Babylon, Year 212
Medusa, the direct disciple of Circe and a prominent figure within the Thorned Rose Sect, was known for her brilliance and caution. As Circe's chosen successor, she was no less gifted than Lilith. Under the guise of a benevolent witch, she infiltrated the Kingdom of Babylon with a single purpose: to uncover the ancient secrets left behind by the Two Great Witches.
After three years of meticulous study and deception, Medusa succeeded. She absconded with the arcane knowledge and retreated to the remote Balchik Mountains. There, upon the mountaintop, she established the Kingdom of Roses—a matriarchal dominion declared to be the Kingdom of Women.
Inside the Royal Palace of Babylon
"How dare they!" Lilith's voice rang like a curse across the marble hall. "Those blasphemous, fallen witches! They've abandoned the Three Iron Laws of Witches—decency, restraint, tradition. They are debauched cowards who flee from confrontation. And now they dare to form a kingdom of their own? They claim to be the rightful heirs of the Three Great Witches?"
Lilith sat upon a throne carved from obsidian and pearl. Midnight-blue robes adorned her frame, and a crown of fresh, glowing flowers graced her brow. In one hand, she gripped a scepter of polished blackwood, trembling with fury.
Terrifying waves of spiritual pressure radiated from her. All those present fell to their knees, faces pale and drenched in cold sweat.
"Your Majesty," a witch finally managed to whisper. "What shall we do?"
Lilith's eyes burned with divine resolve. "War. There can only be war!"
With a sweep of her scepter, a pulse of transparent light erupted—Cassandra's Fourth-Level spell, "Sound Waves." Her declaration echoed across the kingdom:
"War! There can only be war!"
"War! There can only be war!"
Babylon, Year 213
Lilith led a crusade of hundreds of elite witches to the Balchik Mountains. Mountains crumbled, forests burned to ash, and the earth ran red with blood. A brutal conflict between the disciples of the former Three Witches had begun.
The war raged for eight long years.
Though fewer in number, the rogue witches—under Circe's lineage—had grown dangerously powerful. With seventy formidable spellcasters in their ranks and the use of unorthodox, ruthless methods, they had rapidly surpassed their orthodox counterparts.
Their strength now rivaled Babylon's might.
Then, without warning, Medusa transcended her limits. She ascended to Level Five.
Lilith, unable to withstand the overwhelming gap in power, was swiftly and decisively defeated. She fled.
From Level Four to Five, the difference was cosmic. It was as if they no longer belonged to the same species.
Medusa did not pursue. Instead, she remained atop the mountain for three days, acclimating to her newfound power.
Then she walked—alone—into the heart of Babylon.
The nation trembled.
"You cling to obsolete methods," Medusa's voice echoed as she arrived at the gates of the capital. "I surpassed Lilith because Circe was merciful. She could have crushed Babylon herself but was held back by sentiment. I carry no such burden."
"This grudge ends today. I come to clear my teacher's name."
Her voice, soft and youthful, belied the destruction she carried. She appeared no more than a teenage girl with a wooden staff, wrapped in a crimson robe shrouded by spiritual haze. Her burning gaze swept over the stunned witches as she entered the royal palace—alone.
One hundred and thirty-one witches stood against her, including Lilith.
None could withstand her.
"Do you yield?" she asked, her voice steady, unwavering.
A suffocating silence answered her.
"Medusa! You stole our legacy, you traitor!" screamed Ermei, the royal chancellor. "We will never bow to brute force! Civilization cannot fall to barbarism!"
With a mere tap of her staff, a wave of energy exploded outward.
Ermei collapsed in a heap, blood gushing from her eyes and ears.
"Anyone else?"
Medusa's voice remained eerily calm.
A young witch growled in defiance—then burst apart in a crimson mist. The palace was painted in gore.
"Next."
Medusa stepped forward.
Memories of Circe's mercy flitted through her mind, but she held no such sentimentality. Circe had refused to fight her old friends, but Medusa would not hesitate. Power was absolute, regardless of its source.
"These witches lost because they were too bound by rules and pride," she thought coldly. "Strength is truth. That's all that matters."
"Everything is about to change."
Her gaze swept the trembling witches.
"Submit… or die."
"Never!"
Poof!
Another witch fell, her blood soaking into the polished floor.
"You may be Circe's disciple," croaked an elderly man as he struggled to stand. "But we will never—"
Snap!
A crushing sound rang out as he was flung into the palace wall like a ragdoll. Blood poured from his mouth as he slid to the ground.
"Don't think your age makes you special," Medusa muttered.
The palace fell silent.
At the far end of the hall, Lilith stood trembling, battered and bloodied. Her beautiful face was smeared with ash. She clenched her fists as she looked over the shattered remains of her court.
Her voice was barely a whisper. "On behalf of Babylon… I, Lilith, submit."
"Your Majesty!" the witches cried, their voices breaking in sorrow.
Even in the kingdom's darkest days—when men perished in war and women consumed the cursed blood of the Evil Eye to survive—they had never surrendered.
Now, that legacy would be buried.
Sobs echoed through the halls. Countless witches collapsed to their knees, trembling, grieving their helplessness.
From somewhere in the city, the soft hum of Beethoven's Symphony of Fate began to rise.
Despair spread like wildfire.
They all knew the truth—no one could stop a Fifth-Level magician.
Unless the Three Witches themselves returned from the grave, Babylon was finished.
Medusa calmly stepped over Lilith's wounded form and ascended the throne.
"From this day forward, there shall be two kingdoms," she declared. "The Kingdom of Roses shall reign supreme, and the Kingdom of Babylon shall be subordinate. Lilith will remain as ruler… but she will answer to me."
"From this day forth, the king shall serve the emperor. I shall rule both realms of magic. I am the Empress."
"From this day forth, Babylon shall provide one hundred male sacrifices each month to the Kingdom of Roses. Of the one hundred forty-three witches currently active, sixteen are male. They shall be taken into my harem."
Her decree spread across the land via the spell "Sound Waves."
A tidal wave of grief swept over Babylon. Screams and cries filled the air.
The Age of Darkness had begun.
And once more—
Men were reduced to tools of reproduction.