CHAPTER 145: DESPAIR

Each of these women seemed to have formidable forces backing them—noble bloodlines, ancient sects, divine temples. Killing even one of them could bring storms of trouble upon her.

But the undead princess’s thoughts crackled like lightning, sharp and ruthless. Her lips slowly curled into a wicked smile, one that oozed confidence and disdain.

"So what if they have mighty backgrounds?"

The scoff echoed in her mind like a thunderclap.

"Do they think my background is inferior?"

She wasn’t alone here. Behind her, the boundless forces of the Undead Plain loomed—silent, eternal, and wrathful. They stood with her, a tide of decay ready to drown the living world.

Her gaze swept across the women before her, as if judging insects crawling across a divine path.

"Why should I care about their origins or backers? It is they who should tremble before me. It is they who should kneel and beg for mercy."

The moment that thought solidified, her presence erupted like a silent cataclysm.

A devastating pressure surged outward without warning.

The air fractured. Space itself seemed to shrink, collapsing into her gravity. The once serene grove shuddered as if caught in the first breath of an apocalypse. Mana scattered and recoiled like frightened birds.

Shock flared through the group. Even those with firm mental fortitude staggered.

But it was Demon Queen Noctys who suffered the most.

Her form—already weakened and semi-recovered—began to break down under the weight.

Skin cracked, fissures spreading across her alabaster body like shattered porcelain. She trembled, as if every fiber of her existence was being stretched and torn apart.

It was like she was being punished for standing on the same battlefield as a Stage 3 being.

Dark Shadow’s pupils contracted violently.

"Noctys..."

Her voice was low but filled with dread. And then—without hesitation—her body erupted with power.

A shimmering wave of spiritual light washed over her as sleek, serpentine scales shimmered into existence, flowing down her limbs in the graceful yet fierce pattern of a diving dragon. Her irises narrowed to vertical slits, gleaming with draconic fury.

It was the Dragon Transformation, a skill born from the bloodline she had recently awakened—a relic of an ancient, primordial dragon.

Her aura surged violently, colliding against the undead princess’s pressure.

But in that instant, she understood a terrifying truth:

No matter how miraculous her bloodline was,

No matter how complete her transformation—

The distance between Stage 2 and Stage 3 was like the divide between earth and heaven.

A chasm that could not be crossed by mere effort or desperation.

Her resistance was admirable—but futile.

And in the background, Noctys continued to fracture.

Just as Dark Shadow barely managed to catch hold of Noctys, the undead princess’s eyes gleamed with frigid cruelty. A mocking smile slowly spread across her lips, as if she were watching pitiful ants struggle under the weight of a god.

"A bunch of Stage 2 ants dared to resist me? What a joke!" Her voice dripped with disdain. "How dare you even think about resisting?"

A deafening silence followed—just for a heartbeat—before the air itself began to scream.

The undead princess’s spiritual field surged to life. The vast expanse of force that had once covered hundreds of meters now suddenly contracted—collapsing inward until it became a suffocating ten-meter circle of pure devastation.

And within that circle... all hell broke loose.

The sheer weight of compressed spiritual energy slammed downward like a divine hammer. The ground cracked and quaked, erupting into geysers of dust and debris. Noctys and Dark Shadow bore the brunt of the assault—the force smashed into them like a collapsing star, sending their bodies spiraling through the air. Shards of flesh and bone tore free and scattered like petals in a storm.

Alexandria stood frozen, a statue caught mid-prayer.

She wasn’t spared.

Caught unprepared, she took the full force of the blow to her side. Her body twisted violently, and her arm—snapped at an unnatural angle—dangled uselessly at her side. Blood sprayed across her pale cheek, painting red over the porcelain white of her stunned face.

"Am I... this pathetic?"

The thought echoed hollowly in her mind as she was hurled backward. Time slowed. Pain blurred. But within that brief, agonizing moment, something inside her shifted.

"No... I’m not pathetic."

Her thoughts coalesced—not in fear, but in defiance. Not with the bloodline he had granted her. That power still slumbered deep inside her chest, quietly waiting to be called upon.

Her eyes fluttered closed. A long breath filled her lungs.

And then... they snapped open.

Gone was the fragile, wide-eyed girl who had doubted herself.

In her place stood a predator.

Her golden feline eyes now glowed like twin suns of fury, their gaze sharp enough to tear the sky. The look in her eyes screamed vengeance. It burned—not just with anger, but with resolve.

The undead princess, who had been leisurely watching the aftermath, blinked in mild surprise. For a fleeting second, her lips parted, her expression faltering. That woman... she still had fight in her?

But just as quickly, the cold aloofness returned to her face like a mask snapping into place. Her smile darkened with contempt.

The look in that cat-eyed woman’s gaze disgusted her.

How dare these insects... these lowly beings... dare to think about resistance?

They should crawl. They should grovel. They should die quietly—not waste her precious time with this insolence.

With that, she flicked her finger and muttered coldly, "Darkness Fang."

The air trembled as though gripped by an unseen force. The space around them dimmed unnaturally, as if reality itself recoiled from the darkness that coiled outward like smoke. In the next breath, the gloom solidified—hundreds of needle-like fangs, gleaming with obsidian sharpness, materialized mid-air. Each one hummed with killing intent, slicing through the air with a deadly whistle, all aimed directly at Alexandria.

Death was certain if even a single one struck true.

But the woman they were meant to slaughter didn’t panic. Her breath was steady, her golden eyes narrowed in focus. Instead of fear, clarity surged through her. Her soul skill—Divine Battle Sense—activated with a flash, and her body moved before her mind could command it.

Like a whisper of wind, she vanished.

A blur.

A ghost.

A phantom.

She danced between the raining death, weaving through gaps with an elegance that defied logic. Each motion was precise, deliberate, and imbued with purpose. She wasn’t evading the attacks—she was commanding her path through them. The very fangs of darkness that sought her life failed to even graze her flesh.

RING!

A burst of movement—faster than the human eye could follow—brought her right in front of the undead princess.

Her fist snapped forward.

The space around her knuckles howled as a sonic boom tore through the silence. The force behind the strike was immense, honed by fury and sharpened by bloodline instinct.

Crack!

The punch connected squarely with the princess’s face.

The undead princess’s head jerked violently to the side, her body staggering backward half a step as her expression twisted—not in pain, but in utter disbelief.

The world held its breath.

Dark Shadow, who had just barely managed to pull Noctys from the line of fire, narrowed her purple eyes to reptilian slits as she witnessed the exchange.

"Impossible..." she muttered.

To her, what had just happened defied the natural order. Alexandria had not only avoided a barrage of death-blades conjured by a Stage 3 monster but had actually closed the distance and landed a clean, decisive blow?

That shouldn’t be possible.

At least—not for someone like them.

She bit her lip, reminding herself that she was still just a lowly Stage 2 cultivator. Her understanding of Stage 3 beings was shallow, a droplet in a sea of depth and complexity. Perhaps what looked like a solid hit... wasn’t even a scratch.

And yet—

The silence was deafening.

Even the howling winds of the spiritual field had quieted, holding still in reverence or confusion.

Alexandria stood tall, arm still extended from the punch. Her golden feline eyes burned—not with arrogance—but with an unshakable resolve, a declaration to the world that she wasn’t someone to be pitied or dismissed.

The undead princess’s lips curled slowly, her face shadowed by the blow, her expression unreadable.

The pause... dragged just a second too long.

And in that second, the balance of fear tilted—ever so slightly.

It was then that the Undead Princess began to laugh.

At first, it was low—barely more than a whisper, a breathy chuckle that echoed across the still battlefield like the creak of a coffin lid.

Then it grew.

The sound twisted into something wild—maddening. It spilled from her lips like a broken symphony, each note laced with contempt and hysteria, as if Alexandria’s punch had been the funniest joke of the millennium.

Her shoulders shook.

Her once-cold elegance was replaced by a manic joy that made the air feel wrong—tainted.

Even the shadows around her seemed to writhe in response.

But just as suddenly as it had begun, the laughter died.

Her expression snapped into stillness. The amusement vanished like a mirage, leaving only something cruel and ancient behind.

Her frostbitten eyes locked onto Alexandria.

"Thought you did something there, didn’t you?" she asked softly, almost pitying.

Then her voice dropped, venom threading every syllable.

"You... puny insect. How dare you—how dare you lay a hand on me."

Her tone was no longer that of a proud undead royalty—it was divine fury unchained, a goddess scorned by mortal defiance.

Her facial features twisted in wrath. Cheekbones sharpened unnaturally, black veins slithered across her pale skin like cracks in marble, and her mouth contorted into a furious snarl.

Then, she roared.

It wasn’t a sound meant for mortal ears—it shattered the silence like a crashing tidal wave, filled with hatred, humiliation, and cold rage. The ground beneath her feet cracked, the very atmosphere quivering under her rising spiritual pressure.

A low rumble began to build.