I Have 10,000 SSS Rank Villains In My System Space Chapter 386: Maria changes

Over that area of the imperial capital, the heavens had lost all semblance of normalcy. They had turned pitch black in an eerie fashion, devoid of approaching thunderheads, as though the very essence of light had been siphoned out and substituted with a denser, more suffocating gloom. Fierce gales whipped around in furious cyclones, ripping across avenues and battering ruined edifices, lashing robes and flags into chaotic frenzy. Particles of dirt and wreckage rose from the earth, lingering momentarily before getting flung aside by unseen blasts emanating from one focal spot overhead. Right in the midst of that turmoil, hanging like a sinister celestial body, floated Maria.

Her infernal energy had burst forth without any limits. It no longer circulated around her in managed strata; instead, it surged in throbbing surges, shadowy and unstable. From afar, she resembled a tight orb of crimson-black force, a tiny airborne nucleus of ruin, though the intensity crammed inside that shape was far from insignificant. Lethal malice permeated the atmosphere so completely that even untrained individuals sensed it weighing on their flesh. Every throb of her presence created waves across the nearby void, splintering rock underneath and shaking the bases of adjacent constructions. She appeared savage—no trace of the aristocratic daughter, no hint of the sorrowful lady, but an entity roused and unbound.

The effects of her outburst extended beyond that avenue. It propagated. Those blasts didn't just shatter brickwork; they conveyed a feeling. Across several leagues from the city's core, sorcerers froze during their spells, warriors stopped in their tracks, officers at distant posts all swiveled their attention to the identical bearing. They detected it—not as a basic arcane ripple, but as an otherworldly essence, something mismatched with familiar elemental marks. The realm had faced myriad dangers: wyrm invasions, rift creatures, heretical orders, even revivals of forgotten artifacts. This stood apart. The force didn't act like typical essence. It seemed burdensome, hunting, nearly aware.

Normally, such upheaval in the city's midst would prompt swift deployment of the realm's top forces. Yet the moment couldn't have been more inopportune. For the past eight weeks, gateways had materialized throughout the domain in record quantities—tens of thousands tallied recently, varying from trivial to disastrously potent. Whole legions had been sent to frontier zones where advanced tears appeared with bizarre regularity. Lords and their private armies probed irregularities at the borders. Even veteran casters were overburdened sealing dimensional breaches. The kingdom's primary defense was fully committed elsewhere.

Nevertheless, this remained the mightiest kingdom on earth.

Alarm didn't dictate its actions.

Individuals attuned to the disturbance's scale started strategizing instead of panicking. Seasoned soldiers, elite sorcerers, and aristocrats with ample might assessed their ongoing duties and, when feasible, assigned reliable aides to hold the line while they headed to the urban heart. No one acted rashly; no one presumed doom immediately. Assurance was ingrained in the kingdom's core. Even should the firmament collapse, they trusted it could be propped up.

However, assurance didn't negate duty.

If this mysterious force went unopposed, ordinary lives would be lost.

Therefore, the powerful started gathering.

At a deliberate yet pressing pace, figures of notable strength moved toward the origin of the foreboding presence. Some bounded from roof to roof. Others soared through the skies leaving trails of arcane glow. Leaders issued quick commands to lock down areas and relocate vulnerable folk. The organized apparatus of a pressured kingdom shifted to address a fresh peril without falling into disorder.

In the meantime, those without enough might didn't delay in withdrawing. Folks closest to the chaos—vendors, workers, aged dwellers—were guided back by sentries. Guardians scooped up young ones. Traders left their wares behind instantly. The earth quaked under their steps as blasts propagated. Dread showed not as madness but as haste. The silent consensus was evident: whatever transpired there wasn't for them.

And at the heart of it all, hovering amid broken eaves and raging gusts, Celestia simply watched with poise, her eyes fixed on the spectacle before her, narrowed in focus.

Her silvery glow pulsed softly encircling her body, not bursting in hostility but holding a balanced protective field. Her slight scowl wasn't from terror but from evaluation. The infernal surge ahead wasn't just an outburst of feeling anymore; it had grown into a widespread occurrence. The heaven's hue alteration, the gale twisting, the force variations—these signs pointed to a might surpassing usual bounds.

Maria floated inside that globe of shadowy glow, her appendages spread broad as if asserting rule over the atmosphere. The symbols etching her flesh throbbed more vividly with every energy swell, seemingly attuned to the boost. Celestia observed a key detail: the might wasn't spreading wildly any longer. It was settling. That indicated Maria was adjusting to it. This wasn't a brief lapse in restraint; it was merging, as if she were transforming on the spot, amassing strength each instant from an unknown source, but in vast quantities.

And that insight disturbed her more than the first burst.

The force encircling Maria kept mounting. Even from a few paces distant, the warmth stung Celestia's flesh. The shadowy strange presence pushing out was certainly not simple sorcery; it bore purpose, sentiment, and an elder undercurrent beneath. It brimmed with pure malice and loathing.

Though Maria stayed motionless in the heavens, the shifts nearby were fiercer than any bodily action might be. It wasn't just that her presence had grown; it was transforming. Ascending. Mounting in clear stages, akin to a peak being built live before Celestia's sight. The atmospheric weight changed in strata, each denser than before, each clearly denoting a threshold breach.

Saint rank.

The intensity of her being steadied there for a mere instant before it leaped once more.

Saint peak.

Celestia's face stayed outwardly serene, yet her perceptions honed completely, dissecting the shifts with exacting focus. That tier by itself would rank Maria among the top warriors of her age. It would suffice to lead forces, secure lands, gain respect from standard elite circles. But the force didn't level off.

It rocketed higher.

Saint King early stage.

Celestia's silver gaze tightened sharper. That wasn't some mere surge of passion anymore. That was foundational progress. Entering Saint King wasn't done lightly. It demanded grasp of one's field, fusion of form and intent, command of flow—not to mention time.

But Maria kept going.

The presence grew denser still, compacting into a force that warped the atmosphere.

Saint King middle stage.

The gales nearby twisted fiercer, drawn to Maria as if pull itself had switched sides. And now, Celestia's chin firmed subtly. This transcended mere rise; it defied cosmic principles outright.

And it didn't halt.

Saint King high stage?

What the hell?

The raw scale of the sight bore down on Celestia's calm like a tangible push. High-stage Saint King wasn't a trivial step. It was a domain where even veteran elders of elite lineages toiled to attain. It wasn't gained on a whim. It was forged across years via rigorous practice, perilous fights, hoarding of scarce materials, heirloom methods honed through eras.

And it was still climbing.

Celestia sensed an odd feeling rise inside her—perilously near to doubt. She herself was at early-stage Saint King. At sixteen, already deemed the summit of her peers, a genius whose growth challenged annals. Even sans her concealed arts or lineage boosts, her base might alone set her apart from equals. Her standing wasn't just boast; it was verified truth.

Yet here she hovered, seeing Maria—Maria Grave, of regal but not sovereign lineage—overtake her in pure level in mere heartbeats.

The force grew heavier until it seemed the heavens compressed upon themselves.

Saint King peak.

It held steady there.

The presence ceased ascending—not from inability to go on, but because it had hit a crest defying all reason.

Celestia's mind raced keenly, but deep down a fissure appeared. Attaining Saint rank bestowed the Saint title—a mark honored worldwide, for those whose might earned awe. Entering Saint King meant joining the elite tiers, beside marshals and timeless watchers. For many, nearing that even took fifty or sixty years of growth, if lucky. Countless pursued it lifelong and perished short.

Maria had spanned that gulf in instants.

"How is this possible...?" Celestia whispered to herself inside, her mouth unmoving.

Like, if Maria hitting this height defied all sense, but what defied more was crossing tiers so swiftly? What the hell was this? It demanded decades for minor gains at this scale, and she vaulted a whole major level just like that? In a mere blink right before her?

Celestia's stare stayed locked, assessing, but under the poise lurked a dented sense of dominance. Maria had never matched her in aptitude. She lacked sovereign lineage gifts. She hadn't trained in the realm's supreme hidden ways. By all formal measures, Maria's limit ought to fall short of hers.

And yet.

The infernal force around Maria didn't mimic standard growth. It didn't seem polished in regal terms. It felt roused. Unleashed. As if an archaic presence had slumbered under her mortal shell and now drew breath at last.

Maria's appendages extended broader once more. The crimson-black presence didn't waver; it swirled in a mastered whirl encircling her. Her visage, etched with vital symbols, held no expression now—not wailing, not venting visibly, but intent. Absorbed.

And then abruptly.

A profound crimson-black blaze sparked into being over Maria’s right hand. It didn't kindle slowly; it appeared sudden, as if existence yielded to her command. The blaze didn't spread light typically. Rather, it devoured glow nearby, drawing radiance into its heart. The space near that blaze twisted, fine streaks of warp spreading out.

Maria clasped her hands gradually.

The blaze between compressed.

Transformed.

Reformed.

It wasn't chaotic burning; it was forging.

The blaze stretched, hardened, borders shaping where impossible. The crimson-black blaze compacted into form, its contours gaining eerie sharpness. In moments, a huge broadsword formed in her hold, wholly crafted from that nether blaze. Its edge was wide and weighty, face eddying with fluid shadow under a see-through scarlet layer. Symbols matching those on her skin glowed softly along its span, as though the armament wasn't distinct from her but a limb of the same roused core.

She gripped it with ease.

And even stranger, the blaze didn't scorch her; it obeyed her.

Celestia's gaze sharpened more. She didn't know that blaze. It wasn't basic element. It wasn't any blaze listed in banned tomes. It held an elder quality, uncharted in sovereign teachings.

She stayed airborne, presence firm, stance erect. She wouldn't show unease. But her thoughts churned without cease.

What the hell is happening?

It was all bizarre; she simply couldn't identify it. Like what precisely was amiss with Maria?

Celestia compelled herself to examine rather than respond.

No matter how dominating Maria’s bearing had grown, no matter how savagely her presence had vaulted barriers needing decades of standard arcane growth, Celestia denied that this display was organic advancement. It wasn't mere ego; it was logic. Might didn't climb thus without base. Even wonders obeyed rules. Even oddities honored form.

And this... didn't.

Not in the slightest.

Maria’s shape emitted something profoundly aberrant. It wasn't just entering a superior strength tier. It was the quality of that strength. The thickness. The emotional turbulence threaded through it. Not to mention how her appendages weren't ghostly mana shapes but tangible flesh and bone growths, veined, detailed, eerily vital. And then the ram-like horn jutting from one temple side wasn't for show. It arced with raw menace, rough at the root as if ripped through hide instead of grown smoothly. The etchings over her form weren't mere ink; they crawled, adjusted, realigned faintly like animated writing attuned to inner power throbs.

And the aura projecting from her... something was deeply off.

It wasn't simple enmity.

It was aversion.

Celestia hated yielding to gut feelings, but the unease twisting at her core wasn't from dread—it was denial. Her essence itself shrank from Maria’s altered form. It felt... tainted. As if an incompatible presence had been permitted to emerge in this plane.

"She must have tapped something prohibited," Celestia thought within. "Some banned rite. Some outside catalyst."

The change was too sudden. The rise too sharp. The might display too hideously tied to abrupt mental shatter. No heritage, however unique, should unleash in such a savage flood sans readiness. And Maria lacked such gift.

Unless.

Celestia's gaze intensified.

Unless she was tied to some concealed scheme. A test subject? A remnant of a covert ceremony overlooked amid palace pretense?

That fit.

It would account for the freakish speed.

It would account for the uncanny look—fiendishly alluring in outline, sure, but flawed on close look. The appendages, the horn, the mobile etchings, the stretched dark talons. Even how her presence didn't flow like honed essence but like a vital hunter thrusting forth.

It had to be contrived.

Because if innate.

Then all Celestia held of ordered power would shatter.

The lethal malice around Maria grew stronger, but it wasn't scattered now. It honed. Zeroed and aimed.

At her.

Celestia sensed it as myriad unseen edges pointing to her essence. The force didn't assault her glow; it singled her out. Maria’s loathing wasn't vague fury at existence. It was targeted, exact, intimate.

And yet Celestia didn't withdraw.

She hovered firm, silvery glow subtly bolstering her shape, gaze never straying from Maria’s. Tier wasn't the only factor in fights. Pure force at Saint King peak didn't guarantee win. Art, history, grasp of rules, command of arts, strategic insight—these counted.

Not to mention true wonders battled beyond their tier.

Celestia had before. She was made for this.

Her thoughts computed swiftly as she watched. Maria’s presence was immense, but jagged at the rims. That hinted at partial merger. The infernal blaze sword, fearsome as it was, might stem from mood rather than honed skill. If Maria hadn't practiced this shape, the might could be vast but sloppy.

Still, the prior velocity... that couldn't be ignored.

Celestia scrutinized Maria keenly, hunting flaw, hunting the rift in this strength burst.

While below them, stirrings began.

Sofia hauled herself from the tumbled ruins of the dwelling she'd been hurled into. Splintered rafters tumbled from her frame as she emerged into the clear, grit adhering shortly to her locks before shedding.

Even so, she remained unscathed. Not a mark blemished her hide. The strike that flung her hadn't been foreseen, not ruinous.

She shook off fragments from her attire and raised her sight skyward.

The gale struck her initial.

Scorching, dense, and utterly savage.

Then she beheld it complete.

Maria, aloft with those odd infernal appendages unfurled, netherfire blade clutched, presence whirling out like a crimson-black maelstrom.

Sofia blinked in bewilderment.

"What the hell is going on with her..." she whispered softly.

The lethal malice was plain. It choked, but it didn't aim broadly. It was pinpointed, dead set on Celestia. Maria’s stare fixed on the royal with raw loathing, her whole form pulsing with one intent.

And just as the thought crossed her mind, Sofia grasped it at once.

Ah, that. Maria must've uncovered the facts during her exchange with Celestia.

She'd learned of Razeal’s purity.

And that discovery had likely ignited something within? She pondered, uncertain but it seemed the only fit now.

And why she's in that state.

Ange