Sarpavana felt it first — The ground-breaking pressure of the majestic nature, the breath of the queen, Sarpavana is surging the energy as if it were another sun.
They say sarpavana is a living creature, and so many don't know if it is true or not. The palace itself seemed to inhale. In the great hall, the Eight Apostles who guarded Sarpavana from the cardinal and intercardinal directions rose as one and moved to greet the arriving presence: the Queens.
They found the court already at play. At the center of the marble chamber lay an octagonal board — an arcane game whose pieces were not chips but living sigils. Across it sat two Queens, their faces cast in shadow, and the air around them hummed with dread, despair, and death.
"All hail the Queens," intoned the Apostles, kneeling. Their raw presence alone was enough; the apostles trembled as if in homage to an approaching storm.
A Queen's voice, cold and amused, cut the crap fools. "What the hell are you doing while some worms try to invade my Domain? Are you forgetting something? or did you forget your existence?
Or did you want to taste your blood by me?
Another Queen, in a calm voice," I bestowed upon thee the very reason for thy frail existence, yet thou hast forsaken thy charge. Is it negligence that bindeth thee, or arrogance, or pride, and don't state that it is something called Repression?
First Apostle Dhara "Pardon our negligence, Your Highness,". "We abide by the rule — never attack or even touch other countries or races in your absence of your presence your highness. We simply abide by the law left by The First Queen."
"A sensible rule," the Queen said, smiling in a way that did not reach her eyes. "My sister made it, and now I understand why. Apostles — when the war is over, expand the land using the octagram seal. And remember, never touch the sweets. Those are to be confiscated by me. Understood?"
You, Red and Blue ones, go and check on the lad I sent to Surarara, eh, sulara ahhh what a pain' some idiotic lands, don't try to harm her and just watch her, she can do anything on that land if she goes berserk, just brick her back.
Your Highness, about Young Master, he left Sarpavana.
I know " You can disperse"
The Apostles dispersed, shoulders hollowed by the decree. The Queens returned to the game.
"Oy, Cynthia," one Queen teased. "This time I'm going to win. You've lost two pieces; I have all three. Does the undefeated title finally go to me?"
"Make your move, Demolias,"
They played with the indifferent cruelty of monarchs, the board a strategy stage. Unexpectedly, Cynthia made a narrow, elegant play — and won. For a moment, Demolias lost her temper and smashed the board to the ground.
Oyy you cheated the game, right?
Oh, you are really throwing a tantrum at me now. If you do like that, my son won't listen to you next time
Huh, what the hell did your mouth just say? Your son, he's my son, son of Demolias Agathes.
Demolias, have you seen yourself in chamber mirrors? You don't need to say I know the answer without your squishy and wriggly jellyfish or flotation spell; you can't reach the mirror with your height.
Oyy Cynthia, do you want me to burn the Chambers?
Anyway, I'm leaving; you can do your short business anywhere.
When the sun broke the horizon, the two Queens rose as one. Their voices, cold and terrible, fell into the world like commands.
"Astral Form: Umbra's — Devouring Tide."
"Zone: Blazing Breeze — Convergence."
In the blink of an eye, both spells detonated.
Two empires vanished.
Where armies had camped, cities existed no longer. Ariel and the neighbor Taras, whom Cynthia and Demolias had targeted, were not merely burned — they were erased in the geometry of the Queens' wrath. Not a single life remained to tell of banners or names. Buildings liquefied into molten memory; fields turned to ash; rivers steamed and receded into nothing. Yet Demolias — with a command that made even the Apostles flinch — kept all of her sweets untouched. Her favorite platters, her reserved boxes of confections, remained immaculate amid the ruin. She walked among the smoking remains as though passing through a summer garden, her favored tray balanced on one arm.
The difference between them was a new kind of terror. Cynthia's attack carved a desert from a capital; its soil blackened into glass under the sun. Demolias' zone swallowed whole provinces and reshaped climates, her command turning warm breath into a furnace that licked at the horizon. Whole battalions dropped to ash where they stood; the blood of a thousand souls pooled into a single, dark ocean at one point, then boiled away. The Apostles who watched could only obey orders — some were sent to fetch all the sweets that Demolias had declared hers from the ruined vaults of an empire that no longer existed.
One Queen — amused and untroubled — quipped, "If you see that place now, you will say: 'Desert looks much better than that.'" She laughed, and the sound shivered through ruined streets.
As the second sun-blurred hour passed, the full scale of the devastation unfurled. Clouds, heavy with ash, rolled like mourning drapes across the sky. Messengers who had once raced between capitals no longer ran. The world readjusted: old borders became nothing more than shadows on scorched earth.
But up inside the Eleanora Domain, the watcher's question returned, like a stone dropped into still water. Power used without purpose leaves an echo. For whom had the Queens cleared the map? And who, now, would stand between what remained and the unstoppable hunger of those Queens?
The day ended in silence. In Sarpavana, the Apostles bowed, gathered the sweets, and carried them like treasures from a grave — strange trophies from a slaughter none could reconcile. Outside, on the far horizon where smoke still crawled, armies began to stir in new formations. New lines were drawn on old maps. The game had been won, but the real board — the living continent — had only just begun to play.