MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

As their conversation continued, Anthony remained unaware of the plans Mitchelle had already begun to set in motion. Yet, even if he had known, there was little he could have done to alter the course she had chosen.

In this particular matter, opposing his mother was a battle he was destined to lose, for what mother does not dream of holding a grandchild... or perhaps, grandchildren?

Suddenly, Anthony's gaze shifted toward the door, his senses alerting him to the presence of several familiar auras gathering beyond it.

"We'll continue this later, my son," Mitchelle said softly, patting his head with a gentle affection. With a graceful wave of her hand, a portal shimmered into existence, opening a path back to Anthony's previous location.

He offered her a warm smile and a small wave.

"Goodbye, Mom. We'll talk soon," he said, before stepping through the portal without hesitation.

As the portal sealed behind Anthony, the warmth and affection that had graced Mitchelle's face vanished as if it had never existed.

Her expression grew indifferent and unreadable. The atmosphere within the room shifted dramatically as a thin veil of her aura spread outward, blanketing the space in a suffocating stillness.

The very air trembled beneath the weight of her presence.

In an instant, the loving mother was gone, what remained was the Supreme Monarch.

Her eyes turned toward the door, then slowly shut. Before the visitors could even raise a hand to knock, the doors creaked open of their own accord.

Stepping inside were Warlord Kaelrix, Warlord Therionis, and Warlord Zauren. Walking just beside them was Warlord Raelith, the Human Warlord, followed by Warlord Aerenya, the Elven Warlord, and Warlord Brontagar, the Titan Warlord. Bringing up the rear were the Grand Marshals of Military Alpha-6 and Alpha-9.

As each figure crossed the threshold, a crushing pressure descended upon them like a storm of gravity. Yet none faltered.

They bore the weight with practiced calmness, advancing with composed steps toward the seat where the Elemental Witch of Destruction now sat in absolute silence.

They all dropped to one knee in unison, heads bowed, awaiting the only gesture that mattered, her acknowledgment.

Mitchelle's crimson eyes swept over them, pausing for a single moment that, to them, stretched into something eternal. Then she spoke, calmly, yet with a weight that echoed like divine judgment.

"You are here."

Even her voice bore down upon them, each word pressing into their bones like the utterance of a god.

And it was not without reason. Supreme Monarchs were entities beyond comprehension, capable of shattering planets, extinguishing suns, andmultiple celestial bodies.

Compared to that, Grand Marshals... even Warlords... stood like flickering torches before an unending storm.

Such was the difference in existence itself.

"We greet the Supreme Monarch," they intoned in unison, their voices resonating through the chamber.

"Rise," Mitchelle said, her tone calm, yet absolute.

At her word, they stood. Backs straight, shoulders squared, their postures flawless. Discipline etched into every motion.

None dared to speak. They waited in silence, allowing the Supreme Monarch to dictate the course of the conversation.

"Begin at the very start. Leave nothing out," Mitchelle commanded, her eyes sharp.

Warlord Therionis stepped forward, his movements measured, and began.

"It all began with the Severed Crown of Echoes," he said, his voice steady. "According to the military report submitted by Lieutenant Anthony, the mission was centered on its retrieval..."

Though he had not been present during the operation, Warlord Therionis recounted the events as recorded in the report. He added that it remained uncertain whether Anthony had omitted any details, intentionally or otherwise.

'The Executioner,' Mitchelle thought, her finger tapping rhythmically against the armrest as she drifted into thought.

A cold fury simmered beneath her still expression, the mere idea of that wretched being attempting to transfer his soul into her precious son, coveting his affinities and potential, was enough to make her want to tear him apart limb by limb.

'Using me as a cover... clever boy,' she thought, as her mind drifted to the now departed Anthony.

Yet outwardly, her face betrayed nothing. The same impassive, unreadable mask she had worn since the beginning remained, unyielding, regal, and terrifying in its calm.

"Where is Colonel Vazeryth?"

Mitchelle asked, her voice calm but laced with underlying intent. He had been the one to report the situation to the Grand Marshal, there were questions only he could answer.

"Supreme Monarch," Warlord Kaelrix replied from her left, his tone respectful, "Colonel Vazeryth perished during the battle at the base. He was betrayed by a traitor, Daniel, a Corporal-ranked soldier."

At his words, the other Warlords and the Grand Marshals from Military Base Alpha-6 solemnly nodded in agreement, a silent confirmation of the truth.

Mitchelle said nothing further. At the mention of Vazeryth's death, she offered no words of mourning nor reflection. Her expression remained as unreadable as ever, detached, sovereign.

The matter, in her eyes, was closed.

"Continue," she ordered with an authoritative voice.

Warlord Therionis nodded, he spoke the meeting with the Chakram Of End. The military order to prepare for war. After that, everything spiraled out of control.

Then the fall of the Aetherlock.

The soldiers from Military Base Alpha-9 listened from the side. Even they weren't informed of this much detail. They had nothing to input as they weren't on the military base during the war.

"How did the Aetherlock fall?" Mitchelle asked, her tone sharp and inquisitive. "Only a Demon Monarch should possess the power to destroy it."

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"If a Demon Monarch had entered the military base, the Chakram of End would have reacted."

Warlord Therionis opened his mouth, prepared to admit his ignorance, but before he could speak, Grand Marshal Alaric stepped forward.

"It was through a ring," Alaric said, his voice steady. "The Demon Monarch had imbued a fragment of his power into a ring. During the assault on the base, the ring was cast, or perhaps dropped, onto the Aetherlock."

Mitchelle's gaze shifted toward Alaric, her crimson eyes studying him for a lingering moment. Then she turned inward, falling silent in thought.

'As expected of the demon race,' she mused darkly.

In the chaos of war, who would ever spare a second glance for a simple ring? Rings littered every battlefield, after all. Every single soldier and demon wore at least one space ring on their fingers.

It was the perfect deception, hidden in plain sight.

"Where is the Severed Crown of Echoes now?"

Mitchelle asked, her voice low but edged with a gravity that silenced the room. This relic was the spark that had ignited the fall of an entire military base, and the death of a Supreme Monarch.

Warlord Therionis's expression darkened with unease before he finally responded.

"It has been destroyed."

The moment the words left his mouth, a colossal wave of aura erupted from Mitchelle.

It crashed over the room like the fall of a planet.

Every soul present collapsed to their knees under the impossible weight, their bones straining and lungs struggling to draw breath.

"By whom?" Mitchelle demanded, her voice like thunder beneath the crushing force of her presence.

The Crown had been the fulcrum of everything, the betrayal, the war, the loss of one of their own. And now it was gone? Destroyed? What, then, had all this bloodshed been for?

Warlord Therionis's lips parted, but no sound came. He knew the answer. The words were in his throat, but they refused to move.

Fear rooted them there.

Mitchelle's voice cut through the silence, colder than ever.

"I will not repeat myself."

A breath later, Therionis forced the words out.

"The Severed Crown of Echoes was destroyed by Lieutenant Anthony."

Instantly, the overwhelming aura vanished. The crushing weight lifted as though it had never been there.

Everyone here knew, Anthony was her son.

"Details," Mitchelle said, her tone cold, unwavering.

Warlord Therionis hesitated only for a breath before continuing. He began to recount what Lieutenant Anthony had shared with them within the Mirror Dimension, every word, every fragment, as it was told.

As he spoke, Mitchelle's thoughts drifted, back to the moment her husband had gone to their son's side during the chaos.

'It aligns...' she thought, her mind dissecting every detail. 'But no... I'm certain he didn't destroy it.'

Her mother's instincts whisper the truth.

Anthony may have reported the Crown's destruction, but she knew her son very well.

Still, she said nothing.

Warlord Therionis continued, his voice steady as he detailed the remainder of the war, their final stand, and their eventual move to Military Base Alpha-9.

When he finished, silence took hold.

The air was heavy, taut with the weight of truth and judgment.

No one dared to speak.

Even the soldiers from Military Base Alpha-6, who had said their part, remained still. They waited, like all others, for the Supreme Monarch to speak again.

"How many traitors have you identified?"

Mitchelle's voice cut through the silence, colder than before. As the words left her lips, the temperature in the room dropped perceptibly, a chill settling over everyone present.

The Warlords and Grand Marshals of Military Base Alpha-6 exchanged grim looks, brows furrowed. In the chaos of war and survival, the thought of traitors had been buried beneath more immediate concerns. But they weren't fools, they knew betrayal was inevitable.

Their silence told her everything.

No leads. No names. No progress.

Mitchelle's eyes narrowed.

"No one leaves the base," she ordered, her tone authoritative. "Interrogate every single soldier from Military Base Alpha-6. Invoke the highest level of authority."

She paused, and then her next words fell like a thunderclap:

"Any found guilty of treason are to be executed immediately. There is no need to wait for the Military High Court to pass judgment."

Her decree echoed like a death sentence.

Yet none of them flinched.

This was the law of the military. The military offered no mercy to traitors, and the Supreme Monarch even less.

"Let the Purge begin."

With those final words, the Supreme Monarch instantly vanished from the room.