A Villain's Way of Taming Heroines

Chapter 500 Phantasm Armament - V

The defective product created from the remnants worked in reverse. It forcibly lowered one's stage to significantly reduce abyssal corruption. In the original fate, Flamelle used this item along with Ansel and Annelisa to survive the last ten years.

Flamelle knew exactly what Ansel intended to do, so he adapted the item meant to preserve his sanity into a tool to deal with the Empress.

Even though Ansel inherited Flamelle's power, he only had the strength of two pact heads, far from being a complete Hydral.

In this situation, even with sixth-stage power, he wouldn't be a match for Ephesande.

Ansel's original plan was to use Flamelle's inherited power, plus this item, and Evora with her Etheric Armament to completely overpower Ephesande, preventing her from threatening him. In two or three years, when all his pact heads were in place, Ephesande would no longer be a threat.

This was why he had Ravenna find someone to forge the Etheric Armament for Evora, preparing for this battle.

In fact, according to the original plan... this battle shouldn't have happened at all.

The combined forces of his sixth-stage power, Evora with her Etheric Armament, and the item suppressing Ephesande should have been enough to make the life-loving Ephesande retreat.

However... there was a slight change in the plan. Ansel did not obtain the crucial sixth-stage power from his father.

On the other hand, Ephesande's weakened state... was beyond Ansel's expectations.

"It seems she must have suffered some severe injury while exploring possibilities."

Ansel raised an eyebrow slightly, while Evora finally broke free from the invisible force, gasping for breath.

"Damn it... Although she's weakened, if it's just you and me... we can't kill her."

Evora turned to Ansel, spitting out a mouthful of blood, her eyes fierce, "Do you really have no other way?"

"Other way... I'm still waiting."

"Waiting again?" Evora's voice rose sharply, "Ansel! You fucking crazy? When did you become this unprepared fool? You bastard... are you trying to get me killed too!"

If she didn't have to stay vigilant against her mother, she would have probably punched Ansel in the face by now.

"Just the truth."

Ansel gripped the gray-black bracelet on his wrist: "If we can't wait, we'll have to choose the worst option."

"Now, it's already, fucking, bad enough!"

As Evora roared, both she and Ansel simultaneously felt an immense pressure and a violent pull, dragging them to the bottom of the crater Evora had created.

Boom!

With a thunderous crash and billowing dust, Evora manipulated space to protect herself, her expression dark. Ansel stood up from a half-kneeling position, his shattered leg rapidly regenerating.

Opposite them, Ephesande, disheveled and ghastly, stared at them with a crazed look in her eyes, devoid of any imperial dignity.

Her body was slightly hunched, and the madness in her eyes, visible through her disheveled hair, made her appear terrifying.

"An...sel."

The woman rasped, enunciating each word: "What have you done... to me!"

"Well... just temporarily freed you from the abyss's influence, Your Majesty."

Ansel spread his hands and smiled: "How do you feel now? More normal?"

Despite his words, his eyes were cold.

Ephesande's power was... rapidly recovering.

The defective product made from the remnants couldn't achieve much. Flamelle could suppress himself for ten years because he willingly accepted it, but for Ephesande... lasting thirty minutes was uncertain.

If divine species were so easily dealt with, they wouldn't be called divine species.

Boom!

Ansel was pinned against the crater wall by an invisible force. Every Flamefeast Emperor could awaken spiritual essence, and though not as invincible as Hydral, the effect was undeniably powerful.

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Evora had unparalleled control over space, while Ephesande commanded... gravity!

In the infinite darkness, boundless information inundated Ansel's consciousness—what is the essence of fire, what are the fundamental units of elements, how to construct space, what are the basic principles of time... When the truths that sorcerers covet turn into torrents, incessantly flooding and scouring your mind, truth becomes a maddening curse.

"I..."

...Hmm?

As Ansel sought his possibilities within the Abyss, he seemed to hear a sound.

In this metaphysical conceptual plane, no "sound" should exist; there is nothing but endless information.

But just now... that was indeed—

"Call... me..."

Ansel's consciousness halted.

In that instant, he immediately understood something, driving his will to rush towards the source of the sound at the fastest speed.

"Call... me..."

This voice, he had heard countless times.

Indifferent, calm, joyful, angry, and... resolute.

At that moment, when she recorded that image, she was so resolute that Ansel couldn't help but feel remorse for doubting her.

"An... sel."

In the endless darkness, Ansel's consciousness found a gray particle.

Then, in an instant, he opened his eyes.

The young Hydral looked down at his bracelet, showing a deeply emotional expression.

"You really are... quite reckless, even my father couldn't have imagined this approach."

"Ansel, do you still have time for soliloquy!"

"...Is it urgent? No, you came just in time."

Evora turned her head, glaring angrily at Ansel, roaring in fury, "Are you fucking insane! That old thing is about to come out, and you—!"

"You..."

The Elder Princess who turned her head... showed shock and astonishment.

For she, who had sensed nothing, saw... a faint shadow floating in mid-air, embracing Ansel's neck.

"Ansel," the shadow whispered softly in Ansel's ear, "call its name."

The young man couldn't help but laugh, "Must it be so ceremonial?"

"Of course."

The shadow grew more solid, forming into a person that shocked Evora even more.

This was clearly the insignificant, weak, pitiful little... puppet that Ansel had toyed with at will.

But now, in Evora's eyes, the little puppet embraced Ansel's neck, whispering:

"I stake my life."

"To offer you the power to shatter fate."

Ansel smiled, kissed her still somewhat ethereal cheek, raised the hand with the bracelet, and clasped it with the hand of the girl's shadow reaching from behind.

Cold iron light blossomed in their hands, accompanied by a resolute declaration as firm as steel:

"Phantasm Armament—"

"God from the Machine!"

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