She floated a little closer, her voluptuous figure still radiating that overwhelming purple aura as she looked at me with a mixture of pride and hunger.
The cosmic battlefield around us seemed to pause, the destroyed stars and swirling nebulae holding their breath as she spoke.
"The Trumpets cannot be conquered, Luntheris," she explained calmly.
"They do not bow to force or raw power. They only acknowledge their true Creator, which is me. I made them. I breathed life into them. They are extensions of my will, fragments of my essence scattered across reality."
She raised her hand, and a faint image of the twelve Trumpets appeared between us, glowing with different colors, each one a representation of a fundamental force.
