Sensing the magic that had already severed its connection with her, LeBlanc's pupils constricted.
Yet, she did not choose to submit to Faen right then.
Instead, she spoke coldly: "You had best kill me now, for my clones are outside. Those clones are not merely so-called illusions; they will use any means necessary to utterly destroy you and everything related to you."
Hearing LeBlanc's words, Faen remained unbothered.
"Are you still naive enough to believe you are the original body? Feel it properly. Look at exactly who is maintaining your essence right now."
As he spoke, Faen released his grip.
Falling to the ground, LeBlanc looked up at Faen with a trace of suspicion.
Though her heart did not believe the things Faen said, after confirming that he wasn't imposing any further restraints on her, LeBlanc silently reached out to sense her own magic.
Soon, a look of shock surfaced on her bewitching face.
This shock rapidly transformed into intense panic, fear, and a hidden, smoldering rage.
Magic is a very peculiar thing.
In the lore of Nocturne, the Eternal Nightmare, mentions are made of the existence of the Spirit and Material Realms.
Humans, and all life in Runeterra, are products of the combination of these two realms.
Many have actually touched the Spirit Realm, because the veil between the two is primarily composed of "magic."
This magic is usually impassable, acting as the world's own protection mechanism.
However, when people fall into sleep, their spirits can naturally drift across the veil and enter the Spirit Realm.
Usually, this experience ends quickly as the physical anchor of the body in the Material Realm drags the consciousness back upon waking, ending with a simple, "It was just a dream."
In short, magic acts like an adhesive, binding the souls and bodies of Runeterra's creatures firmly together.
But now, LeBlanc could clearly feel the magic within her body constantly dissipating and vanishing.
Even the connection between her flesh and her spirit had disappeared.
Lifting her hand, LeBlanc saw a deathly, eerie pallor surfacing on her fingertips.
There was no trace of blood; they felt like a piece of bleached, rotting wood.
This was abnormal.
This situation only occurred with puppets or illusions.
Every time this state appeared, it usually meant the original body had abandoned the vessel, activating a "backdoor" implanted at the time of creation to make the puppet dissolve and degrade instantly.
This was to prevent others from using traces on the puppet to discover information about the original.
In the past, LeBlanc could no longer remember how many times she had used this method to erase illusions that might leak her secrets.
But now... this situation was actually happening to her?
Inexplicably, a powerful surge of unwillingness and hatred rose in LeBlanc's heart.
Following this, she couldn't help but let out a self-deprecating, cold sneer.
So, this is how it feels to discover that everything about yourself was fabricated by someone else?
She recalled the illusions she had created, who—just like her—believed they were the original.
And how she had used the marks left on them to make them dissipate into pure magic, leaving no trace in this world.
LeBlanc felt a sudden, bizarre sense of the ridiculous—so, was the "self" that abandoned her truly the original body?
"Yes. Those illusions you abandoned probably thought the same thing."
Faen shrugged from the side.
Though his expression was calm and casual, LeBlanc could more or less guess from his words that as the erosion of the Spirit Realm mark deepened, Faen could now directly read the thoughts in her heart.
In the past, LeBlanc would have preferred death.
But now...
Pursing her lips, LeBlanc looked up and gazed at Faen calmly.
"So, why did you keep me? Even helping me to continue existing."
LeBlanc could feel that as the "Original" who created her abandoned her, the reason she still existed—instead of dissolving into stray magic—was precisely because the mark Faen had struck into her body had replaced the ritual foundation of the illusion magic.
It was like a computer case; a graphics card is expensive, but even without one, you can light up the screen with integrated graphics.
But without a power supply, no matter how good the card is, it's useless.
Abandoned by the original, LeBlanc's consciousness should have vanished instantly.
But now, her should-have-vanished consciousness was bound tightly within her body by the Mark of Pleasure...
"You have two choices now. One is to actively deactivate the Mark of Pleasure."
Gazing at the silent LeBlanc, Faen spoke with a face full of ease.
"I have already removed part of my authority over the Mark of Pleasure. If you wish, you can have your freedom right now, and then vanish."
"And the other?" LeBlanc fixed her gaze on Faen.
"The other is to do the things that the 'you' of the past wanted to achieve," Faen answered.
As Faen's voice fell, the Mark of Pleasure that had been dormant two inches below LeBlanc's navel suddenly exploded.
It was no longer a simple maintenance of energy; it transformed into a literal, physical demonic desire with extreme aggression.
Like scalding lava, it instantly flooded LeBlanc's cold, dried-up body.
"Ngh... ah! Hah... ah...!"
LeBlanc's delicate body shuddered violently, her originally pale, bewitching face instantly swallowed by a pathological flush.
Under that surge of extreme bliss from the primordial demon, the Pale Sorceress who claimed to dominate Noxus found her most private valley completely overrun and the dam broken within these ruins.
Scalding, viscous love juices mixed with uncontrolled magic gushed out like a burst pipe, thoroughly soaking her beautiful, expensive silk undergarments.
The fluid slid greasily down her long, shapely thighs, dripping onto the cold Piltovan floor tiles with a series of lewd "drip, drop" sounds.
The Mark of Pleasure ground and thrust frantically deep within her womb.
The illusion of being forcibly impaled by Faen's massive meat rod, driving straight into the deepest part of her flower heart, caused LeBlanc's reason to shatter instantly.
Her eyes rolled back, her deep purple irises dilating into dazed heart shapes, and a sweet, depraved moan of surrender escaped her throat.
In this moment, she was no longer the Deceiver who toyed with conspiracies.
She was a sex toy, completely captured and tamed by Faen through desire.
Her once-proud breasts were painfully hard beneath her clothes, her nipples so sensitive that even the flow of air could make her squirt.
LeBlanc slumped at Faen's feet, her hands involuntarily pulling apart her own private parts to show her new Master—the man who had stolen everything from her—her red, swollen, and out-turned pussy, which was constantly weeping white paste.
Her gaze was filled with a fallen, manic craving to be treated even more roughly.
Hearing Faen's words, LeBlanc nodded silently after a long pause.
She couldn't help but let out a light laugh: "So this feeling is what those past versions of me wanted to do to me? A perfect answer... To be honest, for a moment, I thought you would say you wanted me to be your slave, or something like that, Master."
Hearing the change in address, Faen nodded and said: "Though you aren't exactly a good person, since you are now by my side, I prefer letting people make their own choices over forced coercion—especially when our interests align."
Hearing Faen's words, LeBlanc nodded.
She rose unhurriedly from the ground and stood silently behind Faen without a word.
If before LeBlanc merely knew of the abandoned illusions without understanding or caring, now she understood perfectly what those illusions felt in their final moments before vanishing.
Hatred. A powerful hatred stemming from the fact that everything about her was fake and fabricated.
Especially as she felt her consciousness beginning to fade, LeBlanc discovered she craved for her original, the original of her original, and all the true originals of LeBlanc to feel this same pain and despair.