In the dead of night, the sleeping village of Sith erupted in blood and screams. Flames rose into the sky as two men dressed in black descended upon the unsuspecting villagers. Their blades glistened, soaked with the blood of over a hundred innocents. Not even newborns were spared. Not even the elders.
Far from the chaos, Mary—the village chief's wife—was taking a late-night walk through the woods with her newborn son and her attendant, Beth. When the first scream shattered the silence, Mary's battle-hardened instincts surged to life. Fire and smoke curled over the treetops, and her sharpened senses warned her: confronting the assailants meant certain death.
"Cross the river," Mary ordered Beth urgently. "Get my son to the other side of the forest. No matter what happens—run."
Beth hesitated only for a moment. She had served Mary since childhood, knew the weight of her command, and understood that only Mary stood a chance of stalling the threat. With a heavy heart, she turned and disappeared into the trees.
Then came the voice.
"Come out. I can smell you from a mile away."
He emerged from the shadows—a tall man, face obscured by a lazy smile and eyes that burned with twisted joy.
"Impressive, as always. But it is you, after all. Today must be my lucky day," he said, stepping into view. "Not only have I graced the land of warriors and tasted the blood of Heavenly Soldiers and Valkyries... but now, before me stands the Valkyrie Queen herself. Mariannette Roseblade, the Goddess of War."
Mary drew her dagger with practiced ease. "Who are you? Why did you attack Sith?"
"You'll find that out if you survive," he replied smoothly. "If you ever do."
Their blades clashed, tearing through the quiet night like thunder. The force shattered not only the silence but the very sound barrier. For thirty long minutes, they fought. Yet Mary soon realized: his attention wasn't on the battle. He was distracted, his focus elsewhere.
She made her decision. Burning through her very essence—life force, soul, mana, core, astral spirit—she ascended to multi-empire, even continental levels of power. All to buy mere minutes. She prayed the beasts of the forest—creatures and kings far beyond her—would notice him and act.
But her power meant nothing.
She couldn't land a single hit.
At exactly thirty minutes, everything changed. His aura darkened, swelling with impossible weight. In an instant, he appeared behind her. A breath later, Mary collapsed, her body failing to respond. He had severed every tendon and ligament in a single motion.
He lifted her by her hair, her limp body hanging under tenfold gravity, and whispered into her ear:
"Your gift is nearly at its destination. Don't you think we should be there to receive it?"
For fifteen agonizing minutes, Mary was dragged by her hair, her body crushed by magic-enhanced gravity and burning with recoil from her self-sacrifice. When they reached the riverbank, Beth had just stepped onto the far side, greeted by Beast Kings and Emperors rushing to embrace her and the child.
Mary's captor raised her head, forcing her to watch. His breath ghosted against her ear.
"The gift I had prepared for you has arrived. Let me do the honors of presenting it to you."
A flicker of movement.
Beth's head flew from her shoulders, her body stumbling before falling in silence. The attacker stood behind her corpse, cradling the crying infant. Above him, Mary hovered—alive, conscious, forced to witness everything.