When Charmeine began leading him out of the Consequence Courts, Azrail noticed something subtle had changed in the way they walked. Before, Charmeine walked ahead with a neutral pace, mechanical precision, and emotionless direction.

Now she walked half a step closer. Not touching. Not protective. But closer. It wasn't intimacy—it was positioning. She was now walking as a shield. Not to protect him. But to manage the perception of the others. Azrail recognised it immediately.

This was a more dangerous room she was guiding him into. He could feel it, and before he could ask questions, they were whisked away. The next moment, Azrail knew he was in a hall—a vast, majestic hall. This hall looked almost casual—almost like a lounge.

Curved seating areas, divans, suspended tables held aloft by floating runes.

Soft violet smoke drifted from small censers—not incense, but not poison either. Something between. There were cups of nectar-like liquid floating beside some women. Some had scrolls.

Some had projection screens with floating symbols.

At first glance, this looked relaxed, but the moment Azrail had arrived with Charmeine, all of their gazes at a single moment focused on Azrail—the knowing glint in the eyes of no doubt powerful women in the cosmos focused directly towards Azrail, the sheer pressure suffocating around him like a hard chain coiling around his neck.

'Looks like they got me.'

Azrail mused; ever since he joined the place, he was always getting invited to places like this—the women of the faction conducting their own little 'outing' where they will like to know him, but Azrail always rejected it and always found his own way to get around it, staying safe from any kind of 'connections' these women wanted to form.

Azrail knew towards the deeper end that these women wanted to use him, and many of them wanted to bury him, but the main reason he rejected them and stayed away for now is due to the simple reason of demand.

'You don't go to them, you make them come to you.'

If Azrail had accepted the meeting and moved along as they wished, a power dynamic would have been established in which he would be at their call. Yeah, sounds stupid in a sense of the way, but in places like this, where they, in a sense, have reached the limit in certain cultivational or any other kind of power, these kinds of political moves are what they thrive on—and amassing different kinds of power.

Power of a new realm, power of an even more powerful weapon, power of more resources, power of more talents coming from your family and more. Once you reach a level, stuff like that is what pulls you further—the accumulation of karma and such, which is something to get to know deeper later.

'I gave the lions the thrill of the chase.'

Something tastes better after you have hunted for it. Now, in the eyes of all these women eyeing Azrail, they had tricked and brought him to them; he had led the chase for them, which makes all this more worth it to their eyes. Sure, they get Azrail for less time, but they have in the end still got Azrail to come to them.

'Guess even she is vulnerable to that level of pressure.'

Azrail's eyes narrowed as he looked at Charmeine.

"Looks like I have a welcoming."

Azrail spoke with a soft voice, Charmeine looking at him as she spoke.

"It's a small gathering; some of them just wanted to get to know you."

Her reply made Azrail smile as he watched a stunningly beautiful woman whose beauty once again seemed to eclipse a lot walk towards him—the woman in question having ashen colored skin, one eye on her face, while looking like a human in other categories as she walked to Azrail with a smile on her face.

"Look what we have here: the special admission of Goddess Hera. It's finally nice to get a hold of you."

Every manner of the woman was careful and controlled as she gave a hand of hers for a shake—her fingers just being three—to which Azrail, his face still hidden away, shook it.

"The pleasure is all mine, lady?"

The subtle edge of my tone only made the woman's smile softer.

"Oh my, my mistake; I forgot to say my name. The name's Gakoria Li Tamnio."

A flash of expression flashed through Azrail's face—all the data he had saved in himself passing through him as he arrived at the conclusion based on the data he had about this woman.

'High level, powerful character; has her own backing in the faction and is definitely a racist.'

An intriguing composition for Azrail to deal with, as he replied.

"The Earth-shaking Gakoria, the legendary one said to have blasted off realms with just the sheer might of your presence release? I have heard a lot about you."

Azrail's words earned a wider, more surprised smile from Gakoria as the achievement he spoke of was more of her minor one, but the one she was, in a sense, more proud of, which seems to show more towards boosting a bit of her own ego as she replied.

"My...my....you sure know how to flatter someone. Come with me; let me get you introduced to the rest."

'Looks like I started good.'

Azrail mused; she will contain this situation until she gets to know what kind of species Azrail is—in a sense, it can be one she believes to be among the 'superior' kind.

'Sigh...the racists are the easier ones to deal with.'

Holding back the thought, Azrail was led by Gakoria towards a more collection of her 'members'.

Gakoria, with her single, mesmerising eye and three fingers gripping his hand just a little too tightly—a subtle pressure test—pulled Azrail further into the vast, casual hall. The act of touching him, even this momentary contact, was her asserting ownership over the introduction, signalling to the room that she was the one who had brought him here.

Azrail felt the eyes of the gathered women like tiny, focused lasers scanning his very atoms. He didn't fight the pressure; he let it wash over him, using it as a current to analyse the source. The suffocating feeling wasn't just power; it was intention. Every woman here wasn't just strong; they were ambitious, and that ambition was currently zeroed in on him.

Charmeine, having completed her role as the passive buffer, now melted seamlessly into the background, taking a position near a curved obsidian wall where she watched the whole proceeding with a gaze that gave nothing away—a perfect, silent sentinel.

"Ladies," Gakoria's voice was warm, yet it cut through the low hum of the room like a perfectly tuned crystal. "It seems the Goddess Hera has decided to grant us an audience with her prize pupil, the one who has been so terribly busy. Allow me to introduce… Azrail."

Gakoria delivered his name with the practised, slight hesitation of a host announcing a surprise celebrity—a gesture that simultaneously elevated him and put him under a magnifying glass.

Azrail smiled, a charming, effortless curve of his lips that was completely hidden. It was a wasted facial expression, yet he knew the sentiment carried through his posture and the gentle nod of his head.

"It's an honour," Azrail said, his voice a smooth baritone, deep enough to command respect but soft enough not to challenge. "I must apologise for my prior inaccessibility. Truthfully, I've been rather consumed by the excitement of absorbing this new reality, and lost myself in my new reality."

He had deflected the implication of avoidance and spun it into a small mistake of a junior. He was busy not because he disdained them, but because he was too busy being valuable. It was a crucial, instant re-establishment of his own high ground.

Gakoria laughed—a low, throaty sound that suggested amusement and a tiny thread of irritation that her opening salvo had missed. "Such humility, or perhaps, such focus. A rare trait. Come, let me introduce you to a few of my closest confidantes."

She led him toward the most densely populated seating pod, a half-ring of iridescent material where four women sat in varied states of attention.