Champion Of Lust: Gods Conquer's Harem Paradise! - Chapter 385

Chapter 385: Assassins—Child Of The Moon
Anastasia didn’t interrupt. She stood there, waiting patiently as Emberly finished her casual domination of the table and finally took her seat near Madam Serenova. But her mother wasn’t done. Not even close.

Emberly had come here with a plan—and it had nothing to do with the political ties between House Obsidian and House Serenova. Those alliances were secondary. What she truly cared about was Alexa.

Her son’s woman.

Emberly wasn’t going to sit by and let Alexa remain unshaped, untempered given her power in divinity. The girl had potential—massive, terrifying potential—but raw power wasn’t enough. She needed guidance. And who better than Madam Serenova, the elusive Priestess and matriarch House Serenova of the Fallen Angels?

And so, the two women locked eyes.

No words were spoken, yet expressions shifted. Silent understandings passed between them. A conversation was happening—a private one, hidden behind unreadable gazes and the weight of untold knowledge.

Anastasia let out a quiet sigh. Her mother’s schemes were moving forward as always. But right now, her focus needed to be elsewhere. She turned to face the audience, her voice rising over the murmurs of the gathered nobles.

“And now, honored guests, it is my privilege to introduce the man behind Obsidian Tech. The visionary, the pioneer, the driving force of the future—Pyris Obsidian!”

_____

In the shadows, they moved.

Like ghosts. Like a storm brewing in the dark.

High above the grand hall, figures streaked through the darkness, unseen and undetected. Dozens. Hundreds. Moving at terrifying speeds.

Even the most powerful beings in attendance—Dracula, the Chaos Demons of Beginning, the leaders with mastery over darkness itself—didn’t sense them.

And neither did Anastasia.

A lone figure had already taken its position.

Rank 19. A predator among apex predators.

Hidden in the folds of the grand hall’s towering shadows, it watched—its gaze locked onto Anastasia as she stood at the center of the stage, preparing to introduce her brother.

She had no idea.

_____

The Academy. Night.

Moonlight spilled through the grand windows of Ms. Moonveil’s office, casting an ethereal glow across the room. The walls, lined with towering bookshelves, bathed in silver hues, while the soft rustling of papers filled the quiet air.

At the center of the room, seated at her polished mahogany desk, was Moonveil herself—engrossed in paperwork, her delicate fingers gliding over documents with silent precision. Her expression was serene, yet focused, lost in the depths of her work.

But the invitation on her desk stood out—an elegant envelope bearing the insignia of Obsidian Tech.

Pyris had sent it.

And she hadn’t forgotten.

Moonveil wasn’t the type to attend such extravagant events, but Pyris had made the effort to personally invite her. And that mattered. She wouldn’t let him down.

Not only that but she was also interested in this young noble. She’d been intrigued at how bold he was in their first meeting and how he had boldly claimed that he was interested in her and wanted her. There were also the whispers of the moon had spoken to her—of him. Of mysteries woven into his very existence. Mysteries she intended to unravel slowly and she wanted to get close to him too. She was after all selfish as he was. If he wanted something from her, wasn’t it only right that she got something in return too?

She rose from her chair, the movement fluid, graceful beyond words.

Draped in a white dress spun from moonlight itself, she was the embodiment of celestial beauty in this dress more than she was normally. The fabric clung in the right places—caressing the soft swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the elegance of her long, slender neck. Her elven ears peeked through strands of moon-kissed silver hair and a few strands of her hair fell on her face, while an aura of quiet power surrounded her.

She reached for the invitation.

And in the shadows—he watched.

But the Moon elf didn’t know she was being targeted. By who? The leader of the Eclipse Syndicate. The Eclipse Syndicate’s leader stood in absolute silence.

While the rest had gone to wreak havoc at the launch, he didn’t join that madness. No—he had a mission to accomplish.

The true reason he had come to the mortal realm.

And it was right here, in his sight.

Selara Moonveil!

The Daughter of the Moon? No. She was more than that.

Much more.

And now, from the darkness of her office, he moved to strike.

_____

The dark golden eyes suddenly snapped shut.

Darkness—an unwelcome embrace, thick with something worse than mystery. A suffocating silence settled, the kind that felt alive, watching.

Somewhere in a small office, a woman stood. A vision of beauty, an elf bathed in silver light. Her moonlit hair cascaded like liquid stardust over her delicate frame, and in her hands, she held an invitation—the sigil of House Obsidian stamped upon it.

Yet, the golden eyes watching this scene couldn’t truly see.

The face of the elven woman blurred, just out of reach, as if the vision itself refused to grant clarity. The harder the unseen observer tried to focus, the further her features slipped into obscurity.

Then—darkness.

Not the kind of night where stars twinkled above. No.

This was an abyss, a void so deep that even nothingness would have been kinder. A thick, pressing emptiness that swallowed the world whole.

And in that devouring black—the screams began.

A woman’s voice. Raw. Desperate. Agonized.

The sound of flesh tearing. The unmistakable snap of bone cracking under unseen force. And then—a final, choked whimper.

A heavy thud.

Silence.

The darkness shattered.

Light returned—harsh, blinding.

And now, laid bare upon the office floor, a lifeless body.

The elf.

Moonveil.

Yet not a single drop of blood. Despite the absence of wounds, despite the way her body remained intact, something inside her—her very existence—had been snuffed out.

The golden eyes, now able to see, could not make out her face. And then—the Moon screamed.

A wail of raw devastation. It wasn’t a cry of grief. It was a lamentation. A funeral song sung by the heavens themselves. The world shook. The very air quivered as an unholy inferno erupted. Not fire of destruction—but something worse.

White flames.

They didn’t burn. They consumed. The office was no longer an office. The walls, the furniture—even reality itself—was swallowed whole. And the Moon’s light—it fell like judgment.

It was not illuminating. It was not kind.

It was annihilation.