“Hmm…. that demon god knows me,” I said to myself, a predatory grin spreading across my face as I watched the elves running around like headless chickens.

From the demon Eir captured, not much was learned, other than the demon god’s plan to use Aeli’s golden seed to reborn a new god.

However, from the short interaction that I had with him, I could tell that he knows me, and he fears me.

This feeling… I missed it.

The raw, unadulterated terror of a being who knows my name, who knows my reputation, who knows what I’m capable of.

“It’s been a while since I’ve felt this way,” I purred, my crimson eyes glowing with a dark, predatory light. “Since I was the High Queen of the Unspoken Realm.”

Back then, the very mention of my name would make armies tremble, kingdoms fall, and gods weep.

I was the queen of fear.

“Hehe… let’s see how far he can go before breaking down,” I decided, my curiosity piqued.

I didn’t want to just kill him. I wanted to break him, to shatter his mind, to crush his spirit, to make him beg for a death that I would never grant.

I wanted to remind him why they called me Fear.

Oh, and speaking of ‘Fear,’ that’s what the demons called me. The name they gave me out of sheer terror, a name that became synonymous with my very being.

Herma managed to pull the related memories from my mind, and they were… quite interesting.

A sea of impaled souls. A throne of bone. A wall of screaming faces.

They called it the ‘Red Sea of Screams’.

My own personal hell. A masterpiece of suffering that I created during my quest to resurrect my twin sister.

Ahh~… just recalling it made me wet.

‘Herma, can we create a lesser version of the Red Sea of Screams here?’ I asked, my mind already racing with possibilities.

[I don’t recommend it, Morgana,] Herma said, her voice flat. [That would require a massive amount of souls, not to mention the environmental damage. You should leave that after you reclaim this world’s version of hell.]

‘Hehe… fine, fine. I’ll behave,’ I chuckled.

The elves below were in a flurry of activity. They carried Sylvana’s body—his stolen vessel—into the grand infirmary. Healers in pristine white robes swarmed her, their hands glowing with restorative magic.

The healers didn’t notice anything wrong.

How could they?

Sylvana’s body was perfectly intact. No demonic corruption. No possession marks. No spiritual fracture visible to mortal magic. The demon god had been very careful when stitching his broken soul into the elven queen’s flesh.

Yes, his soul is broken, damaged beyond repair, but he is still a god.

To them, she just looked exhausted, traumatized, and injured.

“Should I just end this and capture him?” I asked myself, my patience wearing thin.

But then a better idea struck me.

Instead of confronting him directly, I’ll play with him.

I’ll make him think he’s safe, that he has a chance to escape, only to crush that hope again and again.

“Mother.”

“Hmm?” I turned to see my Valkyrie daughters floating behind me, their armor gleaming in the moonlight.

“The demons are all slain,” Oyya, the fiery one, reported, her spear crackling with residual energy. “The elven captives are secured.”

“Good.” I nodded, my gaze shifting back to the palace. “I want you to stay here and make sure no one escapes.”

I then turned to Eir.

“Come with me. We have a queen to visit.”

Eir nodded, her expression unreadable behind her helm.

…

Slowly, Eir and I began to descend. We didn’t plummet like falling stars; we drifted, like two drops of crimson blood falling into a bowl of pure milk.

The wind parted around us as we drifted down from the clouds, the night sky bending quietly to my will. Far below, the elven capital glowed like a nest of fireflies, lanterns and warding runes flickering as soldiers rushed through the streets.

Chaos.

Fear.

Confusion.

Perfect.

“Hehehe…” My lips curled as I watched the palace from above.

Even from this distance, I could feel him.

That broken, trembling divine spark is hiding inside Sylvana’s body like a rat inside a corpse.

Gods always had a unique taste to their souls.

And his…

His taste like old iron, like dried blood, like the lingering residue of a scream echoing in an empty hall.

I savored it.

I savored the memory of that taste.

“My, my… look at him squirm,” I murmured.

Eir floated silently beside me, her black wings beating once every few seconds, her white eyes glowing through her helm.

“Mother,” she said, pointing with her spear. “They’re mobilizing the city. Should I intervene?”

I looked down, and sure enough, the elven city guards were organizing themselves into patrols. Archers were taking positions on the walls, mages were weaving defensive wards and activating towers. The entire city was being put on high alert.

The elves were preparing for war.

Too bad they didn’t know the real enemy was already inside their queen.

“Nah.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Let them panic. It’s adorable.”

As we got closer, I could feel the warding spells shimmering against my skin like a warm, static pressure. They were powerful, ancient elven enchantments designed to repel both physical and magical intruders.

But these were elven spells. Mortal spells.

And I was a goddess.

They were nothing to me.

I could simply… walk through them.

However, I did not. I paused my descent at a distance, enough for all to see me.

“Tell me, Eir,” I started. “What do you think about this world so far?”

This was the first time I let one of my children outside the protective barrier. The mana density is thin compared to back home, so I wanted to know her thoughts.

Eir didn’t answer right away. She seemed to be thinking about her words.

“It is… fragile,” she finally said. “The magic here is weak. The people are… naive. They have not known true suffering.”

“Hehe… you are right,” I chuckled. “That’s why it’s so much fun to break them.”

I then looked up at the moon, bright and full, casting a silvery glow over the city.

“This world is like a blank canvas. And we… we are the artists. We can paint it in any color we want.”

And I was going to paint it red.

Blood red.

I raised a hand to the moon, my fingers spread wide. Then I waved.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—

The light shifted.

Like blood slowly bleeding through white cloth, the pale silver glow darkened… deepened… until the entire moon above the elven capital turned a sickening crimson.

The transformation was slow enough for everyone to notice.

Guards on the walls froze. Mages stopped chanting mid-spell. Archers lowered their bows as whispers rippled across the city.

“What…?”

“The moon…”

“It’s turning red!”

Within seconds, the entire capital was staring at the sky.

At me.

“Hehe… look at them,” I purred, feeling the sweet, intoxicating nectar of their collective terror rising into the air. It was a vintage I hadn’t tasted in far too long. “Fear is such a beautiful color on them, don’t you think, Eir?”

“It is their most honest state, Mother,” Eir replied, her voice steady and cold. She didn’t feel the thinness of the mana as a weakness; she felt it as an opportunity to dominate.

I lowered my hand, my gaze locking onto the palace infirmary. I could feel him—the ‘God’—spiraling. My little display with the moon probably felt like a death knell ringing directly inside his skull.

I saw him dashing from the infirmary, heading to the deepest parts of the palace, holding the World Tree staff tightly in his hand.

“Patience, little god,” I murmured, my crimson smile widening. “The best games are the ones where you don’t rush.”

“Mother,” Eir called again, gazing in a certain direction.

I looked to where Eir pointed.

“Oh… looks like we have some guests.”

Five figures were approaching fast, riding winged horses—the Pegasus.

All of them were elven women. Four of them were heavily armored, their bodies encased in a gleaming white plate, their lances held high. They were the Royal Guard, the elite of the elven military.

However, what caught my attention was the fifth rider.

A familiar figure.

General Fenris.

But this wasn’t the rutting, pleasure-drunk Fenris from the orgy. This was the commander of the elven armies. Her armor was pristine, silvered steel etched with golden runes. Her face was a mask of grim determination, her piercing gold eyes burning with a mixture of defiance and duty.

A giant two-handed sword was sheathed across her back, its hilt wrapped in weathered dragonhide. She looked valiant and beautiful.

“Finally, someone with a spine,” I chuckled, turning to my first Valkyrie daughter.

“Eir, my love, you can go and have some fun now. Call your sisters too, but be gentle,” I said, my smile turning wicked. “No killing.”

Eir nodded.

Without another word, she dove.

As for me, I simply turned, gazing down at the city with my hands held high as if I were a conductor leading an orchestra of pure fear.

“Ahh~… the euphoria before the performance,” I sighed, savoring the moment.

“Now let this symphony of agony begin!”

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