My Family in the Novel?

Chapter 184: First Act 53: Unwavering Adaptation....

Siena Scaith, renowned as the celestial blade, stood as the unparalleled grandmaster at the pinnacle of swordsmanship, a solitary force that had surpassed all others in the art of the blade.

Her legendary prowess was etched into the very fabric of the world, where a single slash from her celestial blade could cleave mountains, a solitary thrust could part the vastness of oceans, and a mere motion could rend the heavens asunder.

She embodied the epitome of strength, a living legend whose name resonated across continents.

Throughout the vast expanse continent, Siena was hailed as a paragon of martial mastery, revered by countless individuals who marveled at the sheer might she wielded.

Tales of her incredible feats and unmatched skill spread like wildfire, making her the subject of admiration and awe.

A resounding consensus echoed through the people – if one were to wager on who the strongest was among the continent, the safest bet was always on Siena.

Her reputation cast a shadow over any potential contenders, leaving no room for doubt about her dominance.

Yet, amidst the universal acknowledgment of her awe-inspiring strength, there existed a singular bastion of resistance against the celestial blade.

The Holy Kingdom, a sacred realm dedicated to the teachings of the Goddess, stood in stark opposition to Siena Scaith.

The Church of Light, which reigned supreme in this holy land, openly expressed animosity towards the grandmaster. This nation, founded by the first saint and hero, served as a sanctuary for those deemed forsaken by the world.

In the annals of its history, the Holy Kingdom had humble beginnings as a small village.

Over time, fueled by unwavering faith and devotion to the Church of Light, it burgeoned into a formidable nation that rivaled the mightiest powers in the world.

As the Holy Kingdom continued to burgeon in strength and swell in population, its dominion expanded to proportions that rivaled the largest and mightiest nation on the continent—the formidable Lumenian Empire.

The once modest kingdom had transformed into a sprawling entity, a behemoth that commanded both military might and extensive geographic reach.

The sheer magnitude of its growth prompted many to question the true nature of the Holy Kingdom.

With a size that nearly mirrored the Lumenian Empire, the Holy Kingdom's unprecedented expansion prompted skepticism and doubt among neighboring nations.

The kingdom's metamorphosis into a colossal force, both militarily and geographically, led to a common sentiment that the term "Holy Kingdom" no longer sufficed to capture the essence of its stature.

Whispers of "Holy Empire" began to circulate, a moniker reflecting the nation's grandeur and influence. In contemporary discourse, most referred to it as such, acknowledging the colossal dominion it had become.

Despite the Holy Kingdom's official proclamations of noble intentions—to spread their faith and not bring harm to the continent—doubt lingered in the minds of kings and representatives from every corner of the land.

The extraordinary openness of the Holy Kingdom in its conflicts with the Lumenian Empire, the only nation capable of challenging its might, raised suspicions.

While the Holy Kingdom maintained an outward facade of benevolence, those in power across the continent harbored a pervasive sense that something clandestine was afoot.

In the ominous shadow cast by the holy kingdom, a prevailing belief echoed through the land: once an enemy of the holy kingdom, no one, believer or not, would be safe.

The corruption that festered within the empire's religious hierarchy only deepened the dread.

The priests, once revered as conduits of divine guidance, succumbed to avarice and moral decay.

Even the esteemed pope, purportedly the holiest figure in their sacred realm, was not exempt from the tendrils of corruption.

Hidden whispers circulated, murmuring of scandalous affairs and clandestine progeny, evidence pointing to the pope's transgressions, including the forceful deflowering of young women under his authority who bore his children.

This corruption, however, seemed inconsequential to those in power, for they believed their words were the very pronouncements of the goddess herself.

The Holy Kingdom remained entrenched in its convictions, blissfully ignorant of the impending reckoning that would shatter their illusions.

The turning point arrived with the arrival of an enigmatic woman, seemingly ordinary in appearance but harboring a secret strength that would defy the the holy kingdom's expectations.

In a shocking display of audacity, she cleanly severed the head of the previous pope during a mass prayer in the capital, throwing the masses into disarray.

This act, seemingly inconceivable in the face of the church's authority, marked the most well-known debut of the Sword Master Siena Scaith—a figure destined to become the most despised criminal in the eyes of the Holy Kingdom.

The motivations behind Siena's audacious act remained shrouded in mystery, a puzzle that confounded the masses.

While some attempted to defend her, their voices were swiftly quashed by the iron grip of the church's authority.

The empire, relentless in its pursuit of justice—or retribution—issued bounties on Siena's head, plastering wanted posters on bulletin boards across every city within the Holy Kingdom.

Despite the ominous bounties placed on Siena's head, the inhabitants of the Holy Kingdom knew better than to entertain the notion of pursuing her.

The church, with its most prized soldiers known as apostles, held little hope of defeating the enigmatic Sword Master.

The mere thought of confronting Siena, whose prowess defied comprehension, was deemed foolish by those who understood the futility of such endeavors.

However, the lack of pursuit did not equate to acceptance or forgiveness.

The hatred harbored by the church and its followers reached a fevered pitch, compelling them to resort to more insidious means of revenge.

The apostles, fervent in their disdain for Siena, resorted to invoking a curse—a divine punishment granted by the goddess herself.

They fervently prayed for Siena's mortal body to be consumed by the holy light, an act intended to bring an end to the elusive Sword Master.

Yet, the curse's impact on Siena proved to be a hollow threat. Her abnormal strength shielded her from the intended consequences of the holy affliction.

Despite the church's fervent wishes for her demise, the curse seemed impotent against Siena's indomitable will and formidable abilities.

Siena, however, was not blind to the potential dangers posed by the curse. While it currently seemed inconsequential, she was acutely aware of her vulnerability to divine energy.

Though not a demon, her experiences in training a young prodigy named Tristan had revealed the extraordinary susceptibility of her body to anything imbued with divine nature.

In the distance, a radiant sun glowed with majestic grace, casting an ethereal light that seemed to pierce the very fabric of her being.

And her body groaned in pain.

The revelation of her vulnerability to divine energy was not merely a theoretical concern for Siena—it swiftly became a stark reality as the radiant sun manifested before her.

In a fraction of a second, her seemingly impenetrable armor crumbled under the immense presence of the celestial light.

Every fiber of her being rebelled against the onslaught; muscles spasmed, her head throbbed as if threatening to shatter, and an unsettling combination of heat and cold coursed through her body.

It was a disconcerting symphony of agony, a cacophony of pains that eclipsed any she had experienced in the heat of battle.

Siena's desire for the familiar pain of combat clashed with the overwhelming torment of this unknown situation.

There was no glory in this suffering, no satisfaction derived from facing a worthy opponent.

It was an assault on her very essence, a violation of the warrior's code she had adhered to throughout her storied existence.

As she grappled with the agony, she found herself questioning the origin of this miniature sun and the intention behind such a potent divine spell.

It dawned on her that someone from the church had deliberately orchestrated this grandiose display of divine power to cleanse the battleground.

'Damn…. It must be that saintess kid!'

The realization struck her as she coughed up blood, her body succumbing to the relentless assault, and she collapsed to her knees.

Despite the searing pain coursing through her, Siena's instincts and combat-honed reflexes persisted.

In a desperate bid to survive, she narrowly evaded an impending attack from Elaniel, the mastermind behind the divine onslaught.

Ugh…!!

The resonant groan of pain escaped Siena's lips, a visceral response to the agonizing darkness that seemed to seep from the spear Elaniel had ruthlessly pierced her with.

The sensation was as if her very flesh was being forcibly torn asunder, an indescribable torment that sent shivers down her spine.

Summoning her remaining strength, Siena focused her mana on the wound, desperately attempting to contain the malevolent black miasma emanating from the dark spear.

The toxic energy threatened to spread within her, intensifying the already overwhelming cloudiness in her mind caused by the excruciating pain.

It was an unfamiliar vulnerability for Siena, a seasoned warrior who had weathered countless battles without ever experiencing the threat of passing out amidst the chaos of combat.

Tsk...!

Frustration laced Siena's response as she clicked her tongue in irritation.

Her own weakness grated on her nerves, a stark departure from the indomitable spirit that had defined her throughout her martial journey.

Despite the pain and the encroaching darkness, Siena harbored a burning determination to defy her physical limitations.

Summoning strength into her arms, she attempted to launch a counterattack against Elaniel.

The desire to retaliate burned within her, a testament to the relentless will that had fueled her every action on the battlefield.

"Ahhh!!!"

Yet, before Siena could fully execute her counter, Elaniel erupted in flames under the relentless presence of the sun.

The scorching flames engulfed her adversary like a tidal wave, sweeping over the surroundings with an unrelenting force.

Houses, buildings, and people alike found themselves at the mercy of the inferno, the very air crackling with the intensity of the celestial blaze.

Despite the overwhelming divine power that coursed through the battlefield, Siena keenly observed that not all humans were affected by its wrath.

It seemed the caster's condemnation targeted those deemed as sinners, casting them into the merciless embrace of the flames. Inexorably, Siena found herself included in this damning category, despite her humanity.

However, an ironic twist of fate spared her from the immediate conflagration that consumed others.

The reason behind her survival lay in her own extraordinary attributes. Her naturally high resilience and incomprehensible physical prowess shielded her from the divine energy's incendiary effects.

Though divine energy remained her Achilles' heel, Siena's relentless training and disciplined fortitude had rendered her body capable of resisting such weaknesses, at least to a certain extent.

The pain persisted, a constant reminder of her vulnerability, yet it was insufficient to render her immobile.

With a wry smile playing upon her lips, Siena witnessed the unfolding chaos. Elaniel, staggering and moaning in the distance, succumbed to the torment of the divine power.

Dark tendrils seemed to reach out, attempting to cloak her, yet paradoxically, it only intensified the pain and flames surrounding her.

Siena's gaze, ablaze with both amusement and determination, traced the contours of the battle as the celestial blaze continued its merciless onslaught.

'I forgot this bitch was demonic in nature…. Hahaha'

…..

'What is this?'

The disconcerting realization gripped Elaniel as she grappled with the searing pain that now engulfed her entire being.

The agony tore through her consciousness, a visceral assault that defied her very essence.

It was a sensation she had never experienced before—a discomfort that transcended the boundaries of her usual adaptations and transformations.

Each moment was a torment, a relentless barrage of pain that seemed insurmountable.

For years, unbeknownst even to herself, Elaniel had existed as a being that thrived on adaptation and transformation.

Her entire existence was a testament to her ability to evolve, to be in the right place at the right time to undergo profound changes.

A single analysis of practically anything allowed her to adapt, to discern the optimal strategy for survival and domination.

In the face of an enemy's strike, her being instinctively knew how to respond, ensuring her continued existence.

This perpetual state of adaptation and transformation had granted Elaniel a confidence bordering on arrogance.

She believed she could take on any being the world had to offer, confident that a single hit was all she needed to gain the advantage.

Weaker foes mattered little to her, for as long as a single cell of her remained living, she could adapt, survive, and ultimately become stronger.

However, this unwavering belief in her ability to overcome any challenge was now shattered. The excruciating pain brought about by the flames tested the very core of her existence.

Being burned wasn't new to Elaniel; she had weathered the onslaught of flames even before acquiring the strength she now possessed.

Yet, this particular torment was different. It cut through her adaptive instincts, defying her understanding of survival.

"It hurts! It's too painful….!"

Elaniel's agonized cries echoed through the battlefield, a stark contrast to the confident being that had thrived on adaptation for centuries.

The flames, once a familiar element in her journey, now became an unrelenting force that threatened to unravel the very essence of her being.

The excruciating pain intensified, contradicting Elaniel's very nature as a being that thrived on adaptation.

Ordinarily, all she needed to do was adapt, and her body would become nearly immune to the flames in subsequent encounters.

However, the searing agony she now experienced felt different—a departure from the predictable pain that accompanied her usual transformations.

This time, an ominous feeling crept over her, as if the flames could reduce her to dust in an instant.

Her eyes, wide with shock, burst out and popped like balloons in their sockets as she caught a glimpse of the distant sun.

The very fabric of her clothes, woven from her own mana, disintegrated, leaving her exposed and vulnerable as the flames licked at her skin.

Flesh and skin, once vibrant and resilient, now underwent a grotesque transformation into charcoal, each layer succumbing to the merciless embrace of the celestial blaze.

"Ahhh! No!"

"I hate this!"

"I don't want this!"

"Father!!!"

Desperation filled Elaniel's cries as she called out, her voice echoing through the battlefield.

Staggering in her steps, she resembled a crazed figure, scratching at herself in a futile attempt to alleviate the pain.

Her black mana, usually a source of power, crumbled under the sun's relentless gaze, adding to the torment as her body continued to burn.

The once composed and formidable Elaniel now found herself in a state of utter despair.

Her mind fractured under the relentless assault of pain, causing her very soul to waver.

The scalding sensation enveloped her entire being, and despite her millennia of existence and the countless experiences gained from consuming various beings, she found herself succumbing to the unbearable agony.

In the throes of agony, Elaniel's body convulsed and wriggled within the encroaching darkness.

Each contortion was a desperate attempt to adapt, to transform from one form to another in a futile effort to escape the relentless judgment of the sun.

From a being made of rocks to one enveloped in darkness, her very essence strained against the divine condemnation, yet it was to no avail.

Once the sun passed its divine judgment, there was no refuge, no hiding from the inescapable sentence.

The saintess Elena, invoking the divine power of the goddess, uttered only five words as she prayed fervently before the sun descended upon the mortal plane:

"Destroy those who are evil."

Elaniel closed her eyes, her body succumbing to the searing flames, and as her consciousness slipped away, she found herself awakening in a room saturated with darkness.

It was a space so black, so profound, that it felt as though she had been cast into the very pits of the abyss.

Miraculously, her body was whole again, and the familiar surge of mana flowed through her being. The pain, the heat—all of it vanished, replaced by an eerie calm.

Surveying her surroundings, Elaniel realized she lay upon a soft, fluffy bed, with a singular lamp casting a feeble light.

The room exuded an unusual tranquility, contrasting starkly with the chaos and torment of the battlefield.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Elaniel noticed a doll sitting atop her resting body. The doll's delicate fingers traced patterns on her belly, a gesture so gentle that it seemed almost surreal.

"Y#u ba## h## c!l@# @#$$% ....?"

Words emerged from the doll's mouth, distorted and incomprehensible, as if uttered through a crushing force.

Yet, Elaniel remained unfazed, a realization dawning upon her.

The being before her, obscured within the form of a doll, was none other than a goddess—someone her father considered as family.

Despite the mysterious and cryptic nature of the words spoken she understood three of those words, or at least what waws implied.

'Careful'

'Chlld'

and lastly 'Sleep....?'

Elaniel couldn't understand what she truly said, but she knew it was something important.

However, she couldn't ask questions as her body fell asleep.

The last thing she saw was the doll caressing her belly.