Three statues were arranged around the room—three female statues inverted and perverted in blood. She recognized them to her horror: the three divine sisters stood before her. Sviata, Volga, and Apolonia, probably the most illustrious trio of sisters in the history of the ancient Lemurian pantheon.
"Is nothing sacred to you, Celia?" Alana growled.
"Sacred and impious are the same, Warden," she replied, pointing at the statues behind her. "You recognize them, right? Of course you do. You are a slave to their descendants, how could you not recognize them?"
"Anyone with their achievements would have the same fame. That is their glory; do not try to stain it with your own ineptitude," Alana replied as she leveled her spear at her.
"Do you know how many men have come to kill me?" said the member of the Hannyo race coldly, while her wings fluttered, revealing their crimson hue and emitting a sinister aura around her. "Do you know how many men we have killed? Soon the East Continent will be bathed in divine blood; soon not only this place, but the four continents will become a pool of blood for vengeance."
"If you consider that ineptitude, then your standards are too high, Alana."
It was said that Princess Celia possessed an ancient demonic lineage on her mother's side, from a clan of the Demon Butterfly race; this form confirmed those rumors.
The spear in Alana's hand shone with a sinister light. It was different from most spears. It looked like a long, straight pole like any other, but its material was strange: it did not look like wood or metal, but rather like bone. Despite that, it was not porous; it was strangely resilient like steel but also more flexible than most woods. And its tip was even more sinister: it looked like the tip of an evil horn that seemed to pulse under the bloody whip of an ancient beast.
This was not a spear for combat. It was a spear created simply to kill. It sought neither mercy nor victory, but absolute death.
"I did not come to argue," Alana murmured in an indifferent, emotionless tone, as if she were a tool.
She was an assassin; that was her domain, her own Dao. Not the Dao of Death, but the Dao of Assassination. Not everything could die, but assassination went beyond death; assassination was an emotion, death merely a fact.
She had no emotions, except for one: the desire to kill.
"I have come to execute a sentence that has been delayed for far too long."
Her words went unanswered this time. The figures in the shadows moved, revealing themselves in their utter corruption.
They were Drakais. Their bodies were covered in Adharma inscriptions that had deformed them beyond what they previously were. But they were also Hannyos; the diluted demonic blood in their veins manifested in visible malformations: pustule-like scales on their faces and skin, fur covered in black bone spikes, and the emergence of multiple eyes and arms on random parts of their anatomy.
Their size had also increased for this very reason. Hannyos were usually slightly shorter than a normal Fey, barely comparable to the size of a Feynir, averaging just over two meters and ten centimeters.
But now, dozens of them had surpassed the two-and-a-half-meter mark, reaching and bordering on three meters. Even though she was a Feysir, her physical prowess would likely falter against so many under normal circumstances.
"Kill her," Celia growled coldly, giving the signal.
A bloodthirsty shriek erupted throughout the hall, making the very air tremble with its murderous intent and the ground vibrate. Dozens of bloodthirsty humanoid beasts rushed toward her with the sole intention of tearing her apart; her death was a certainty, and claiming a piece of her corpse as a trophy was the only thing on these creatures' minds.
But then, she became the lightning.
She didn't even speak. The spear in her hand blurred before the eyes of everyone present, and, as if it were an omnipresent object, it suddenly seemed to point at the chest of each one of them simultaneously.
Suddenly, an illusory thread of blood seemed to connect everyone present, except for Alana, who stood in the middle of this web like a spider holding the threads of her enemies' destinies in her hands.
Time seemed to have stopped. No one could break free from her control, but there was one exception.
Celia vomited blood as she tried to break the thread in a swift movement... but...
Barely the span of a breath had passed.
And she still hadn't managed to react with her crimson wings which, despite their visual fragility, were several times harder than the strongest mortal metal.
She was too slow.
An explosion echoed in the ears of everyone present, who watched as the respiratory and digestive systems of the Drakais flooded with blood. The vital liquid spurted from their seven orifices as they collapsed to the ground with a hole in their chests, right where their hearts should be.
"Mortal Separation," Alana growled coldly, wrapping the tip of her spear in a cloth covered in strange and esoteric symbols that suppressed the weapon's bloodlust, which seemed unsatisfied with the massacre it had just caused.
"I will not die like a dog. I am the Princess of the Mountain Palace, I will have my revenge... my lord will avenge me, he..."
But before she could finish, surprisingly, a blade as fine as a hair separated her head from the rest of her body.
As Celia fell motionless to the ground, to the surprise of even Alana, a blurry figure materialized behind the corpse.
It was a black figure, formed from the equally dark blood of all the dead in that place, as if it had all been a sacrifice. The figure was formless; no features could be seen beyond a bestial mass of inhuman strength, beyond what was possible, that seemed to tear the veil of reality. The ground trembled and space screeched; the palace was already collapsing as the entity grew, continuing to absorb blood.
But Alana was not worried. The appearance of these creatures was temporary; without a suitable vessel, beyond this weak and partial incarnation, it could not exert more than a small percentage of its true prowess.
She said nothing at first; she just looked at it. An unparalleled bloodlust, the mark of a wrath beyond reason, flooded Alana's mind, and before she could react...
She heard something.
And the next minute, everything went black.
When she regained consciousness, darkness covered the place. Without the black candles that had infused their presence, half the ceiling had collapsed, filtering a small sliver of moonlight onto the bloody scene before her eyes.
Or rather, the grotesque scene, since the blood from the corpses had completely disappeared, leaving only dry, empty mummies. But beyond that, Alana realized, to her usual indifference, that a corpse was missing. Or rather, a portion of one.
Because Celia's head, which had been decapitated right in front of her, had now disappeared.