"Be our queen… or be destroyed."
That sentence slipped once again from the lips of Fayzehl, the deranged scientist. His hollow eyes betrayed no emotion—like cracked glass, reflecting no life. His voice was flat, heavy, as if playing from a broken record stuck repeating the same threat.
I stared at him lazily, one hand resting on my hip, head tilted slightly. "Heh… Obviously not," I said with a cold grin. "Why would I submit myself to your king, who doesn't even dare to show himself? If you want to destroy me… go ahead and try."
His gaze darkened. No warning. No pleasantries. Just one sentence:
"Then don't blame me."
At once, the fog in the room surged. Sickening footsteps echoed from every direction. From the metallic and rotten-smelling mist, his creations emerged—abominations that defied natural law.
