Serena bellowed laughter beneath the chorus of voices and cries flooding the battlefield as she sidestepped, letting a punch tear through the air where her head had been, space itself shuddering, her red hair whipping like flame before she spun and drove a thunderous kick into the yellow-haired man's ribs.

The crack of bone rang out before the man's body hurtled backward, smashing into the ground and kicking up a storm of dust.

Serena glanced at the enemies encircling her and smiled.

Not only Neron, Ziriel, and Calix stood before her, but also other brainwashed Grandmasters, eyes gleaming with the hunger to drag her into the river of death alongside them.

At her feet and scattered around her lay dozens of corpses — Grandmasters all — their bodies contorted into grotesque shapes and riddled with spear holes. One had no head, as if devoured by emptiness and another was half-consumed by the void itself.

She stood firm, her grip tightening around her spear, her ever-grinning smile unbroken.

The cries of soldiers shook the air, clashing against the thunder of hooves as cavalry stampeded over rubble with maddened eyes, hacking off Elamin heads with horrifying ease.

"You will not win this," Neron said, his suit still pristine, his white gloves untouched by blemish. Around him, runic symbols spun in a storm, some glowing red, others blue, others shimmering in colors that defied names.

Neron's intelligence was unmatched. That was what allowed him to command runes as easily as one might flex a hand. With them he could heal, destroy, entrap. His versatility was terrifying.

And he knew it.

"I can fight you head-on while healing every one of them," he said coldly. "Calix has endless slaves to command, and can unravel your mind. Ziriel can twist your emotions."

Neron lifted his hand, and a blue rune flared before him, unfolding into thousands of condensed water spikes. The very fabric of space strained to contain the crushing heaviness of that water.

He did not stop there. Spears of flame ignited around him, burning the air with searing heat, distorting the space itself.

Calix shifted his feet, and suddenly, figures erupted from nothingness, encircling Serena in a wide ring, sealing off every avenue of escape.

"I do not lack slaves," Calix said, his voice indifferent yet steady with confidence. "And I do not mind giving them to you to slaughter, since you seem to take such pleasure in it. But tell me, how long will you last?"

Ziriel followed, smiling wide enough to split her face.

"Didn't you ever hear that emotions are control? Allow me to teach you something today." Her grin sharpened.

"Rage is power."

At once the surrounding thralls convulsed as their faces twisting, their eyes blazing red with madness. Their muscles swelled, their power surged, their rage transforming into raw strength.

"But for you…" Ziriel whispered like a knife, "…rage is blindness."

Serena felt immediately her mind breached at once by Ziriel's emotional domination and Calix's insidious control.

The slaves pressed in, abilities started to activate in every direction, a storm of power meant to smother her.

By all accounts, Serena was at a disadvantage.

And she was.

She was monstrously strong, an Epithet Realm existence but so were Neron, Calix, and Ziriel. And beyond them, countless Grandmasters ants closed in.

Ants, yes. But Serena knew well that enough ants could strip an elephant's bones if they were countless and without fear of death.

Yet none of this showed on her face. Her black void eyes swept the battlefield, lingering even on the rear where Elamin's armies were being butchered like pigs.

She knew their end was certain. And when they fell, those Cerveaux would only add to the enemies before her.

Her gaze locked back onto the three Cerveau rulers.

"Hahaha, that's true," she said with a laugh. "If I keep fighting as I am, I will lose."

With Neron's runes they could coordinate seamlessly, healing any wound before it became fatal. Calix and Ziriel would exploit any lapse, breaking into her mind and twisting her emotions.

She was cornered. Trapped. Outnumbered.

And still she grinned.

"Don't even think about activating your Domain," Neron warned coldly. "We can annihilate it by unleashing ours simultaneously."

But the mother of Kaden only smirked, her grin widening into madness.

"I am Serena Warborn. Do you think your worthless domains could stand against mine?"

The world froze.

Space peeled away, unraveling into something dreadful and apocalyptic. Reality itself began to collapse, swallowed by invisible jaws that chewed at the edges of existence.

Serena's voice cut through it all.

Neron and the others widened their eyes in horror as the sheer scale of her power surged.

"Damn it! Activate your Domains! All of them now!" Neron bellowed, panic breaking through his composure.

But it was already too late.

"Domain Activation — The Voided World."

The entire Cerveau estate vanished.

The world itself became void.

And the Void Queen ascended her throne.

…

Thornspire's Estate.

The battlefield was ruinous, as ruinous as any other across Waverith. People were dying like flies, their lives ending like nothing.

It was jarring to witness.

Life was supposed to be precious…something people did their absolute best to keep, to cling to, to cherish. Yet here, in this battlefield, in this war where armies clashed and strikes split the earth, swallowing hundreds whole… life lost all meaning.

A Warborn soldier slit his opponent's throat in one clean stroke, blood spraying on him like a fountain, only for his chest to be ripped open by the woman who struck from behind.

That same woman continued her slaughter, men and women falling alike beneath her blood-slick blade, only for her own neck to be twisted unnaturally by a bulky man with hands like anvils.

The cycle continued. They killed, only to be killed moments later. They laughed in the thrill of slaughter, only for others to grin as they slaughtered them in turn.

Anyone watching from above would only shake their head at the absurdity.

All of these people dying had someone waiting for them. They had dreams to reach, something to live for. But none of that mattered here. None of their hopes, none of their ambitions for the future.

Because they had been ordered to wage war. Ordered by their masters. So they obeyed. So they fought. So they killed.

And yet, even while killing, the soldiers of the Cerveau wore strange faces. They were not laughing, not crying. They were blank as puppets, and still, their despair and pain seemed to scream louder than the massacre itself, louder than the butchery where the ground slithered with skittering organs of the dead.

But the soldiers of Thornspire and Warborn had no time to wonder. They killed.

They were killing people who wanted to be anywhere else but here.

But once again…

"KILLLLLLL!!!" a soldier bellowed as he charged, eyes blazing red.

…it didn't matter what they wanted, not once they had stepped onto this battlefield.

Above, another harrowing battle unfolded. Eliot faced Matthew, his ruby eyes flat, void of expression.

He fought at close range, every strike that landed blossoming into thorns across Matthew's body, draining his mana and life force.

That was, if his blows landed at all.

Matthew's body could shift — solid, liquid, gas — and Eliot's strikes struggled to find purchase.

He was losing, slowly but surely.

BOOM!

Eliot's fist detonated against space as he drove it toward Matthew's jaw, but Matthew ducked, slid sideways, and countered with a punch to Eliot's gut. His hand wavered — liquid, then gas — and sank into Eliot's body. Once inside, it solidified, seizing Eliot's intestines and making him cough blood.

Gritting his teeth, Eliot drove an elbow downward toward Matthew's skull, but Matthew liquefied and slithered away from his grasp.

Eliot's brows furrowed, his eyes narrowed in pain, glaring at Matthew now standing a few meters away.

Matthew smiled at him. "You've made a truly stupid mistake siding with the Warborns."

"If you wanted to restore your fallen house, you should have chosen those with real power, those with true minds," he mocked.

Matthew's body carried hardly a wound, while Eliot bled from every angle.

Eliot thought of using his Domain, but knew it would not overwhelm Matthew's. It would be useless.

He needed more. He didn't want to draw on the full depth of his Epithet realm now, not if it drained him dry for nothing.

'An opportunity. I just need to touch him long enough. Long enough for the Thorn to bury itself deep.'

Then an idea flickered inside his mind.

"It's not too late," Matthew cut in, his voice steeped in confidence. "You can still accept our invitation."

"Once Waverith falls — and it will — we'll grant you a Domain to rule. The Warborns can't match us. They fight wild in the beginning, driven by rage, bloodlust, excitement… but those things burn out. They always do. And war is not fought in a day, or two. They'll lose steam, and die like the pathetic bastards they are."

Matthew grinned wide.

He was clearly one of those who willingly knelt beneath the Cerveau, one of those who accepted the superiority of the blue-haired tyrants and swallowed the lie that not all men were created equal.

They accepted their position as less, but believed that made them the greatest among slaves.

How pathetic.

And so Matthew stood, body flowing seamlessly between liquid, gas, and solid, speaking of his bright, glorious future under Cerveau's shadow.

Eliot only listened in silence, until finally shaking his head, his voice cold.

"You are quite loud. But you're just a slave," he said. "And I do not talk to slaves."

Matthew's face twisted, ugly with rage. He growled: "I'll show you what a slave can do, you pathetic bastard."

The next heartbeat…

"Domain Activation — Domain of Transmutation."

Space rippled like water.

Air hardened into steel.

The very particles of the elements steamed, boiling like gas.

—End of Chapter 256—

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