Minerva coughed up a mouthful of blood, but her steps remained steady. She walked back into her Dream Pavilion.

How many had that been already?

The Dream Pavilion was, unsurprisingly, a main target of the invading God Descendants. It was a strategic choke point, and powerful Bubbles would ensure that this remained the case.

A Pavilion Head would have a great amount of control over the area, and as such it allowed Minerva to exhibit strength no less than that of her Ancestors within its borders.

Unfortunately, such an advantage could only go so far, especially when they were hellbent on making certain that it didn't stand for long.

The Owlan Race had lost their heritage and there were only a small number of Dream Force experts, comparatively speaking. In the past, as much as half their Race would have such an affinity, but now their 3-5% was already more than most could bolster.

Because of that, there were fewer that could fight on the battlefield that was the Dream Pavilion and much of this fell on her shoulders.

Although if you were powerful, you could ignore the Dream Force so long as the Pavilion Head wasn't actively using it to target you, there would still be a drop off in combat power that came from diverting some Force to protect your mind.

Due to this, if you didn't have an excellent Dream Force affinity, fighting on this battlefield was useless, and that didn't even measure the fact that many of that three to five percent were far too weak to participate in such a battle to begin with.

However, even through the bloody streaks on Minerva's once beautiful face, one could see nothing but a towering indifference.

Every battle, she felt her Dream Force inch forward.

Who would dare to provoke the Owlan Race in the past? Even with their inheritance severed, they were still among the best Crafters amongst the Demi-Gods, and that didn't even mention their Lineage Factor or personal strength.Even now, it took the descent of literal Gods for them to be put into this situation.

This was all to say that in her entire life, Minerva had never truly fought an all out battle. She had always been beyond her peers, and friendly matches couldn't match this sort of intensity.

It wasn't until now that she realized how much toeing the line between life and death could stimulate her potential. She couldn't help but wonder if that was why Leonel was always so capable of accomplishing the seemingly impossible.

'Soon,' she thought to herself, sitting upon her throne weakly.

At that moment, what sounded like the call of a Phoenix echoed through the skies. Minerva's thoughts shifted and the Dream Pavilion projected the images she wanted to see into her mind.

As expected, a swarm of Celestial Embers had appeared.

Finally.

Now the real battle would begin.

Determination flourished in her reflected pink irises, the aura of an Empress coming out from her in towering waves.

The Owlans had been forced to lower their heads for so long... she would remind the world that they had a place amongst the Gods as well.

...

Three Void Race youths watched this scene with furrowed brows. They had weaved in and out of the battles, taking advantage of certain strategic points to gather up resources and enrich themselves. Honestly, they hadn't taken any of this seriously and thought that the battle would end in just a few days. So long as the Dream Pavilion fell, everything would line up accordingly.

But to their surprise, not only had the Dream Pavilion managed to stand their ground, but the Owlans were far more resilient than they had given them credit for.

As the battles went on, they showed more and more strength, and they seemed to be rapidly improving.

Before their eyes, they were watching the evolution of a Race that had undergone a great period of peace returning to a war-torn era. And the results were almost frightening.

Each one improved by leaps and bounds with every battle. Even if you killed one, three more would step up and improve to the point they could cover for the loss with their increased battle strength alone.

The Minerva Race had never been one that was well known for their battle strength, they had always used their Crafting to make up for that gap.

But somehow, the Owlans not only managed to maintain the talent for Crafting, but they had also birthed a great talent for combat that underlied it.

The fact they hadn't focused on Crafting for generations had allowed them to evolve down another path, and now the Void Race and other members of their faction were taking the brunt of it.

"Something is wrong with this picture. Did they do it on purpose?"

"It feels that way. They've been trying to distance themselves from the Minerva name for so long, what if it was all a ploy?"

They all fell into silence. They didn't really want to have to risk their lives in this battle, but it seemed that they might not have a choice.

One of them suddenly laughed, a toothy grin spreading across their face. Their skin of galaxies and nebulas split.

After one of them grinned, the others followed suit, a deep battle lust practically oozing from them.

Death? They were the mighty Void Race, when had they ever feared death? Did the Owlans think they were the only ones who could toe that line of life and afterlife?

Suddenly, all three stretched out their palms and layered them on top of one another.

"Ha, I get to pick first. I want the Dream Pavilion lady."

The other two clicked their tongues, retracting their palms.

"Fine, then I get the Beast Dream Pavilion. A bunch of animals trying to be enlightened, I'll knock them down a peg."

"Fuck you both," the last cursed. It seemed that he was going to be in a no-man's land. Hopefully something interesting came up.