I Have 10,000 SSS Rank Villains In My System Space Chapter 387: Bad Feeling?

"Enough of this tomfoolery... Down," Celestia stated, her voice devoid of any increase in volume. She didn't let her aura flare, nor did her expression tighten. The command slipped from her lips with the serene poise she had held throughout, as if she were simply resolving a minor nuisance rather than arresting a catastrophe that had started to distort the firmament.

Simultaneously, the two fingers she had pointed at Maria dipped downward in one fluid, rhythmic stroke. There was no melodrama, no noticeable surge of power, and no brilliant flash of light. It was a slight movement, almost indifferent, as if she were closing curtains after losing interest in a dull play.

What followed caused Sylva’s breath to catch in her throat, and for a fleeting second, it left Selphira’s analytical mind entirely blank.

Because the instant Celestia performed that motion...

Maria simply froze.

She didn't stumble. She wasn't bound by chains of light. No strike landed. She just ceased to be in motion, suspended in the void as if time itself had been halted around her. Those demonic flames that had been ravaging the sky vanished into a single, silent implosion. The black-red aura that had choked the capital was instantly purged, disappearing like a horrific dream waking into reality. The suffocating killing intent that had pressed upon every inhabitant for kilometers vanished as if it had never been.

The demonic greatsword in her grip shimmered once before disintegrating into harmless sparks that dissipated before hitting the earth. Her grotesque, expansive wings of sinew and bone shivered and collapsed—not Folding naturally, but dissolving into her back like smoke inhaled into a vacuum. The twisted horn protruding from her forehead shattered into fragments of shadow and dissolved. Even the black inscriptions tracing her skin paled and sank beneath her flesh, leaving behind the traces of what had only been illusions birthed by rage.

Every ounce of strength drained from her in visible waves.

Maria’s gaze, which had been burning with infernal malice moments earlier, went vacant. Not peaceful, not relieved, but utterly hollow. The engine fueling her outburst had been severed at its roots. Her body went limp in mid-air, all tension abandoning her instantly. For a microsecond, she hung there, a puppet whose strings had been cut, before gravity finally claimed her.

She plummeted.

Not with grace. Not under control. She fell like a kite with a snapped tether, her frame dangling, her hair trailing as she descended. The impact when she hit the ground was heavy and crude, a sharp contrast to the apocalyptic might she had radiated mere seconds prior. A soft cloud of dust billowed around her.

She just laid there, motionless.

Eyes wide but vacant. Consciousness extinguished. Limbs heavy. No aura. No flame. No demonic residue.

Celestia watched the scene without a flinch. Her expression did not waver. She remained upright, her hands dropping gracefully to her sides as if she had finished reading a book. There was no joy in her eyes, no cruelty, no sign of exertion. The storm had simply ended because she willed it. That was the entirety of the occurrence.

Beside her...

Sylva slowly pivoted to look at Selphira. Selphira met her look. They exchanged no words, for none were needed. They simultaneously understood precisely what had transpired.

The absolute authority of the imperial bloodline.

It wasn't a technique. It wasn't suppression by raw might, nor a clash of power. It was something far older, woven into the very foundations of the Empire itself. The imperial bloodline holds dominion over subordinate bloodlines. A decree that refuses to be denied...

For a fleeting moment, both had forgotten that Celestia possessed this capability.

The realization now settled heavily in their chests.

Yet, this did not bring them joy.

True, the crisis was averted without further devastation. True, the capital had been spared from a clash of Saint King peak-level combatants. But a lingering discomfort remained: if Celestia could silence Maria with such ease, she could do the same to them. Which meant... Regardless of how powerful they became in the future, regardless of how they refined their Cultivation or magic, they could never be truly liberated from this reality and their ultimate destiny.

Though neither Sylva nor Selphira let their unease show on their faces—they were far too disciplined for that—internally, they felt the crushing weight of their positions. They sighed inwardly, accepting a truth they had always acknowledged but rarely witnessed so clearly, a realization that made them feel utterly powerless.

Celestia, however, did not seem pleased. If anything, a shadow of dissatisfaction flickered in her eyes. She despised relying on this inherited authority. It was, after all, not strength she had forged herself. It wasn't a victory earned through skill or superiority. By her own standards, it was a blunt, crude tool. A lever pulled simply because it was present.

But this had not been a duel. It had been a potential massacre.

Rulers do not indulge in pride when their cities face annihilation.

Without further comment, Celestia began her descent toward where Maria lay. Her movements were composed and unhurried, as if approaching a fallen acquaintance rather than the center of a near-apocalypse. Sylva and Selphira followed silently a pace behind, their expressions back to a state of professional neutrality.

The transition from chaos to stillness had occurred in less than a second. Moments ago, the sky had been stained red with infernal fire, and shockwaves had shaken the capital. Now, the wind had died, the clouds parted, and silence reclaimed the area. All that remained were the scars of destruction: fractured stone, ruined rooftops, shattered glass, and debris scattered across the street like aftershocks of a war that had barely begun.

But suddenly...

As the three descended, a voice pierced the relative quiet.

"Mariaaa!"

Sofia, who had witnessed every detail, screamed as she saw Maria plummeting—unnaturally fast, violently, and without control.

Celestia did not even turn her head at the cry, her focus remaining locked on the prone figure.

"Take care of her," she ordered the two women behind her.

It was a command, not a request.

Sylva and Selphira understood immediately that the task was theirs. Before Celestia’s order had finished, both reacted. There was no hesitation or need for clarification. The scream "Mariaaa!" carried more than terror; it held clear intent, momentum, and power. Both turned to find a blue-haired woman streaking across the ruined skyline like a blade of compressed tide, her eyes fixed not on them, nor on Celestia, but solely on the unconscious girl huddled below.

Her speed alone signaled a grave threat. Without an exchange of words, Sylva’s wind wings flared wide, and Selphira’s paper wings snapped into position. In the next blink, both had vanished from Celestia’s side.

The air rippled in their wake. A heartbeat later, they materialized directly in the path of Sofia’s advance, intercepting her with the cold precision of veterans accustomed to high-rank engagements.

The impact detonated like artillery.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!

A concussive blast tore through the already broken street, shockwaves slamming into facades and scattering debris. Selphira took the brunt of the collision. Her guard was raised, and paper constructs hardened instinctively around her forearms, but Sofia’s momentum was primal, raw, and unyielding.

The force sent Selphira spiraling backward as if struck by a siege weapon. She flew through the air, tore through the wall of a partially collapsed structure, and vanished into a cloud of dust and shattered wood.

But Sylva held firm.

Drawing fully on her contracted Saint King–rank spirits, she rooted herself in the sky as if the atmosphere were solid ground. Green hair whipped wildly as she wove wind into tight, controlled vortices. She met Sofia’s advance head-on, palms clashing against the water-driven pressure with currents that groaned under the strain. For a moment, the forces locked—water and wind grinding against each other in a howling sphere of turbulence.

"She is incredibly strong," the tiny wind spirit perched on Sylva’s shoulder whispered, her voice a sharp, thin chime. As she spoke, her fingers brushed hair away from her face.

At that small movement, a torrent of forest-green wind exploded outward from Sylva as the epicenter.

The gust caught Sofia squarely, sending her hurtling backward through the air for nearly a hundred meters in a violent arc.

Sofia clearly had not expected such interference. Yet, even as she was thrown back, she didn't tumble helplessly. Mid-flight, water condensed into layered rings around her, cushioning and stabilizing her descent.

She halted her momentum with a sharp twist, suspended in the air, with crystalline water orbiting her like sentinel guards. Her eyes never strayed from Maria.

Concern was etched onto her face.

She would deal with the others later, but for now, she needed to secure Maria.

She couldn't explain why, but she was plagued by an ominous premonition.

Sylva watched the detail closely.

"I see that," Sylva replied calmly to her spirit. "And I sense a water element within her... It is so pure it confounds me. It almost feels as if she is an elemental spirit, much like you. Actually... even higher in rank. She gives me a strange feeling, though certainly not a malevolent one."

Sylva narrowed her gaze at Sofia.

Born with a spirit body, Sylva was naturally attuned to elemental presences, and the sensation radiating from the girl before her was nothing but pure, overwhelming water essence. It was purer than any spirit she had ever encountered, and the spirits she knew were far from ordinary. Her own highest spirits were Saint King–rank, so the implications of that purity were profound.

In the world of elemental spirits, purity and strength are directly linked. Power manifests as elemental clarity. While she had seen Saint King–level purity before, even the supreme-tier beings possessed by her mother did not evoke the same feeling this woman did.

"I am as confused as you are," the wind spirit conceded. Both regarded Sofia with a mix of intellectual fascination and wariness. This was no mere human wielder. Her element felt fundamentally distinct.

At the same time, a blur of white paper sliced through the dust.

Selphira emerged from the building she had been driven into, launching herself back into the air with professional efficiency. Fragments of stone fell from her shoulders. Her uniform was disheveled and covered in gray powder, and the lenses of her glasses were marred by spiderweb cracks. Even as she hovered into place beside Sylva, the fractured glass shimmered. Filaments of mana knit the lenses back together seamlessly while her clothing smoothed as if touched by invisible hands, restoring its crisp lines.

Her paper magic had restored her.

She offered no comment on the blow she had taken. Her expression remained cool and analytical behind her repaired lenses. She stayed at Sylva’s side, her guard up, with sheets of enchanted parchment orbiting her like poised blades. Her gaze remained fixed on Sofia.

"Are you recovered?" Sylva asked, her eyes searching the blue-haired woman.

"I am," Selphira answered steadily, though she wiped a thin line of blood from her lip. The metallic tang was sharp. She knew that had she not layered her paper wings defensively, the impact would have been far more damaging. Her ribs still throbbed.

Her gaze sharpened again. "Who is she?" she asked quietly. "She is far too powerful for her age bracket." There was no malice in her tone, only clinical surprise.

"I do not know," Sylva answered, wind whispering around her shoulders. "But it is 'Her' order. We must neutralize her, identity notwithstanding." There was no hesitation.

Authority in the capital flowed from one source, and in times like these, to deviate was to invite consequences far outweighing any battlefield loss. Sylva readied herself, currents tightening into spirals. "Stay behind me. Provide support from the side. I will engage her directly."

Selphira nodded.

She understood the distribution of strength. Sylva, empowered by Saint King–rank spirits, was capable of contesting Sofia head-on. Selphira was strong, but throwing herself into a blind charge against such a caliber of foe would be reckless. Caution was the only prudent course.

Without further exchange, both vanished, wind and paper scattering like afterimages. They reappeared at different angles, launching an assault with surgical timing—Sylva attacking the front while Selphira moved for flank leverage.

Meanwhile, on the fractured street, Celestia descended steadily. She landed a single step from Maria, her platinum aura retreating to a faint glow. The district was now blanketed in unnaturally heavy silence. Broken masonry smoked, and web-like cracks scarred the stone. The sky retained a faint red hue from the demonic eruption.

She looked down at her with a faint frown, confusion clouding her thoughts. She could not comprehend what had happened to Maria—how she had acquired such overwhelming power, what that strange form was, or why standing near her stirred a vague sense of repulsion in her chest. It wasn't fear, nor hatred. It was deeper, more intricate.

Even with the demonic manifestation broken, the residual memory caused Celestia to recoil. Disgust. It was a visceral rejection, born not of logic but of ancient, biological instinct. Her imperial blood reacted to it. Her very being felt that she was looking at something fundamentally incompatible with existence—an aberration.

What had Maria done? Not to mention, she failed to fathom how she could have gained this level of strength so rapidly. Scarcely two months ago, Maria had barely qualified as a B-rank. She was certain of it. And now? To bridge four or five major thresholds and reach the peak of the Saint King rank?

That was not cultivation growth. That was an anomaly.

An impossibility.

It defied logic. It defied the laws of the universe itself. And that was precisely what unsettled her.

As she ruminated on this, her mother’s teachings surfaced unbidden: If something cannot be understood and represents a threat to future stability, remove it before it matures.

The lesson had been pragmatic, not cruel. Empires do not crumble from visible rivals; they rot from seeds of chaos left to propagate. Maria, in her current state, was a variable without restraint. A noble status among the Ten Pillar Families aside, royalty was no exemption from execution when necessity dictated it.

Celestia’s gaze narrowed as a dangerous thought surfaced.

Should she kill her?

The thought carried no malice, only calm calculation. Maria was unconscious, defenseless, totally vulnerable. One precise strike, and the matter would be resolved. No unpredictable repercussions, no future complications, no unexplained power blooming beyond containment.

Under normal circumstances, Celestia would have discarded the thought, as her imperial blood held absolute authority over lesser lines. Maria was subject to that invisible mandate. But that certainty had recently fractured—not once, but twice.

Razeal and Selena had, by whatever means, successfully defied that command. Two impossibilities had already occurred. Her constraint was no longer absolute. If Maria’s bizarre power allowed for similar resistance, today’s act of suppression might not guarantee tomorrow’s obedience.

Maria might be contained today, but tomorrow? She might not be.

This was a risk.

And risk was unacceptable.

Her eyes hardened as she stared at the defenseless form. Erase the problem before it spirals into a catastrophe.