HPDBC Chapter 106 Paradox (3)
Chapter 106 Paradox (3)
"Wait, wait, WAIT!" Argider blurted out, stumbling backward with her hands in the air. Her mind raced as Elira's dagger glinted ominously in the light. "This isn't what it looks like! I wasn't eavesdropping, I swear. Well, okay, maybe a little, but that sneeze was completely involuntary!"
"Do you think I'm stupid?!" Elira snapped, her tone sharp enough to cut steel. She gripped the dagger tightly, her knuckles white as she glared at Argider. "You heard everything! And you-" she pointed the blade in her direction-"are not supposed to be awake!"
"Technically, I wasn't even really asleep!" Argider squeaked, shrinking under Elira's menacing glare. "And honestly, do you think I'd even want to hear a murder plot involving me?! That's nightmare fuel right there!"
Elira took a threatening step forward, her dagger gleaming. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't silence you right now, Your Imperial Majesty."
"Silence me? Oh, come on, that's so melodramatic!" Argider babbled, her voice hitting an octave she didn't know she could reach. She glanced at Kian, who was staring wide-eyed, looking more horrified by the second. "Kian! Tell your mom I'm cool, huh? We're friends, right?"
"M-Mom, don't..." Kian's lip trembled, but his voice was barely audible, and Elira wasn't listening.
Desperation surged in Argider. She felt completely cornered. And then, like a lightning bolt, she remembered, the skill. That one skill. Empathetic Inundation. Her trump card, even if it came with a hefty dose of embarrassment.
"I'm sorry for this!" Argider cried as she closed her eyes and activated her skill.
The familiar warmth of her magic coursed through her, reaching out to Elira.
Elira's aggressive stance faltered immediately.
The moment the magic surged through her, Argider's reality shattered like glass. The familiar warmth of her surroundings vanished, replaced by an overwhelming heat. She blinked and found herself standing in an unfamiliar landscape - a chaotic, apocalyptic world. Towering flames devoured the skyline, consuming the empire she called home. The air was thick with smoke, screams echoed in the distance, and ash rained down like snow.
Argider staggered, her mind reeling. "W-What the—?! Where am I?!"
And then she saw Elira - not the gentle and kind woman she knew, but a figure drenched in grief and fury, standing at the heart of the inferno. Her face was twisted with an almost fanatical determination, her hands outstretched as if commanding the flames themselves. Behind her, the shadow of the imperial palace crumbled into embers.
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"This is what she's been drooling over?!" Argider grabbed her head in distress. "Burning the empire?! She's out here fantasizing about roasting my entire bloodline like marshmallows?!"
The vividness of the scene hit her like a punch to the gut. The rage, the pain - it was all so visceral, so deeply embedded in Elira's essence. Argider felt it seep into her own mind like a poison. For a fleeting moment, she almost understood it, almost sympathized with the raw emotion of it all. But then she snapped back to her own thoughts.
"Nope, nope, nope!" she muttered to herself, shaking her head violently as if trying to physically dislodge the vision. "This is not healthy! Therapy exists for a reason!"
She spun around, searching for some kind of anchor in this nightmarish world. "Alvator, if this is some kind of twisted bonding exercise, I swear I'm filing a complaint with the gods. What do I do now?!"
The crackling of fire and the clash of steel filled Argider's ears as the vision expanded. She stood in the middle of a ruined city square, surrounded by chaos. The air stank of charred wood and burning flesh. Around her, noble after noble had their heads mounted on spikes, their elaborate hairstyles and bejeweled crowns now grotesque ornaments for rebellion.
"Oh my gods..." Argider whispered, gripping her hair in disbelief. "Why is everyone so... so decoratively dead?! THIS IS THE FRENCH REVOLUTION ALL OVER AGAIN!"
She turned a corner, and her stomach lurched. There, in the center of the square, a grand execution was taking place. A crowd of peasants cheered wildly as Gander Morrigan himself, the esteemed Emerald Liege, knelt at the chopping block. His opulent robes were tattered, his hair disheveled, and his usually smug expression was now a mask of desperation.