There was no clever technique that would turn this around. No hidden reserve of power to draw on. No way to talk or manipulate or sche her way out.
She’d gambled everything on becoming powerful enough to challenge the cosmic order, and she’d failed catastrophically. Her son, the vessel she’d used, the sacrifice she’d made, had returned more powerful than anything she could achieve.
And now he was going to make her pay.
The watching audience saw it too.
Saw the mont Suyajna’s resistance broke, when bravado gave way to genuine terror. The daemon goddess who’d killed Sovereigns, who’d declared her intention to reshape reality, was reduced to a broken thing pinned beneath the foot of soone she’d underestimated in the most fundantal way possible.
Morgana, watching from a distance, felt her own certainty cracking. She’d believed in Suyajna’s vision. Had trusted that the plan would work, that they’d create sothing better through Jaenor’s sacrifice.
But looking at this—at the absolute domination, at the proof that everything they’d believed was built on delusion—she finally understood the truth.
They’d never had a chance. Jaenor had always been destined to transcend them. And their attempts to use him had only guaranteed that when he returned, he’d return as sothing that could destroy them without effort.
"Please," Suyajna finally managed to gasp out as Jaenor eased the pressure slightly. "Please... I’m your mother. We’re family. You can’t—"
"You’re not my mother," Jaenor said, and his voice was absolutely final.
"You’re nothing to . Just an obstacle to be removed. A mistake to be corrected. And now—"
He raised his foot, preparing to bring it down with force that would end her completely.
"—now you’re going to learn what happens when you mistake rcy for weakness. When you think being born powerful ans you’ve earned anything."
Jaenor’s foot hung in the air, re inches from delivering the final blow that would obliterate Suyajna completely. His eyes blazed with power and righteous fury, his entire being focused on ending the daemon god who had used him so completely.
Then new presences manifested on the battlefield.
Three figures erged from spatial distortions, not the crude teleportation of normal origin users, but refined transportation that spoke of trendous skill and preparation.
Mother Supre Wendelina appeared first, her weathered face showing exhaustion from recent battles but her power still formidable. Her hair was pulled back severely, and her robes bore the marks of combat: scorched edges, torn fabric, and evidence of the demon wars she’d been fighting.
Beside her stood Synnove, her trusted second-in-command, looking grim and determined. The older witch’s sharp eyes imdiately took in the scene, the devastated battlefield, the assembled Sovereigns and Sins, Jaenor’s transford state, and Suyajna broken beneath his foot.
But it was the third figure that drew the most attention.
Inga.
The Coven’s prodigy stood between the two older witches, and she was magnificent. Her silver-blonde hair with streaks of deep blue seed to glow with internal light. Her violet eyes blazed with power that made even experienced warriors take notice.
And she wore artifacts that made every being present pause in recognition.
On her head sat a crown, ancient beyond asure, forged before the Separation from materials that no longer existed in the mortal realm. It pulsed with origin energy so pure, so refined, that it created visible distortions in the air around it. Runes covered every surface, each one a complete technique, each one containing knowledge from an age when gods walked freely among mortals.
In her hands, she held a sword.
Not the crown’s equal, but close, a blade of similar age, designed to channel aura in its purest form. The tal seed to shift between states, sotis solid, sotis appearing almost liquid.
These were the artifacts from Ki’thara village, found in the temple.
The crown Pride had claid and the sword the Covens had secured. Treasures that granted their wielders power far beyond their natural capabilities.
And Inga wore both.
Commanded both with a confidence that suggested she’d already mastered their use despite having possessed them for perhaps a week at most.
Jaenor’s foot remained suspended above Suyajna, but his attention had shifted. His impossible eyes fixed on the three newcors, particularly on Inga and the artifacts she bore.
As far as he knew, the two artifacts weren’t taken by the council, so how did the covens get their hands on the crown?
That was when Morgana spoke, her voice desperate and urgent despite her injured throat.
"Jaenor, wait!" She called out from where she’d been recovering.
"Don’t trust them! Wendelina, the Mother Supre, she planned this! All of this!"
Jaenor’s head turned slightly, listening to Morgana’s words without fully looking away from Wendelina.
"Planned what?" he asked, his layered voice carefully controlled.
"Your death!"
Morgana pushed herself to her feet, swaying but maintaining her balance through sheer will. "After you killed Suyajna. After you eliminated the daemon god threat. That was always the plan—let you deal with her, let you expend your energy fighting, and then eliminate you when you were weakened."
She pointed at Wendelina with a shaking hand.
"The Sovereigns and the Coven Council sched together. That’s why she ca to you before. Why she suddenly agreed to work with you, stopped trying to kill you, and offered all those concessions. She was never sincere. She was just positioning pieces on the board, waiting for the right mont to strike."
Wendelina’s face had gone pale, her expression shifting rapidly through shock, horror, and sothing that might have been guilt.
"That’s... that’s not..." she started, but her voice faltered.
Because it was true.
Morgana’s accusation was true, and everyone who looked at Wendelina’s face could see it.
The Mother Supre had been hiding in the shadows of the battlefield, watching, waiting. She’d positioned herself and her forces, including Inga, ard with artifacts of trendous power, to intervene at precisely the right mont.
Not to help Jaenor defeat Suyajna.
To eliminate him after he’d served his purpose.
She thought Jaenor was killing her, so she ca in excitent to proceed with her plan. But it seed like she was a bit early, and she wondered if she ca at the wrong ti.
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