Alice in the Land of Steam

Chapter 1328 Will the Royal Power Eventually Return?
The cold characters condensed into rain, dripping continuously from the low-hanging clouds, forming an endless, dark blue curtain of rain that covered the entire area. The raindrops pattered against the earth, rocks, and ruins of the battlefield, making a soft, pattering sound that mingled with the thunderous breaths from high above.

The snake weaves through the clouds, appearing and disappearing intermittently.

Its body is unknown, perhaps thousands or tens of thousands of miles long, beyond the reach of the naked eye, and naturally cannot be estimated using pure units of measurement. It is like the giant serpent of the mortal world that encircled the Middle-earth (another name for the Pan-Ancient Ocean continent in Eastern mythology) in ancient legends, embracing the world in an endless courtyard, measuring the circumference of the entire planet with its own body alone.

Its breath is as gentle as rain, its roar as thunderous as thunder, its figure weaving through the clouds as mysterious as mist, its fleeting presence in every corner as light as the wind, and its magnificent and imposing body as solid as a mountain, slowly crashing against the barriers at the edge of the world, producing an awe-inspiring and suffocating echo.

The snake has two heads, just as fate is a two-way choice. One head is tied to the finger of the blue-haired girl, crawling obediently, representing the most majestic power in the world, bowing down to the most insignificant life; while the other head swims across a raging black ocean, through a drizzling blue rain curtain, and hides in the turbulent, roaring, bleak haze, finally emerging from an unnoticed corner and biting the witch's heart.

Like an elder, it whispers ancient wisdom in your ear: watch out where your eyes cannot see, for fate may turn against you at any moment.

"I see."

Feeling waves of throbbing pain in her chest, the scent of death lingering in her nostrils like the deadly fragrance of an apple tree—this was a long-forgotten feeling for the Dark Witch, for for countless years, no one had been able to push her to this point. The false gods of the mortal world were all mediocre and ineffective, the calamities beyond the stars possessed only brute force, but the truly deadly danger was the betrayal of that man from ten thousand years ago—a memory now faded with time.

Only at this moment, only now, facing a friend who was once the most familiar to him but is now the most unfamiliar enemy, Caraboss began to feel excitement, trembling, and an uncontrollable fear.

Fear is not shameful; what is shameful is refusing to acknowledge one's fear and insisting that it is courage. The Dark Witch has long since passed the stage of feigning strength. For her, acknowledging her fear only makes the battles ahead more meaningful.

Because if she cannot overcome her fear, how can she conquer her past? How can she elevate her will? How can she fill the missing part of her soul and become a truly complete monarch?
“This is it,” Caraboss reached out and gently grasped the pendulum-shaped serpent head piercing her heart, looking up at the great serpent that loomed faintly in the depths of the sky. But in the witch's eyes, it wasn't a serpent at all, but rather threads, chains, or rather, the trajectory of fate. A cold smile slowly curved her lips. “Your resolve and power, Saint Sharia?”

The young queen of destiny never intended to flee or retreat; she merely exploited Caraboss's impatience, silently setting a trap. As the dark witch launched relentless attacks, eagerly seeking a direct confrontation with her enemy, the threads of fate had already woven a net. Within the net, a giant serpent quietly peeked out, its cold, indifferent vertical pupils gazing down upon the figure wielding the giant scythe, pronouncing her final fate.

Faced with Carabosse's questioning, Saint Charlotte remained silent, only subtly flicking the chains in her hands. The colossal serpent coiling around the sky began to churn and roll. The sound of its endless, undulating body rubbing against the clouds and rain was like the clash of a thousand swords on a battlefield, sparking blinding flashes. This friction, ultimately transmitted through the serpent's head piercing her heart, reached the dark witch's flesh and bones. The intense pain felt as if her heart were being torn apart, pulling the witch from her illusion and plunging her swiftly into the abyss of reality.

"That's it."

The witch took a deep breath, the cold fangs piercing her heart grinding against the broken bone with each rise and fall of her chest, bringing a sharp, teeth-grinding sound and a deeper, more intense pain. But this pain was like strong liquor, igniting the deepest madness in her eyes. She slowly pressed her hand to her heart, gently grasping the serpent's head piercing her heart, and laughed low and bleakly, the laughter echoing repeatedly in the rolling black flames: "This is how battles are, nothing more than victory or defeat, nothing more than life or death. Since that's the case, let me answer you, Lord of Destiny—"

"Let me feel your true power!!!"

As the words fell, the last trace of hesitation and pain in Caraboss's eyes was swallowed by pure darkness, replaced by resolve and awareness. Her hand suddenly tightened inward, her five fingers abruptly closing!
Click!

With a crisp, even jarring, sound, the giant serpent's head was mercilessly crushed. Fragments of fate, like worthless shards of glass, scattered everywhere, each reflecting a dreamlike, lingering light in the rain. However, it wasn't just the serpent's head that was crushed; the witch's heart was also destroyed. In her attempt to break free from the shackles of fate, she had willingly destroyed one of the very symbols of her existence—something even Saint Charlotte hadn't anticipated. A look of astonishment crossed her face.

Is the pain of having one's heart crushed more agonizing than being betrayed by pure kindness, tainted by the malice of living beings, or attacked by memories of the past? No one can give a definitive answer without experiencing it firsthand. The heartless witch was pale, large beads of cold sweat mixed with raindrops rolling down her smooth, bloodless forehead and sliding down her pale cheeks, yet she endured it silently, without uttering a word.

Silently, the witch reached into the hollow cavity left by her crushed heart. A chilling, shadowy flame suddenly erupted from her palm, burning fiercely and taking the place of her heart. It transformed her blood, bones, and even the most basic life elements into pure dark magic, flowing to her limbs, her lungs, and every corner of her body, becoming the fuel that would sustain her rekindled flame.

Caraboss stubbornly raised his head, his body trembling slightly from the immense pain and the surge of magic, but his eyes pierced through the rain and the barrier of space, locking onto Saint Charlotte in the distance. There was no anger, no fear in her eyes, only an almost ethereal calm, and beneath that calm, a surging, destructive will. Saint Charlotte understood the meaning in those eyes: if one cannot fight without a heart, then one must create one for oneself, just as one must find meaning in fighting.

Until the second heart also burns out—

fighting!

Never!

The curtain falls! With each heart-wrenching roar, the flames within intensified, until finally engulfing the witch's body entirely. Boundless power materialized into tangible black flames, surging wildly from her body. Her limbs, features, even every hair and pore, transformed into pure darkness. The vast ocean roared, its surging waves forming a curtain that completely obscured the battlefield. Through the chilling sea of ​​fire and the boundless rain, a colossal and imposing shadow could be vaguely seen emerging behind the scenes, reclaiming its lost throne.

In the distant starry sky, the knight facing the Dyson Sphere suddenly stopped his blade, witnessing an unbelievable scene: the universe was boiling, the darkness between stars surging restlessly as if summoned, and countless shadow beasts emerged from the dark tide. Their size was even greater than the colossal monstrous beasts that roamed the stars: boneless serpents, tidal waves of black dragons, three-headed lions, swarms of flies… They surged through the vast expanse, annihilating all light and freezing all life in their path. Even the sunlight was corroded, unable to shine upon the world. However, their purpose was not to destroy, ruin, or devour anything; they were merely responding to the call from the primordial darkness, following the guidance of instinct, seeking to return the universe to its oldest, most chaotic, and most profound age of darkness.

In an instant, Xinuo understood what had happened.

No light is darkness, and the king of darkness reigns over the dark side of the universe. When she fully awakens, the balance between light and darkness in the universe begins to shift, and the overflowing darkness forms a tide that begins to engulf the light and heat in the universe.

This is the true power of a young woman's royal power.

Each of the complete monarchs possesses the power to alter primordial laws and influence the balance of the universe. When they are all in their complete forms, the balance can be maintained; when they lose their sacred artifacts and become incomplete, the balance is barely maintained; and when one of them completes the missing soul, the balance is utterly shattered.

Can you withstand it, Ietta?

The knight couldn't help but think that she was too far from the ground to know that Ieta had been defeated and that the one facing the Dark Witch now was the Destiny Queen, Saint Sharia.

……

On the battlefield, a figure, dark yet sacred, profound yet solemn, austere yet tranquil, slowly emerges.

That was a dark goddess towering higher than heaven and earth. Her face and features were exactly the same as Carabosse's, but even colder and more solemn, as if carved from the coldest ice, overlaid with a supreme divinity unlike any mortal life. The eerie, shadowy flames replaced her long hair and dress, fluttering in the frozen depths of the ocean, painting a tranquil and magnificent picture. Her eyes were like the cold, burnt-out core of a star, radiating an aura of majesty that looked down upon the mortal world and disregarded life and death. She still held the blazing, shadowy scythe in her hand, but the terrifyingly huge weapon now seemed perfectly suited to the dark goddess, making her seem like the god of death from the most ancient mythology, reclaiming her authority to rule over darkness and block out light and heat.

He simply stood there, without making a move, as if issuing a declaration to the entire world. The Ansers region, the Kingdom of Noah, the subcontinent of Andriel, the continent of Eastern Divant, the continent of Sigria, the five seas and four oceans, the isolated islands and stars, from the sky to the earth's ends, from one sea to another—wherever the footprints of living beings tread, all extraordinary beings and magicians of dark paths, those who wield dark power, or even those extraordinary beings merely connected to darkness and night, felt immense fear in that instant. It was as if their power no longer belonged to them; from the very beginning, from their birth, even from the most primordial moment of the universe, their allegiance had been predetermined.

The slumbering mad god Abraham is awakened, roaring in fury, and thousands of believers performing a sacrificial ceremony to the god perish suddenly; on the secluded Mount Platinum, the dragon god Bahamut slowly raises his head, casting his gaze upon the world beyond the land of dragons for the first time in countless ages; in the Holy Kingdom of Nordorne, the guardian Dist., in his highest temple, closes his eyes in deep thought, yet feels the old wounds stirring uncontrollably; in the deepest sea, the mysterious dead return home to recount their tales, and the god of the underworld, Vaanos, awakens from his experiment. As a god of the dark path, he feels this will more profoundly than anyone else. The steps before him are severed, the gate to the highest realm remains tightly shut, for the long-absent throne has finally welcomed back its long-lost master.

"The throne has been restored," he murmured the ancient proverb, which came from his teacher, the saint who single-handedly created human civilization, before his death, "The stars have all perished."

He had initially thought it was a prophecy, but now, looking back, his teacher had never expressed any opinion or comment on anything that had not yet happened. So... was he merely describing the "future" he had seen?
Besides fear, astonishment, bewilderment, and incomprehension, there was also awe and fanaticism.

From this moment on, countless faiths will be rekindled. Some belong to the former "Great God of Darkness," some worship the long-fallen "Ancient Darkness," and some follow the non-existent "Root of Nothingness"... Their faiths were once defeated, destroyed, and erased, but now they will be reborn because of the return of a true god. This is something Caraboss did not foresee. Since deciding to carry out the Eden Plan and the Reality Plan, the Dark Witch has been dedicated to eliminating the false gods, evil gods, and the faiths subservient to them in the Eastern Continent. She never imagined that one day she would become another source of such unclean faith. Perhaps this shows that the affairs of the world are destined to be a cycle, just like darkness and light, waxing and waning, rising and falling.

Of course, He no longer cared.

Everything in this world, from its origin to its end, in the endless flow of time, everything experienced by mortals, everything experienced by gods, everything created, everything destroyed, everything that once existed, everything that has vanished... all of these are no longer worthy of concern in His vast and cold consciousness.

When He opened His eyes from the primordial darkness, He came for one single mission.

"Arrival...witnessing...and ending..."

A serene goddess raised her giant scythe high in the darkness, her ethereal and distant voice echoing like the tides, reverberating through the dark ocean and the azure rain. Every burning black flame, every drop of crystal light, even every golden serpent scale seemed to reflect her indifferent face, refracting a sacred afterglow—

"...Let's continue, this never-ending...battle..."

　Give me some cats
　　(End of this chapter)