Even if Akamana could defeat Vel'Asha, and there was no guarantee that she could, with the current shape of her forces, how could they handle 3,000 Yakshini nobles fresh out of the higher planes? Let's double down on a miracle and assume that they somehow won regardless. How much of the Angra Theocracy would remain after that clash?
Akamana had many enemies. Menaka could afford to antagonize Vel'Asha because she was Menaka, a dragoness who could count Dark Preceptors, Gods and Sage Kings among her relatives. But Akamana was her own background and had to consider the big picture—not only for herself but for her subordinates as well. And going against the ruler of the Yaksha race at her current level was both foolish and suicidal.
Worse, if Vel'Asha herself was terrifying enough, her father was a whole other beast—evident in his name. For in the demon race, the title of "Ba'al" was reserved for the seven Archfiends whose mastery of Sid, Flame and Divine Secrets made them equal to the Antigods:
The Seven Idols of Vanity—the Seven Ba'al—each the progenitor of one of the great demon lineages. And of the seven, Ba'al Agan is the strongest, ranking above the Ancestral Demon as the number one powerhouse of the demon race: the Heavenly Demon!
And this unusual state of affairs could endure because Ba'al Agan...is the Lord's First Devotee! A position that the Weaver never managed to claim despite trillions of years of hard work.
And so in the higher planes, the saying "Gods do not dare to offend Ba'al Agan," became common knowledge.
Akamana was a very practical woman and wouldn't risk getting on the bad side of an Archfiend, especially one that Gods and Antigods treated with courtesy, unless she could milk massive benefits from Vel or him, and now she couldn't.
Case in point, the average Astral Pulse Naifem lived 30 years and died brutally. Yet Vel'Asha managed to comfortably live to 2,500, with no major tragedy besides Odoacer and Gaiseric. Why? Because she was Ba'al Agan's golden child, honored above all!
So once Vel'Asha stopped giving the Weaver face and brought out her true background, Akamana had to lower her head.
The Angra Theocracy had lost. And so Grand Priestess Akamana...admitted defeat!
When the realization settled, from Elektra to Ishtar, going through Nagini and Cassandra, all felt their bodies turn red and fidgety, itching with a rush of excitement. Some heaved sighs of relief, others raised their fists at sky, but all had tears in their eyes, unable to contain the burst of emotions inside their chests.
It's over!
We've triumphed at last!
"Though while I've lost a ton coming here, I should probably let you know...that I've accomplished half of what I came to. You heard it yourself, right?
'Emphyria, za'hak muk'bal.'
Vel, as a fluent speaker of the Old Tongue, I'm sure you can translate the meaning behind these words. The empire, forever victorious. But not any empire. The Empire—as in empire of humanity.
The Great Blood Empire!" Akamana's tilted her head a little, her lips curling into a playful grin.
Vel'Asha didn't look surprised, already investigating the mysterious event that followed Ricimer's destruction. And aware that as the necromancer, Akamana likely played a role in whatever happened there.
Nagini and Ishtar helped Mithras up, supporting him on their shoulders while Vel'Asha's Inversion Skill operated on him.
"Oh?" Ignoring Akamana's jabs, Vel'Asha focused on Mithras' condition—meeting unexpected difficulties. Mithras couldn't heal in traditional ways. But the Inversion Skill wasn't a healing spell. Rather, a Time Reversal trick that restored the body's state. It should have no problem repairing Mithras' body.
Yet...there was something off—as if a foreign power was standing in the way.
Here, the Queen Mother sent a series of mental messages, causing a dark-haired Yakshini with large breasts and a swell booty to bring a box of jeweled treasures over.
"The Great Blood Empire was no doubt exceptional by human standards, but compared to the power of the Yaksha race, it falls a bit short. If the Balmarian Aristocracy only had to send the House of Wyrms to destroy them, what exactly do you expect them to accomplish against Her Majesty?
Grand Priestess, stop judging my lady on mortal standards...or you will keep finding defeat." The demoness said and opened the box, causing a cluster of gem-like flowers to fly out and fuse with Mithras' flesh.
The moment that woman appeared, Cassandra and Elektra's eyes narrowed, their eyelids trembling as the stare prolonged.
"Oh, if it isn't our little Lyssie. Hello Lissy, glad to see you're still alive and kicking. Elektra, Cassandra, say hello to your Lyssie," Akamana said in a bright and cheerful tone, twirling on herself for good measure.
The Grand Priestess' words hit the Elektra sisters like battering rams, and in perfect synch, they closed in on the Yakshini noble—ogling her outright.
The face rang no bell. But the gentle yet distant look in her eyes brought a thousand memories, aligning with a figure they missed dearly.
"Ly...Lyssandra?" The Elektra sisters asked in tandem. But Lyssandra ignored them, focusing on Mithras, Vel'Asha and Akamana.
Confused, the Elektra sisters staggered, uncertain of what to do next.
"Ah, tragic." Akamana sighed at this sorry affair, winking at the Queen Mother.
"And so...the truth is revealed. You are Mithras di Hadubrangr, son of Menaka di Balmaria and Fylkir Odoacer di Hadubrangr, the Great Blood Emperor!" Akamana declared with an impish smile, and the world came to a screeching halt.
---
Meanwhile, in the southern region of the Purple Dawn Continent, the warriors of the Gorefiend tribes assembled, millions of tribal blades that lined up at a massive Blood Pyramid.
For generations, the Gorefiend tribes had been divided. Broken by fractured bloodlines and conflicting interests. And yet even in that state, they managed to stop the boatload of foreign invasions that they dealt with on the regular.
Why?
Because they were strong. So strong that even in a fractured state, their blades could rip their enemies asunder!
But now, all those tribes united—bound anew in reverence of the coffin at the top of that Pyramid.
A 1.8m-tall woman stood before the coffin, stroking it with a complex and pensive look.
The ruby lid flew open, enabling a 1.9-m-tall figure to awaken to the morning light.
Dressed in a gold and scarlet heavy armor, with short white hair and a striking pair of purple eyes, the man looked handsome and refined. But it wasn't his tall and muscular frame or outstanding looks that made him stand out.
The eyes—eyes that captured and possessed those unfortunate enough to lose themselves in their shine. At first, Menaka's eyes lit up at those gems. But remembering how much evil and treachery hid behind those harmless eyes, the dragoness recoiled in disgust.
"My lady, long time no see," Odoacer said and leaned in, reaching for Menaka's shoulders. But here, tongues of burning flames coiled up her form—cutting the Fylkir dry.
"Odoacer...," Menaka's lips moved at last, loud sobs rolling out nonstop.
"Well, sweetheart. Is that any way to greet your husband? I expected better," Odoacer sighed, his lips curling into a wolfish grin.
He wasn't messing around. As far as the immortal emperor was concerned, Menaka was the perfect wife—his vision of perfection. And so only she was qualified, to be the mother of his heir—his perfect prince.
But now, as that Menaka faced the man she'd once pledged to spend the rest of life with, her eyes had nothing to offer besides disgust and apathy.
"Congratulations, Fylkir Hadubrangr. But I'm confused. Why were you so sure we'd help you out?" The dragoness couldn't help but ask, causing Odoacer to arch his head with a cheerful laugh.
"For the same reason, you went against the Sanctuary to marry me. You are too emotional. Someone like you would rather bring me back and crack my skull than live out the rest of her life knowing she's been tricked by a scoundrel." The immortal ruler said and stepped forward, walking past his wife to sweep the audience of tribal warriors.
Loud rumbling sounds howled towards the sky, the millions of Gorefiend kinsmen banging their fists against their chests as they yelled in tandem:
"Fylkir...ut za'hak!"
"Fylkir...ut za'hak!"
The Fylkir is eternal!
The ancient greeting erupted like a cacophony of primal roars, rocking the mountains and forests.
Odoacer raised his right fist, aiming at the sky.
"A great man once said, 'the empire, long divided must unite; long united must divide. Thus it has always been.' When huts and thatched houses were still cutting-edge technology, and men lay helpless under the claws of monstrous beasts, I led the rebellion, seizing leadership and establishing the code of conduct that would later become the foundation of human aristocracy.
I am the first great conqueror. The emperor who united mankind at the time it stood divided before ruinous threats and established...the Great Blood Empire. And when it grew weak and complacent, I divided and destroyed it.
Now, in this era of weak and shameful men where those that ought to be sheltered wear shield and armor, I return to restore the empire in all its glory.
But this time around, there will be no need for a pause. No reason to wait or restructure.
FOR AFTER GIVING MY DESCENDANTS A THOUSAND OPPORTUNITIES TO STAY IN CONTROL AND BECOME MEN OF BURNING IRON, I REALIZE THAT I HAVE TO STAY IN CHARGE TO MAINTAIN THE EMPIRE'S GLORY! FOR ONLY I CAN GUIDE ITS COURSE THROUGHOUT ETERNITY!
AND SO I DECLARE... THAT MY REIGN...SHALL BE ETERNAL!" With Odoacer at the center, a colossal blaze of scarlet flames geysered upwards, engulfing all across the distance as it soared towards the sky.
"EMPYRIA...ZA'HAK MUK'BAL!" Odoacer screamed his lungs out, his voice causing the earth to split and the trees to bend in awkward shapes.
"And Menaka, the human race...always has the final laugh."