Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem Chapter 882: Lysandra Vael [Bonus]

Her hand trembled, and she found herself breathing heavier from one second to the next as a panic attack was greatly bating her mental resistance given by the Still Heart.

"Ahh!"

A girlish yelp cut through the air nearby.

Nalai’s head whipped toward the source just in time to see Feng dart behind a broken pillar, narrowly dodging a ball of black fire that splashed against the ground and hissed like boiling blood.

Feng clutched her robes and panted with her eyes wide.

Nalai’s brows furrowed, and her eyes narrowed as she watched the trembling girl gasp behind broken stone. Her inner mind, honed sharp by centuries of icy calculation, clicked into motion.

Feng Jiai.

A name. A face. A planned move on her chessboard.

She wasn’t her student, not truly. Merely an asset. A calculated investment in the future. Nalai had offered to mentor the girl only to gain benefits for doing so. While the other Sovereigns poured effort into training the Avatar, she wanted to spend her time efficiently.

It was nothing but a subtle maneuver meant to curry favor with the Avatar, who was very clearly held in high regard by Serika.

Even when she smiled at Feng, even when she encouraged her, every word was calculated.

She wasn’t cruel. She simply... wasn’t invested.

Because caring was a liability. She had buried that truth centuries ago beneath cold logic and even colder water.

But now, as she stared at the small figure cowering behind a fractured stone, a tension began to unfurl in her chest.

Something unwanted.

The girl looked too young for this war. Too fragile. And yet she stood amid the wreckage of a damned god. A leaf in a storm. A flicker of life surrounded by corruption and chaos. But even then, she hadn’t tried to run. She looked up at the sky, watching her ’uncle’ fight, racking her brain how she could be useful to him even now.

It reminded Nalai of a different child.

A different battlefield.

Long ago, she had cried and trembled, curled up in silence. She remembered how she was told to be strong. Told to obey. Told she would be "safe," if only she stayed silent.

And no one ever came back for her.

A tremor passed through her fingers.

That was the deal she made with herself, wasn’t it? Sacrifice your selfhood and bee a Sovereign. Forget love. Forget softness. Forget needing.

And it had worked.

Until today.

Until Serika looked at her with that face of shattered, raw betrayal. As if she weren’t her sister anymore. As if she were already gone.

Nalai had told herself it was necessary.

But standing here, watching Feng’s terrified frame shudder behind stone that wouldn’t last another blast, suddenly, none of it felt necessary. It just felt... lonely. ṚἈŊꝊ₿Ё𝒮

It wasn’t just the girl. It was what she represented. A mirror held up to the child she once was. The sincere girl Nalai had killed within herself to survive.

And now... that girl was clawing her way back out.

’Why does it hurt to look at her?’

Feng whimpered again, and Nalai’s jaw clenched.

’Why do I feel like I’m the one being hunted?’

The Sovereign of Water—the Queen of Tides—stood paralyzed, not by fear, but by a betrayal of her own body. Something deep and ancient was ing loose.

Her control. Her detachment. Her carefully constructed identity.

’Is this what weakness feels like?’

She had sworn to never feel this way again. But perhaps that promise had always been a lie. Perhaps she had never stopped being that girl.

Her hand twitched.

The next ball of black flame came screaming from above.

Nalai moved.

Not as a Sovereign. Not as a warrior. Not as the cold shadow of Water itself.

But as Lysandra Vael, who had once screamed too, and been ignored.

She stepped forward, not out of strategy, not out of duty, but out of something far more dangerous.

Out of care.

The transformation was not dramatic. It was not triumphant. It was silent. Like the surface of a lake stilling after centuries of storm.

A single breath filled her lungs.

The Queen vanished.

The woman remained.

And Lysandra Vael opened her eyes.

And in the next moment, a radiant wall of water, glowing with a shimmer of clarity, materialized into existence and caught the flame. The corrupted fire sizzled, snarled, and hissed like a beast in chains, but it couldn’t breach the barrier.

Feng blinked.

Then she gasped.

Before her stood the Water Sovereign—no, not the Sovereign anymore. This woman was different. Her expression was bare, raw with emotion, no longer masked in elegant aloofness or quiet disdain. The usual chill in her qi had softened.

Her hands glowed, weaving water not into a cage, but a veil. It flowed gently around the girl like a stream over smooth stones: breathable, cooling her fevered skin, easing her panic, washing away the soot and horror clinging to her like tar.

A shield, yes, but also a sanctuary.

Feng’s lips trembled. She tried to speak, but Lysandra only shook her head, pressing a finger to the girl’s forehead and sending a ripple of calm through her meridians. "You don’t need to say anything. Just breathe. Just live. I’m sorry for everything, young one..."

Another wave of black fire shrieked through the sky.

Lysandra turned around to face it and raised her arm. A crescent arc of ocean-blue power spiraled upward, slicing through the flame like moonlight through fog.

And as the fire died out...

Lysandra braced her heart to do what had to be done.

She knew forgiveness was out of the question, but now that she was no longer a cold, calculating machine, she wanted to do what she could. She darted toward the battle raging on in the skies.

...

Quinlan’s body was overflowing with qi as he and Serika burst off the air once again, rising like twin ets toward the source of it all.

High above them, God Venthros hovered, surrounded by three rings of corrupted flame, each laced with elemental resonance: earth, water, and wind. The fire was blackened and rimmed in violent violet, devouring even qi itself.

He raised a single hand.

A torrent of that eldritch flame descended in a wide arc. It was obliteration in physical form, a curtain of death tearing toward them.

Quinlan’s instincts screamed, but his mind did not falter. He shifted his stance, feeling the harmony of elements flowing through him like a symphony, all four merged in his core, synchronized into fluid adaptability.

He called upon the wind, catching their form. Water and earth slid across their skin, softening the impact of any potential shockwaves. Fire surged in his limbs, driving him forward.

He dodged the annihilation flare with only inches to spare.

Then, he raised Serika by the waist.

"Let’s kill this bastard," he growled.

She didn’t hesitate.

He spun and hurled her upward with every ounce of his strength.

A vertical flash of crimson blazed through the air like a meteor, her figure trailing blazing arcs of red as she ascended. Quinlan shot forward at the same time, his weapon pulsing in his grip, imbued with the balance of all four elements.

Venthros’s burning gaze was locked on Quinlan, dismissing the firestorm behind him that was Serika’s rapidly approaching form.

"Form V: Crimson Guillotine!"

The sky ignited.