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For a true goddess, sometimes a single glance or a subtle expression is enough to remain etched in memory forever; such is the sheer power of beauty. Add to that the mystique of Chaldea and the personal aura of the Empress herself, and the effect becomes overwhelmingâmany among the crowd had already succumbed completely. Shen He was watching the broadcast at that moment, and to be honest, seeing his trusted companion and close partner being so admired by the public was oddly satisfying. If a goddess who could command the world's attention appeared beside him on camera, it would naturally gratify any man's vanity, but Shen He was not one to indulge in such petty pride, and his thoughts had already moved elsewhere. Perhaps Semiramis could serve as Chaldea's public face; her current popularity, if leveraged properly, could eclipse all the reputation he had painstakingly built over time. Yet with Semiramis, it was impossible to ask directlyâif she sensed the intent, she would immediately seize the advantage, and he'd be playing right into her hands, so it was better to let things flow naturally.
"No need for extra moves. Just resolve the Black Bolt incident quickly." That was the entire message Shen He sent to Coulson. Coulson, who had just managed to squeeze into the passenger seat of the luxury car through the frenzied crowd, took a deep breath before checking his phone, read the message, and immediately turned to inform the Empress in the backseat. "No need for anything extra," he said, to which Semiramis replied with a faint, amused smile, "The Master is such a stingy man." Coulson's heart skipped a beat, though he masked it with practiced calm; if Shen He had truly fallen for this Servant's charm, it could be disastrous, and he could only hope that wasn't the case. "Take us to the scene of the attack," came Semiramis's lazy yet commanding voice, and since the Master had given the order, it would be done. "Yes, ma'am," Coulson replied, and the luxury car peeled away from the crowd toward the hotel where the incident had occurred.
Thanks to Semiramis's sudden explosion in popularity, a major local TV network had sent a helicopter to provide live coverage of her movements from the air. Though the official topic of discussion was still the morning's raid, the camera rarely left the Empress's car, forcing the Los Angeles Police Department to deploy additional personnel to maintain order along the route. The hotel itself had already been fully cordoned off, with officers forming a secure perimeter and restricting access to all unauthorized personnelâtechnically including members of Chaldea. When the Empress's car arrived, the Chief of Police personally approached with a team of officers and began, "Miss Semiramis, this is an active crime scene under investigationâŠ" but faltered mid-sentence as Semiramis had already exited the vehicle. Without even glancing at him, she walked directly toward the hotel entrance, a soft lavender magic circle blooming beneath her feet; neither the yellow police tape nor the surrounding officers could stop her as they were silently pushed aside by a gentle, unseen force. Cold, dominant, and arrogantâthis was Semiramis's first true impression upon the public consciousness, for everyone else appeared beneath her notice, mere specks of dust unworthy of her gaze, their presence unable to touch her path.
The Chief of Police flushed red; in Los Angeles, he was a man of influence, and being ignored like this in public was a direct blow to his dignity. But the moment his furious gaze met the Empress's face, his anger vanished. She was that beautiful, and the blush on his face lingered not from rage, but from helplessness in the face of impossible allure. What could he do? He couldn't stop her, didn't dare use force, and could only trail behind awkwardly. The whole scene was stunning, and few criticized her for such behaviorâno one truly believed it was rudeness. It was simply her, and that was the aura of an Empress, while her frigid elegance struck a nerve with young viewers worldwide.
Still, this was only the beginning. Semiramis, long accustomed to such attention, cared nothing for the countless eyes following her; her focus was on Shen He's directive, and no matter her deeper motives, her desire to support Shen He hadn't changed. It was her vow and, in a way, her only true pleasure since being summoned to this world. "Rewind the flow of time," she whispered, her voice devoid of warmth, and cast her spell. It wasn't true time reversal but rather a form of localized magical reconstruction, forcing the ambient mana in the area to reanimate the magical echoes of what had occurred earlier that morning. To the untrained eye, it looked like a strange gust of wind rippled through the air as faint purple light shimmered across the scene, and then ghostly figures emergedâblurry, flickering, leaping, running, frozen in mid-roar. Ordinary onlookers were chilled by the sight, but to Semiramis, it was perfectly clear; mana carries emotion, spirit, and intent, so the echo showed not only images but feelings, allowing her to sense the thrill, fear, and madness radiating from the lead attacker.
She walked calmly to the spot where Gore had smashed through earlier, her heels clicking softly on the ground as she descended with supernatural grace. Through this magic of reversal, she could trace the raider's escape route. "Coulson," she said, and for the first time turned her gaze to him. Extending a slender finger, she tapped his forehead, and a delicate lotus-like magic circle bloomed for a heartbeat before vanishing, planting inside Coulson's mind a clear map of the enemy's movements. He understood it instantly but said nothing, merely watching as Semiramis re-entered the luxury car without another word before moving to organize a team.
Her power was far beyond what Coulson had imagined; her magic wasn't just flashy, but efficient, precise, and deeply strategic, pinpointing the enemy's retreat route and current location in seconds. In less than ten minutes, he had assembled an elite strike team without knowing whether Semiramis would accompany them, whether the target was a rogue Inhuman or something far stranger, or whether the Empress planned to let them do the dirty work. None of that matteredâhis job was to execute the mission. Their target was in a crumbling apartment complex deep within the slums, its rooftop marked only by a few lone pigeons perched on sagging power lines, and as fifteen plainclothes agentsâheavily armedâmoved silently into position, the raid was about to begin.
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