“Actually, I should thank you,” Zena said, her laughter subsiding into a cold, sharp smile. “You’ve recreated a moment for me that I previously wasn’t a part of—one I could only watch in recordings!”

Her expression shifted instantly from amusement to absolute authority. “But first, let me show you your place. Let’s ensure that Inner Demon of yours speaks no more nonsense!”

With a sharp huff, Zena released her full strength. She unleashed the crushing pressure of her true cultivation rank: the Quasi-Genesis Law Realm.

The effect was instantaneous. Thoraz’s face twisted in agony as his leisurely walk came to a violent halt. He began to shake uncontrollably under the sheer weight of her presence. “Wh—what is this?!” he gasped, his voice cracking as his legs began to tremble.

The difference in their realms was an insurmountable abyss. Not only was her rank superior, but the quality of Zena’s energy was the purest Origin Mana, making her actual power many times greater than Thoraz’s.

Despite his posturing, Thoraz was merely at the Paragon Rank Peak. He only possessed the strength of a World Building Realm 5 because of his unstable, maddened state. In essence, he was the one using borrowed strength; he was no true World Building expert.

He let out a guttural roar, straining every muscle to remain standing. But with a sickening creak and a thunderous boom, his leg bones snapped. He was slammed to his knees by the impact, his skeleton groaning under the force as if his very bones were on the verge of exploding.

“AAAAHHHHHH!!”

Thoraz’s scream of agony echoed through the bridge as his bones reached the breaking point. Despite the pain, he defiantly tried to force himself up. But the more he resisted, the heavier the crushing force became. Soon, he was pinned flat against the cold, hard floor of the very ship he commanded.

Blood began to leak from his mouth, eyes, nose, and ears—the brutal result of his own relentless defiance making him more miserable with every passing second. He was beginning to realize the utter futility of his actions and the absolute strength of his adversary. Yet, the more he realized the truth, the deeper he pushed himself into denial.

In his desperation, he asked the exact same question his superior had asked General Marcus months ago—though he had no idea their fates were so identical.

“You… you…” he wheezed, blood bubbling in his throat. “What is this manipulation?! How… how can you possess such… such absolute strength as a filthy race?! Wasn’t this supposed to be borrowed power? Weren’t you supposed to be the one in the state I am in now? How have our positions reversed?!”

He roared, spewing a mouthful of blood across the floor. “What kind of illusion have you pulled me into, you human bitch?!”

He refused to believe that what was happening was reality. Instead, he screamed that it was an illusion or a trick. In his twisted mind, he was certain: humans could never possess such overwhelming strength in all their meager lives.

Zena and her Marines—who were still in the midst of their surgical killing spree—stopped for a brief, stunned moment. They were utterly exasperated. How could this Minotaur be so delusional as to believe he was trapped in an illusion when he was staring at the raw, brutal truth?

“Utter madness… no, you have reached a state far beyond that,” Zena said, shaking her head in disgust. She began to walk slowly toward the fallen Admiral, who had practically bathed the floor around him in his own blood. “It seems your inner demon is far worse than I expected; it makes you believe reality is a lie just to protect your fragile ego.”

As she splashed through the puddles of his blood, a deep, simmering anger burned within her. He had called her race “filthy,” but Zena and everyone in the Void Fleet carried an immense pride in their humanity. Even though their ranks and evolutions were turning them into something far beyond ordinary mortals—and even though their Imperial Commander had evolved into something completely transcendent—at their core, they remained humans. They cherished that origin above all else.

For his insults, for his “human bitching” remark, this “little bull” deserved a beating that would force him to feel every ounce of reality. Zena knew she had to secure victory quickly, but she wouldn’t waste her true rage on a race that would soon be less than slaves. To her, the Minotaurs were destined to be nothing more than “cannon fodder,” an army existing only to serve the Empire under the command of her Imperial Majesty.

With a sudden, violent movement, she slammed her boot down onto the Admiral’s head. She used enough force to make him howl in agonizing pain, grinding his face into the cold deck, but she held back just enough to keep his skull from crushing into a pulp. She wasn’t done with him yet.

“AHHHHHHH!!”

Another shriek, louder than the last, rang through the command bridge. Thoraz felt an agonizing pressure as if ten thousand divine mountains were hammering into his skull. He felt his skeleton groan and crack under the sudden stomp, but he didn’t even have the luxury of rolling away or clutching his head in his hands. He remained pinned, bound by the overwhelming gravitational pressure Zena continued to exert on his broken body.

The surviving Minotaurs, already fighting a desperate, losing battle against the relentless Marines, turned toward the sound. Their eyes widened in terror as they saw their Admiral being trampled by the enemy commander. A primal fear took hold of them—a deep, trembling realization that they would not survive this day.

Their instincts screamed at them to escape, but there was nowhere to go. If the enemy had already penetrated this deep into the heart of the ship, it could only mean the vessel was crawling with them. Their comrades in other sections were likely already dead or in the process of being slaughtered.

Zena paid no mind to the terror she was inspiring in the survivors. Her focus was entirely on the “bull” beneath her boot.

“Tell me, little bull,” she said coldly. “How does this pain feel? Is it real, or is it still just an ‘illusion’?”

She stomped again, this time with even greater force. The sound of Thoraz’s skull cracking echoed across the deck. Another wave of intense agony washed over him—a sensation so violent that he never wanted to feel it again. But while his body screamed for mercy, the Inner Demon that held his mind in its grip remained defiant.

“You little human bitch!” Thoraz roared, his voice thick with the blood pooling in his throat. “Let me out of this illusion, and I will show you what true pain is!”

Even as he refuted her, his voice betrayed him, trembling with the sheer weight of the torture he was enduring.

still refusing to belive huh zena said as she felt bit hmm not admiration to this stubborness that

Zena was no longer frustrated; she was simply amazed. The mental demon’s influence was so absolute that even as Thoraz’s physical form endured agony beyond measure, he still clung to the delusion of an illusion.

“Oh well,” Zena sighed. “Let’s see how much longer you can bear this.”

With a sudden, violent motion, she brought her foot down onto his left arm. The force was so immense that the limb exploded into a bloody mist. Thoraz let out a harrowing roar, his voice cracking as he screamed, “AHHHHH! It hurts! It hurts!” Physically, he was forced to accept the pain, yet mentally, he remained trapped in his twisted fantasy.

“Still an illusion?” Zena asked, stepping toward his left leg.

“Y-you… let me go!” Thoraz wheezed.

“I think not,” Zena replied. Her leg descended again, and like his arm before it, his left leg was obliterated into a crimson spray. Another roar of agony echoed through the command bridge. Even as she systematically destroyed his remaining limbs, Thoraz remained unwilling to surrender, demanding she release him to face his “wrath.”

Zena sighed, looking down at the mangled wreck of the Admiral. “It seems physical pain isn’t enough for you. Fine. How about we try the soul?”

She raised her hand, pointing a single finger toward his head. Blue energy coalesced at her fingertip before shooting forward, entering his skull without leaving a physical wound. An entirely different kind of shriek erupted from Thoraz—a soul-deep scream that rang through the bridge.

The process continued—a second time, a third, a fourth. By the fifth pulse of energy, Thoraz’s soul and consciousness were almost entirely wiped out. He was barely alive, reduced to a mindless, babbling husk.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep