With her complete store of memories and information, Seraphine was, of course, deeply familiar with this alien spacecraft—shaped like a massive pyramid.

  Yet curiosity—and a certain fascination with both the structure itself and the unknown alien race that had built it, a race absent from the original work—compelled her to linger. She remained within the Pyramid for several hours.

  During that time, she carried out a series of painstaking, highly precise examinations and analyses of its every detail.

  While she was immersed in her research, news of the Mist Demon Clan’s utter annihilation swept through Beaconreach.

  The reaction was explosive. Citizens celebrated with unrestrained joy. Leader Tom even made a public appearance in Elasa, hosting a press conference to declare that Beaconreach was officially exiting its state of war. He publicly and solemnly thanked Seraphine for her efforts, proclaiming her the savior of Beaconreach.

  The propaganda stunned the citizens.

  They understood they had won—but not how.

  Perhaps anticipating this confusion, Tom deliberately broadcast, during the press conference, footage showing Seraphine wiping out the entire Mist Demon satellite chain with a single glance.

  Only then did the people—and the media—truly comprehend, and the city erupted into a frenzy of admiration and excitement.

  But while the outside world grew more and more animated, inside the Pyramid, drifting silently above a desolate desert, Seraphine finally concluded her exploration.

  Her findings were staggering.

  Unlike the Mercury Race, whose nano-technology had reached the highest possible refinement, the unknown alien civilization that had built this craft had ventured far deeper into the microscopic domain—orders of magnitude deeper.

  Its durability was such that not even Cuan, who styled himself the “King of Earth,” could so much as scratch it. Even Seraphine herself could only destroy it by drawing on the full might of her true body.

  The primitive Aurora Clan, of course, had no understanding of why the Pyramid was so unyielding—they merely treated it as an extraordinarily tough aerial vessel.

  But Seraphine’s sub-atomic mental perception, probing through every layer, uncovered the truth:

  The structure was forged from Femtometer-scale materials.

  A femtometer—also called a fermi—is 10^-15 meters.

  In other words, a femtometer is a million times smaller than a nanometer, itself already almost unimaginably tiny.

  At this scale, one can manipulate atomic nuclei directly.

  For reference, an atomic nucleus is only a few hundred-billionths of an atom’s volume.

  The Mercury Race, though far advanced in micro-scale science, had fully exhausted the nanometer-level technology tree and had even begun dabbling in the deeper picometer range—yet they were still an enormous distance away from femtometer-level mastery.

  By comparison, this Pyramid’s builders could, without effort, erase the Mercury Race’s civilization from existence. Measured against them, Mercury’s scientific development was scarcely above that of primitive tribes.

  And the Pyramid itself was assembled from layer upon layer of hydrogen isotopes—protium Ether-crystallized atomic nuclei—as its base material.

  The number of layers exceeded five digits, each bound seamlessly to the next.

  Ether-crystallized atomic nuclei?

  Yes—the nuclei themselves, hundreds of billions of times smaller in volume than Ether-crystalline titanium or Ether-crystalline carbyne. In other words, Ether-crystallized nuclei.

  A technology capable of channeling Ether into the very heart of the atomic nucleus—so far beyond known limits—that even Seraphine felt a ripple of awe.

  The gap in scale between this and her own Ether-crystallized material fabrication techniques was simply too vast.

  And yet, rather than feeling threatened, she was exhilarated. This was a herald—her own material science system was about to be revolutionized.

  It also meant the Pyramid’s material density was phenomenal.

  Even so, for all its apparent bulk—like a small mountain—its total mass was far less than one might expect.

  According to Seraphine’s calculations, the entire structure weighed in at roughly 100 million tons.

  The chief reason for its surprising lightness was that this Pyramid— from its outer shell to its inner partitions—was built entirely from Ether-crystallized nuclear layers, each immeasurably thinner than a single atomic layer.

  Yet, when such delicate layers were stacked tens of thousands deep at the microscopic scale, their combined strength became something unmatched in the entire Solar System—virtually invincible.

  Moreover, the outermost surface, exposed to the external world, had been painstakingly coated with an intricate web of electromagnetic energy lines, designed to increase its friction coefficient—ensuring that macroscopic life forms would not simply slip off its flawless crystalline planes.

  "Truly beautiful."

  Seraphine’s gaze lingered on the surrounding crystal facets. She smiled faintly—then her form dissolved into smoke.

  Outside, at the apex of the Pyramid, a spatial vortex bloomed into existence, drawing her in. She vanished from the desert plateau.

  A thousand miles away—

  In the ruins of the old Capital, Seraphine’s eyes slowly opened. A surge of foul, filthy power had erupted—its intensity swelling dozens of times over in just moments. And it had happened at the exact instant she had kicked the King of Aurora into Earth’s core.

  “Such power… steeped in madness, chaos, and malice…”

  Her gaze darkened. “A familiar of some deep-space Evil God?”

  From the framework of the original world’s system, one name surfaced in her mind: 【Primordial Demon】.

  She turned sharply toward the northeast—toward Beaconreach’s far northern reaches. Toward Elasa.

  Her mental power surged forth like a tidal wave.

  In an instant, her perception spanned ten thousand miles, locking onto… a Grey Palace?

  No—its proportions were wrong. Smaller. A temporary structure, hastily erected.

  At this moment, on the broad lawn outside the small Grey Palace, a press conference was underway.

  Her target—Leader Tom—was there, addressing the crowd with fiery enthusiasm.

  Moonlight poured down, the air cool and crisp.

  Yet the lawn outside Elasa’s Grey Palace was ablaze with noise and light.

  Thousands of Beaconreach citizens waved placards. Media crews from every major TV station and outlet had their cameras trained on the man at the podium—Leader Tom—beaming as he shouted into the microphone.

  “…God bless Beaconreach!”

  “We have won this war—we have defeated the demons!”

  “The dream of Beaconreach will never die!”

  “She is our superhuman heroine, our savior—born to rescue Beaconreach!”

  “She is sent by God…”

  Buzz—

  A sudden, overwhelming aura swept over the gathering as a figure descended onto the stage—wreathed in radiant golden light, like a divine being.

  “…Seraph.”

  Tom froze mid-sentence, staring at the sudden vision before him. Then, as recognition struck, his face flushed crimson.

  He seized the microphone, thrusting it toward her with unrestrained excitement.

  “Ah—my angel, my superhuman! The Angel Miss who saved all of Beaconreach—your timing is perfect! Please, speak to our beloved citizens!”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  After speaking, he eagerly jabbed a finger toward the crowd below.

  And below—hundreds, then thousands of voices rose in unison, thundering through the night:

  "Angel!

  Angel!

  Angel!

  Angel!

  Angel..."

  The chorus, brimming with feverish adoration, failed to stir even the faintest change in Seraphine’s expression.

  Her gaze stayed cold and crystalline, sweeping across the stage with detached indifference.

  Beneath the stage stood the entire media machine of Beaconreach—

  The Daily Oil Newspapers, New Scent Times, Reuters in print; Kesi Lake, CAS, CMN on television; Special Push, Feizibusuke, Pipeline Oil dominating the online sphere.

  Beyond them, a sea of placards bobbed in the night, scrawled with slogans like 【Peace】, 【Love】, 【Gender Freedom】.

  Her descent had inspired no fear—no solemn hush—only a carnival atmosphere.

  Whistles pierced the air. Cheers rolled like waves.

  Clusters of young men and women, gum between their teeth, turned their backs to the stage, phones tilted at that practiced forty-five-degree selfie angle, flashing peace signs or flipping middle fingers as they framed themselves with Seraphine in the distance.

  It felt less like a public address—and more like a block party.

  In the press zone, the media surged forward as if electrified by her presence.

  Dozens of camera lenses swiveled in unison, locking onto her with predatory focus.

  Reporters abandoned all decorum, leaning over one another, shouting questions in a frenzy:

  "Are you from Earth?"

  "Do you like Beaconreach? Do you love Beaconreach?"

  "Did you save us because you believe Beaconreach is the beacon for all Earth’s civilizations?"

  "What are your views on freedom and democracy?"

  "How do you define love and justice?"

  "Do you revere God? Do you believe you’ve been given a divine mission?"

  "Do you think Beaconreach is truly grateful? Do you feel worthy of that gratitude?"

  "Do you consider yourself a threat to Beaconreach?"

  "Do you accept responsibility for the safety of the world? Will you protect it—protect all humanity?"

  "Do you think your power should be monitored? If not, can you monitor yourself?"

  The barrage was relentless—a rising swarm of noise, like a cloud of flies buzzing directly in her ears.

  Beside her, Tom stepped forward with the microphone, bending slightly at the waist, wearing an unreadable smile.

  “Miss Angel, you… perhaps say a few words.”

  Seraphine’s eyes slid to the mic. Her lips curved faintly, the ghost of a smirk flickering there—half amusement, half disdain.

  “I can feel it—the subtle thrill in your heart. Are you trying to snare me in your little net of ‘morality’ and public opinion? Just to see how I’ll react?”

  Tom froze mid-breath, eyes widening.

  “Miss Angel, I… I don’t know what you mean?”

  “Ah.”

  Seraphine’s chuckle was soft, almost playful—then her hand shot upward.

  In the space of a blink, that slender palm slammed toward Tom’s head with such terrifying speed and force that it ripped open a roaring, high-temperature plasma channel in the air—its incandescent wake carving a path far beyond the space directly behind him.

  The latter’s soul shuddered violently, her body instinctively trying to evade—but it was already too late. All she could do was force out a mass of murky, shadow-black evil soul, roaring in rage as it tried to break free and flee.

  But it was far too late.

  Boom—boom—rumble—rumble!!!

  A chain of thunderous detonations split the air.

  In a single heartbeat, the stunned Tom—along with a swath of grass behind him and even the row of Grey Palace–style linked buildings over a kilometer away—was obliterated into a cloud of charred ash by the ferocious plasma stream unleashed from nothing more than Seraphine’s casual slap at the air.

  “You seem to be misunderstanding something. What ‘this world’ or ‘that world’?

  This is my world. I will shape it as I wish—and no one will interfere.”

  Her eyes blazed blood-red as she turned her gaze toward the stunned reporters below the stage and the scattered onlookers beyond, her voice cold as winter steel.

  “You exist only for my pleasure.”

  The crowd recoiled in horror, panic igniting like wildfire. They turned and bolted, shouting over each other:

  “The Leader is dead?!!”

  “Ahhh—murder!!”

  “Devil! She’s a devil!”

  “She’s a demon!”

  “A heartless beast!”

  “Run! She’s insane!”

  Seraphine didn’t even rise to pursue. Instead, her gaze slid—slow, deliberate—toward the leftmost edge of the panicked mob. Without warning, two lances of crimson light erupted from her eyes, striking a bespectacled reporter dead-on.

  Whoosh!

  The beam sliced him clean in half on the diagonal. The infernal heat riding its edge cooked the remains in an instant.

  Screams tore through the venue as the crowd surged for the exits, desperate to escape.

  Seraphine stayed perfectly calm, hands clasped behind her back, head tilting ever so slightly as she swept her gaze from left to right—methodically, unhurriedly—executing them.

  Every person caught in the crimson rays was shredded into blackened pieces before their bodies even hit the ground. Whether the beam cut through ten people or a hundred, it never slowed, never wavered.

  The sweep carved through the cluster of media personnel, then through the more distant masses who had already realized the horror and were fleeing with everything they had—dropping them lifeless in heaps, none of them left whole.

  Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—whoosh!!!

  And all the while, the corners of Seraphine’s lips curled in a smile of pure delight.

  Ten seconds later, the slaughter ended. Her gaze cooled, the crimson fading back to black.

  What remained of the press conference venue was a wasteland of scattered limbs, dismembered bodies, and brittle, blackened corpses. The air was thick with silence, the stench of blood, and the acrid reek of burned flesh.

  Every moment of it had been faithfully captured by multiple cameras.

  How many had witnessed the massacre?

  Would they feel outrage? Terror?

  What would they do about it?

  Seraphine didn’t care.

  “Why can’t you people just behave?”

  She exhaled lightly, turning her eyes toward the writhing mass of soul locked tight in a telekinetic grip beside her—a thing that seemed to distill every shard of chaos and evil in existence. Her smile was faint, almost casual.

  “They must have been planted by you—hoping to see me cornered, humbled by so-called morality and public opinion? Was it for your own amusement? Or something else entirely?

  Honestly, I can’t fathom it. What meaning could it have, other than losing your own life?”

  At her words, the evil soul’s violent thrashing ceased at once.

  Its earlier struggles now seemed nothing but an act. A sly, almost playful grin spread across its murky, indistinct face as it let out a low chuckle.

  “Ah… you saw through it. How delightful, little darling.”

  Seraphine’s brows drew together slightly.

  "I’ve faced many enemies," she said. "They always oppose me for some kind of gain. But you—why do this?"

  The evil soul let out a shrill cackle.

  "Why? That’s a fine question, but I must say, the word why is unbearably dull. Why must one act for a reason? Why must there always be an end goal? The thrill of the process is far more beautiful, don’t you think?"

  "Oh," Seraphine replied with a nod. "I see—you’re a madman with chaotic convictions."

  Clap ~ Clap ~ Clap ~

  "Order is fleeting," the evil soul declared, still laughing, "but chaos is eternal. Don’t you see? In this world—this churning mess born of endless randomness—there’s nothing more joyful than being mad! Just like you. Ah, I can see it—you’re a madman too! A cold-blooded, heartless, arrogant, twisted old hag who wants to control everything!"

  Seraphine’s pupils narrowed, a faint smile curling her lips.

  "Your assessment is spot-on," she said. "But those words can only be spoken by me. For you to say them… is simply courting death."

  Crack crack crack!

  Her telekinetic power erupted, wrapping, binding, and churning—grinding the evil soul into fine powder, into nothingness.

  Yet a heartbeat later, a vast, inexplicable surge of soul power swept in from every direction. Against all reason, the evil soul resurrected on the spot.

  He rolled his neck and cackled again.

  "Ah, it hurts—hurts so good! Come on, keep going, keep killing me! Heh heh heh… Let me tell you a little secret. You only need to chop me into pieces thirty-three million more times to kill me for good. Does that number sound familiar? That’s right—the death toll in Beaconreach during this time has been exactly thirty-three million."

  Seraphine studied him, her voice tinged with genuine surprise.

  "An extraordinary ability. Not only does it amplify your soul’s ultimate strength, but it even ties your endurance to a near-conceptual level of death itself. Every soul you devour dies for you once."

  As she spoke, her telekinetic power surged again—twisting tight around the evil soul and savagely shattering him thousands upon thousands of times in an instant.

  Seconds later, he reappeared yet again, his strength undiminished, still laughing with that same deranged glee. The manic joy radiating from him was so raw, so unrestrained, that it seemed to whip the very air into a frenzy.

  It was as though being torn apart tens of thousands of times had been the height of pleasure for him.

  "Hahahahahaha!"

  Baring his fangs, the evil soul screeched, "Well? Is killing me satisfying?

  Or… perhaps I could make a suggestion. If slaughter alone isn’t enough to sate your bloodlust, you could always choose to torment me."

  His tone grew almost feverish.

  "Put me in a physical body. Heighten the pain. Make it exquisite..."

  Seraphine frowned at his vivid enthusiasm.

  "Such detail," she said flatly. "I take it you’ve done this to others before."

  "That's right—I’ve put this process through fifteen hundred people. Watching their twisted faces seize up in agony, hearing their tortured screams, and seeing their lovers and families collapse in helpless grief beside them until they faint—ha ha ha—even fine wine tastes richer afterward."

  The evil soul gave a low, mirthless chuckle.

  "Judging by that disgusted look, I’d guess you’ve never gone all in on tormenting a pitiful soul. I have—thousands upon thousands of times. Compared to me, you’re nothing but a delicate little white flower.

  What’s wrong? Did my words just awaken the last scrap of righteousness in you? Do you think the methods I mentioned aren’t enough to smother the fake moral outrage simmering in your dark little heart?

  Then try this—wipe my memories, stuff them full of your fabricated lies, then butcher my loved ones—my children, my parents, my friends—right in front of me, so I can taste a home torn to shreds!"

  Seraphine only shook her head, her tone flat.

  "My time is valuable. Your madness is just proof of how worthless you really are. Die."

  At that, the evil soul’s mouth split into a reckless, defiant grin.

  "Unnerved, aren’t you? Feeling the pressure? Then do it—kill me! With your godlike power, my death is inevitable. But remember this—you can kill me, yet you will never truly defeat me!

  You call yourself a god because of your power, but that means you can’t stand anything you can’t crush completely. And that’s exactly what I am.

  One day you’ll set off for the starry reaches beyond this world, but as long as someone like me walks the Earth, you’ll never have the satisfaction of victory. I fear neither death nor any pain you can dream up.

  Heh… every word I’ve spoken today will remain a thorn in your memory. You could rip it out. You could play the coward—go ahead. But when you look back and find a blank spot in your mind, you’ll know, with that clever little brain of yours, that you suffered something bitter that day. You’ll wonder. You’ll stew. And if you ever dig those memories back up… they’ll burn you alive with rage."

  Seraphine didn’t bother to reply. She unleashed her mental power, ramming straight into his soul and ripping his memories apart.

  Moments later, the evil soul’s entire life spilled open before her mind’s eye—

  The ancient Eliondra continent. War-scorched plains of Central Eliondra. The sunlit coasts of the Mediterranean. Endless ranks of enslaved laborers bent under crushing toil. Astrologers peering at distant stars. Cryptic runes carved into forgotten mountains. Twisted summoning rites. Demons born from chaos lurking in shadowed caverns…

  An ancient demon, with the power to seize and devour souls, rampaging across the three continents—its history unfolding in flashes heavy with the scent of ages past.

  At last, Seraphine understood who she faced.

  The Primordial Demon — Mattu · Erice.

  Centuries later, this same demon would only be sealed after tens of thousands of soldiers and more than a hundred legendary heroes—each with their own powers and bitter hatred—joined forces.

  That battle left half the army dead and crippled the Greek Empire so badly that it collapsed soon afterward.

  Time buried Erice… until millennia later, a team of folklorists from Beaconreach’s grandest museums accidentally stirred him awake.

  Leader Tom had been attending a banquet there, and so… the Grand Leader of Beaconreach found his soul replaced.

  "You really are the familiar of an Evil God."