“Why… why have the humans I protected become like this?”

If the darkness in ordinary people made Freya question her purpose, the clergy’s corruption shattered her completely.

After all, only the pure of heart could inherit the Holy Light—but these priests showed not a trace of purity.

“Don’t be sad, Freya~ Maybe the locals here are just… ‘hospitable’? Things might be different elsewhere.”

Morningstar still half-blamed herself. *If I, the so-called source of all evil, hadn’t been sealed away for millennia… would humanity really be this awful?*

“Their wounds will heal soon. We just… don’t have change for you.”

A blatant attempt to pocket her coins—and they had the nerve. As the world’s most powerful institution, no one dared cross The Holy See.

“No worries at all. I’ve got plenty of coins,” Morningstar said with a casual wave and a smile. *You’re already dead to me.*

“I’ll step out. Wait here.” She turned, left the chapel, and found a secluded spot.

Raising her palm, she conjured a jiggly black jelly. Tossed to the ground, it shifted like molding clay, slowly forming a human shape. The black receded, revealing snow-white skin. In under three seconds, the counterfeit Dark Sorceress Morningstar had consumed last night stood before her.

“I…”

Dazed, Sarona’s memories ended at the moment darkness swallowed her. What followed felt warm, safe—like floating in a mother’s womb. Now reborn, her mind was no longer her own. *Master is everything. I exist only for her. I am her humble, loyal possession.* These thoughts were branded deep, unshakable. The instant she saw Morningstar, she knelt. “Master.”

“How do you feel?”

“Like a true rebirth. I am endlessly grateful for the life you granted me, Master.”

Her body crafted by Morningstar, her soul etched with her mark—Sarona retained past memories, yet her will was wholly remade. The past no longer mattered. Only her Master did.

“No need to be so formal~” Morningstar waved lightly, helping her up. Her appearance was nearly unchanged—save for the Dark Sorceress’s mark glowing faintly on her fair chest.

“I summoned you to resume your duty. Destroy this church. Toy with the priests however you like. Spare the nuns—they’re just employees. I won’t trouble them.”

“Yes, Master.”

“I sampled your memories. Your name is Sarona, right?”

“Yes, Master.” She felt honored, not violated.

“After this, return to your former master. Be my spy.”

From Sarona’s memories, Morningstar learned: her former master neared awakening. Even without enough souls, she would rise. Once a seal for over a millennium, she’d absorbed countless Dark Sorceresses she’d unleashed. A relic of the Age of Gods, her fall granted immense power. Though weaker than Morningstar, the war she ignited wiped out half the world and the Divine Clan—only the last Martial God’s sacrifice subdued her. *She wields darkness and fear too… and I’m not at full strength yet. Better stay clear—for now.*

“Understood, Master.”

“Go ahead.”

“As you command, Master.” Sarona melted into the shadows and vanished.

*Ugh. Too robotic. Just “yes, Master” on repeat—like a soulless machine.*

Unlike Little Dragoness: once a proud celestial dragon, now a corrupted wyrm, yet still playful—pouting, teasing, stealing little moments of affection. Fiercely loyal, yet vibrantly *herself*.

That’s why Morningstar hadn’t consumed Freya. Turning her into another hollow puppet like Sarona? Boring.

Freya was too lively to erase. Morningstar wanted her to *choose* the darkness—to embrace it willingly, from the heart.

*She already tasted shadow today.*

Through her Demon Eye, Morningstar saw it: whenever Freya doubted herself or despised humanity, darkness stirred within her.

So the path was simple—show her more of humanity’s cruelty.

“Though… I wonder. Do the humans of this world even *need* my help?”

If they were all like those in the chapel, Freya would drown in despair soon enough.

But if goodness still thrived outside… well, time for the self-proclaimed source of all evil to lend a hand.

*Hehehe… Freya. I’ll make you kiss my feet—willingly, joyfully.*

The Dark Sorceress’s tastes had fully claimed Morningstar. She adored the thrill of dominance—the weight of another beneath her sole, the surrender in their touch. That rush? Pure bliss.