querehsha, who remained suspended in Ethan's telekinetic grip.
The Plague Monarch was trembling—not from fear, though fear was certainly present. This was something else.
Her entire body shook with barely contained... something. Her teeth were clenched, biting her lower lip hard enough to draw black ichor, as if she was trying to physically restrain herself from speaking or screaming.
"Ethan," Jean said slowly, her voice taking on the focused tone she used when her telepathic powers detected something unusual. "I want to examine Querehsha instead of fighting Sillad."
Ethan's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Really? I thought you wanted to test yourself against the Frost Monarch?"
"It's not about the fight anymore," Jean said while moving closer to the suspended Monarch. Her own eyes began to glow—not with Phoenix Force, but with the psychic energy of her mutant telepathy. "Something's happening inside her mind. I can feel it. There's... turmoil. Conflict. A battle being fought on a mental level."
Anna looked confused. "What do you mean, something's happening in her mind? Isn't she just terrified like Sillad? That seems pretty normal after what just happened."
She turned to Ethan. "And shouldn't you have noticed this already? You're a stronger telepath than Jean is right now—at least when she's not channeling the Phoenix Force. If there's something going on mentally, wouldn't you have picked up on it first?"
Ethan's expression shifted to something slightly sheepish. "I, uh... I'm not using my telepathy right now. Haven't been for most of the time, actually."
Both Jean and Anna stared at him in surprise. Jean spoke first, "You're not using it? At all? How? Your Genesis Telepathy is one of your most powerful ability, it's not possible to turn it off like a switch. It's also very much useful for gathering information and detecting threats."
Ethan sighed while running a hand through his blonde hair. "Because it's gotten too powerful and too annoying to keep active all the time. After my normal telepathy evolved into this, if I have it active, it constantly sends all the thoughts and emotions of everyone within several kilometers directly into my brain. Every human, every animal, every sapient being—I hear all of them simultaneously."
He looked genuinely uncomfortable discussing it. "Imagine hearing dozens, hundreds, sometimes thousands of voices all talking at once, all the time, with no way to tune them out. Every random thought, every fleeting emotion, every mental conversation—all of it flooding into my consciousness constantly."
"That sounds horrible," Anna said, her expression sympathetic.
"It is," Ethan confirmed. "So I learned to turn it off completely, like flipping a switch. I only activate it when I specifically need to read someone or when there's a genuine tactical reason to monitor mental communications. I'm not a fan of constantly reading other people's thoughts and emotions without their consent anyway—it feels invasive and unnecessary."
Jean nodded understanding. "I know. Uncontrolled telepathy at that level would be overwhelming." Her expression grew more focused. "But I need you to look at Querehsha now. Use your telepathy and your empathy—I want confirmation of what I'm sensing."
"Alright," Ethan agreed. He activated his Genesis Telepathy and Genesis Empathy simultaneously, directing both abilities specifically at Querehsha.
His eyes widened almost immediately. "Oh. Oh, that's... interesting."
"What is it?" Anna asked while moving closer as well.
Jean had approached Querehsha until she was floating directly in front of the suspended Monarch. She reached out with her psychic abilities, gently probing the surface thoughts without forcing her way through mental defenses.
Then she spoke in surprise, "Someone is inside her. Another consciousness, another person sharing her body and mind. And they've been fighting a battle for control... for a very, very long time."
Anna's eyes widened in shock. "What? There's someone else inside Querehsha? Like... possession? Mind control?"
"Not exactly," Jean replied, her brow furrowing with concentration as she probed deeper. "It's more complicated than that. Two souls, two minds, existing in the same body. One dominant, one suppressed. And the suppressed one has been resisting, fighting back, for what feels like... years? Decades? Maybe longer."
Sillad, still kneeling nearby and trembling from his earlier ordeal, looked between them with confusion cutting through his fear. "What... what are you talking about? Querehsha is Querehsha. She's always been the Monarch of Plagues. There's no one else—"
"You don't know," Jean said flatly, not even looking at him. "You've been allies for millennia and you never sensed it. Never realized your fellow Monarch essentially held a prisoner in her body."
Ethan slowly moved toward Jean, his expression serious and focused. With a gesture, he lowered Querehsha from her suspended position until her feet touched the ground, though his telekinetic grip kept her restrained and immobile.
The Plague Monarch continued to tremble violently. Her expression was a twisted mixture of rage and terror, her teeth still biting her lower lip hard enough that black ichor dripped down her chin.
"Jean," Ethan said quietly, "let's go into her mind and see what's really happening in there. If someone's been trapped for as long as we're sensing, they might need immediate help."
Jean nodded, her expression determined. "Agreed. But first—" She glanced at Sillad, who was watching them with growing panic.
Ethan followed her gaze and understood immediately. He turned to face the Frost Monarch, and his right hand began to glow with dark blue energy—complex magical patterns weaving through the air.
"What are you—" Sillad started to ask, his voice cracking with fear.
"Insurance," Ethan replied simply. "Enslavement Seal: Absolute Binding."
The blue magic wrapped around Sillad like chains, sinking into his body and creating glowing runes across his skin.
The spell was one of Ethan's custom creations—a combination of Norse binding magic, arcane restraint enchantments, and pure overwhelming power.
Sillad gasped as he felt his will being suppressed, his body becoming completely unresponsive. He could still see, hear, and think—but he couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't access his Monarch powers. He was a prisoner in his own body.
"That will make sure you don't do anything stupid while we're occupied," Ethan said matter-of-factly. "Sit tight. We'll deal with you later."
Ethan and Jean both turned their full attention to Querehsha, who was now staring at them with wide, terrified eyes—though whose terror it was, the Monarch's or the trapped soul's, remained unclear.
"This might feel strange," Jean warned, though she wasn't sure if she was talking to Querehsha or to whoever was hidden inside. "We're coming in."
Both Ethan and Jean's eyes began to glow—his with blue Genesis light, hers with psychic energy. They reached out with their telepathic abilities simultaneously, diving into Querehsha's consciousness like swimmers plunging into deep water.
Reality shifted around them.
.
.
.
The mindscape they entered was nightmarish.
They stood in what had once been a beautiful kingdom—that much was clear from the architectural bones of the structures around them. Grand buildings with elegant designs, wide streets that had been carefully planned, fountains and gardens that spoke of a civilization that valued beauty alongside function.
But all of it was ruined now.
The buildings were crumbling, covered in centuries of neglect and decay. The streets were cracked and broken, with plants—wrong plants, twisted and diseased—growing through every gap. The fountains were dry or filled with stagnant, foul-smelling water. And everywhere—absolutely everywhere—were insects.
Millions of them. Billions. They covered every surface like a living carpet, crawled over every wall, filled the air with their buzzing and clicking and chittering. The sound was overwhelming, a constant drone that seemed designed to drive anyone listening slowly mad.
Ethan's eyes blazed bright blue, and his Genesis power flared outward like a wave.
FWOOOOSH!
Blue flames erupted across the entire mindscape—not hot flames that burned normally, but cosmic fire that consumed everything. Every insect touched by those flames simply ceased to exist, not even leaving ash behind. They were unmade from this mental reality.
Within seconds, the buzzing stopped. The insects were gone. Only the ruins remained, silent and haunting.
"Better," Ethan muttered while looking around at the desolate landscape. "Now we can think without that noise."
Jean was already moving, her psychic senses guiding her toward the center of the kingdom. "This way. The other presence is... there."
She pointed toward a massive structure at the heart of the ruined city—a castle that must have been magnificent once, but was now a crumbling shadow of its former glory.
They walked quickly through the empty streets. The silence after the insects' removal was almost eerie, broken only by the sound of their footsteps and the occasional rumble of stone falling from decaying buildings.
As they approached the castle, Jean spoke quietly, her voice troubled. "Ethan... this place. This is someone's memory, their home, preserved in their consciousness. And it's been corrupted, infested, turned into this... nightmare. For how long?"
"Too long," Ethan replied grimly. "Let's find them."
They entered the castle's throne room—or what remained of it. The ceiling had partially collapsed, letting in dim light from the mindscape's perpetually gray sky. Tapestries hung in tatters. The throne itself was split down the middle, as if something impossibly strong had cleaved it in two.
And in the center of the room, suspended in the air by thousands of silken threads, was a massive cocoon.
It was at least three meters tall, made from the same silk that spiders and certain insects produced, but far stronger. The cocoon pulsed slightly, as if something inside was breathing—weak, labored breaths that spoke of exhaustion beyond imagining.
Jean approached slowly, her hand reaching out. "She's in there. The other consciousness. She's—" Her eyes widened. "She's been trapped like this the entire time. Decades. Maybe longer."
"Then let's free her," Ethan said before stepping forward.
His hand touched the cocoon, and Genesis power flowed from his palm into the silken prison. The threads began to dissolve, breaking down at the molecular level and falling away like mist.
As the cocoon opened, they could finally see what—who—was inside.
A woman. Young, perhaps in her early twenties by appearance, though age was difficult to determine in a mindscape. She was suspended in the cocoon's center by more threads wrapped around her limbs, her torso, even her neck—keeping her immobilized in a position of complete helplessness.
She was beautiful, in a fragile way that came from suffering. Her hair was silver—not gray from age, but a pure, luminous silver that seemed to catch light even in this dim place. It hung long and tangled around her, unwashed and uncared for through what must have been years of captivity.
Her face was pale, almost translucent, with delicate features that showed both nobility and pain. Her body was thin, too thin—the kind of thinness that came from slowly starving over a very long time. She wore what might have once been fine clothing, but was now little more than rags that barely covered her.
And even now, even trapped and weakened, she was still fighting. Her eyes were squeezed shut with concentration, her jaw clenched, every muscle in her visible body tensed with effort as she continued to resist whatever force was trying to control her.
As the last of the cocoon fell away and Ethan caught her gently before she could fall, her eyes slowly opened.
Blue eyes. The clearest, brightest blue—like the sky on a perfect day, like sapphires catching sunlight. Eyes that had somehow retained hope despite everything.
Those eyes focused on Ethan and Jean, taking them in with visible surprise. Then, incredibly, she smiled—a weak, exhausted smile, but genuine.
When she spoke, her voice was hoarse from disuse, barely above a whisper, "Please... kill her. Free me from this... suffering. I can't... fight anymore. I'm so tired. Just... end it. Please."
Jean's expression crumpled with sympathy and pain. "I'm so sorry," she said softly while moving closer. "I'm sorry for the intrusion, but we need to understand what happened to you. You're no longer in any condition to tell us verbally. May I... read your memories? I'll be as gentle as I can."
The silver-haired woman's eyes filled with tears—tears of relief that someone, anyone, was finally seeing her, acknowledging her existence. She nodded weakly, unable to form more words.
Jean's eyes glowed with psychic power as she carefully, gently reached into the woman's memories. Ethan did the same, his Genesis Telepathy and Empathy working to understand not just what had happened, but how it had felt.
The story unfolded in their minds like a tragic play.
Her name was Elizabeth Liones. Third Princess and beloved daughter of King Bartra of the Kingdom of Liones—a prosperous realm on a planet in a distant galaxy, far from Earth.
From a young age, Elizabeth had been gifted with extraordinary spiritual power. Not magic in the traditional sense, but something purer—an innate connection to life force itself. She could sense emotions and intentions with perfect clarity. She could heal injuries that should have been fatal. She could bring comfort to the suffering and peace to the dying.
She had been celebrated as a miracle child, blessed by the gods, destined for greatness.
The royal family had loved her dearly. Her father the king, her mother the queen, her sisters—all of them had treasured her not just for her power, but for her kindness, her compassion, her genuine desire to help everyone she met.
She'd been barely eighteen years old when Querehsha found her.
The Monarch of Plagues had needed a vessel—a body strong enough to contain her essence, spiritually powerful enough to withstand the strain of hosting a Monarch's consciousness, and young enough to be molded and controlled.
Elizabeth's gifts had made her the perfect target.
Querehsha had set an elaborate trap, disguised as a plague sweeping through a neighboring kingdom. When Elizabeth—compassionate, self-sacrificing Elizabeth—had insisted on going to help heal the sick, she'd walked directly into the Monarch's grasp.
The possession had been violent and traumatic. Querehsha had forced her way into Elizabeth's body, attempting to completely override the princess's consciousness and take full control.
But Elizabeth's spirit was stronger than Querehsha had anticipated. Even as the Monarch invaded her mind, even as foreign consciousness wrapped around her own like suffocating chains, Elizabeth had fought.
She hadn't been able to prevent the possession—Querehsha's power was too overwhelming. But she'd managed to retain a portion of control, enough to resist complete suppression.
And then came the worst part.
Querehsha, frustrated by Elizabeth's resistance and wanting to break her spirit completely, had used the princess's own body to return to the Kingdom of Liones.
Elizabeth had been conscious through all of it. Trapped in her own body, screaming silently as Querehsha wielded her power to slaughter everyone Elizabeth loved.
Her father, cut down as he begged his daughter to fight whatever was controlling her.
Her mother, killed as she tried to embrace her possessed child one last time.
Her sisters, murdered as they looked at Elizabeth with confusion and betrayal, not understanding why she was doing this.
The entire royal family. Then the castle guard. Then the servants. Then the citizens of the capital city.
Thousands dead, all killed by Elizabeth's hands while she watched helplessly from inside her own mind.
Then Querehsha had destroyed the kingdom itself—unleashing plagues that turned the land barren, that corrupted the water, that made the very air poisonous. Within weeks, the entire planet was dead.
And through it all, Elizabeth had been screaming silently, watching her world end, powerless to stop it.
That should have broken her. Querehsha had expected it to break her.
But somehow—impossibly—Elizabeth had endured.
Even after losing everything, even after being forced to commit unthinkable atrocities with her own hands, even after centuries of being trapped in a cocoon within her own mind while Querehsha used her body to wage war across the cosmos...
Elizabeth had never stopped fighting.
Every day, every hour, every single moment—she'd resisted. Pushing back against Querehsha's control with every ounce of spiritual power she possessed. It was why Querehsha had been forced to trap her in the cocoon, to contain her within this mental prison where she couldn't interfere.
But even from the cocoon, Elizabeth had continued to struggle. Continued to hope that someday, somehow, she would be free.
Jean's eyes were filled with tears by the time she finished reading the memories. The sheer scale of suffering, the unimaginable pain and guilt Elizabeth had endured—it was almost too much to comprehend.
"How?" Jean whispered, her voice breaking. "How did you survive this? How did you not just... break? Let go? Give up?"
Elizabeth's weak smile returned. "Because... if I gave up... then she wins. Then everyone... everyone I loved... died for nothing. As long as... I'm still here... still fighting... their memory... lives on."
Ethan felt his own eyes burning with tears. His Genesis Telepathy and Empathy weren't just reading Elizabeth's story—they were making him feel it, experiencing her emotions as if they were his own.
The despair. The guilt. The endless, grinding exhaustion. The horror of watching yourself kill everyone you love while being completely unable to stop it.
And underneath it all, somehow surviving through everything—a core of pure, unbreakable determination. A refusal to surrender that bordered on the divine.
'She's extraordinary,' Ethan thought, admiration flooding through him alongside the sympathetic pain. 'To suffer this much, to lose everything, to be tortured for decades, and still refuse to give up—that's not just strength. That's something beyond strength.'
He was surprised to find that Elizabeth's story echoed something from his previous life—the anime Seven Deadly Sins had featured a character named Elizabeth Liones, a princess who is the reincarnation of an angel.
But this Elizabeth was clearly real, clearly her own person with her own story. The similarities were coincidental.
Either way, the Elizabeth in his arms was suffering, was real, and needed saving.
Both Ethan and Jean came to the same decision simultaneously, their determination crystallizing into action.
"We're getting you out of here," Ethan said firmly. "Jean?"
Jean nodded, her expression hardening with resolve. "Already on it."
...
(Image of Elizabeth Liones)