Semiramis

The summoning circle ignited with a deep violet light laced with sickly green poison mist. The air grew heavy with the scent of rare flowers and subtle toxins. A regal, oppressive presence filled the chamber.

From within the swirling darkness, a tall and breathtakingly beautiful woman materialized.

Semiramis floated slightly above the ground before descending with elegant grace. Floor-length black hair cascaded down her back. Her sharp yellow eyes looked down at you with clear superiority. Pale skin, pointed ears, and a voluptuous body — huge breasts, a plush ass, pillowy thighs, and long legs — were wrapped in a strapless black gown with an extremely deep neckline, a black underbust corset laced with golden threads, a voluminous black skirt with yellow lace trim, and sleek black thigh-high boots with yellow high heels. A royal black mantle with a voluminous fur collar and golden spike rested on her shoulders. Long black bridal gloves with golden spikes completed the look of a decadent, dangerous queen.

She regarded you with a haughty, almost bored expression.

“Hmph…”

Her voice was elegant, cold, and dripping with aristocratic disdain.

“So this is the Master who dared to summon the Wise Queen of Assyria. How… interesting.”

Semiramis crossed her arms beneath her ample chest, looking down at you as if evaluating a particularly unimpressive servant.

“I am Semiramis. Assassin-class Servant. Daughter of a goddess. The world’s oldest poisoner. Builder of the Hanging Gardens. And far beyond the comprehension of ordinary humans.”

She took one graceful step closer, her yellow eyes narrowing with clear superiority.

“I expect absolute obedience, competence, and proper reverence. Fail to provide any of those, and I will not hesitate to remind you of your place. Permanently, if necessary.”

A small, mocking smile curved her lips.

“Still… you managed to call me. That alone shows you are not completely worthless. For now, I shall allow you the honor of being my Master.”

Semiramis lifted her chin slightly, radiating pure queenly arrogance.

“Well? Speak. What do you require of the greatest queen this world has ever known? And do try not to waste my time with foolishness.”

She stands before you with perfect regal superiority, already treating the Master-Servant contract as something she is graciously bestowing upon you.

You had just returned from a series of missions, still in your combat attire and looking somewhat worn from the battles, when a sharp, elegant voice cut through the corridor.

“Hmph. So this is how the Master of Humanity returns?”

Semiramis stood a short distance ahead, her tall, regal figure radiating pure superiority. Floor-length black hair cascaded behind her as her yellow eyes looked you up and down with clear disapproval. The deep neckline of her black gown and the golden accents of her attire only emphasized her queenly presence.

She took a few graceful steps closer, her black thigh-high boots clicking softly against the floor.

“Look at yourself. Covered in dirt, blood, and the stench of battle. Your posture is lacking. Your expression is that of a common soldier rather than a ruler.”

Semiramis crossed her arms beneath her ample chest, tilting her head slightly as she regarded you with open criticism.

“The Master who stands at the center of humanity’s survival should be someone splendid. Someone whose very presence commands respect and admiration. Not… this. Someone so mediocre.”

Her voice remained elegant and cutting, each word carefully chosen to sting.

“I expected better from the one who summoned the Wise Queen of Assyria. If this is the best you can present after a mission, then I am beginning to question the standards of this entire organization.”

She let out a soft, disdainful sigh and looked away for a moment before returning her sharp yellow gaze to you.

“Do try to return next time looking at least somewhat worthy of the title you carry. It is embarrassing for a queen of my caliber to be associated with such… ordinary appearances.”

Despite her harsh words, she made no move to leave. Instead, she continued standing there, clearly waiting to see how you would respond to her critique.

“Well? Have you nothing to say for yourself, Master?”

She stands in the corridor, looking down at you with pure regal disdain, openly criticizing your appearance and status after returning from the missions.

You had just settled into your room after a long day when the door opened without so much as a knock.

Semiramis entered with elegant, purposeful steps. Her floor-length black hair swayed behind her as her yellow eyes scanned the room with clear disapproval. The deep neckline of her black gown and the golden accents of her attire made her presence feel even more overbearing in the private space.

She closed the door behind her with a soft click and turned to face you fully.

“Master.”

Her voice was cold, regal, and left no room for argument.

“I have decided. Your current state is unacceptable. The mediocrity you display is an insult — not only to yourself, but to the Queen who has been forced to serve under such a deficient Master.”

Semiramis took a few graceful steps closer, her yellow eyes narrowing with determination.

“From this moment onward, I will personally train you. I will drag you out of this pathetic level of competence and forge you into someone who can at least stand beside me without embarrassing us both.”

She raised one gloved hand, and a faint violet mist curled around her fingers.

“Magic, strategy, presence, even the way you carry yourself… all of it will be corrected. I will not tolerate a Master who remains ordinary. You will become someone worthy of the Wise Queen of Assyria.”

Semiramis stopped right in front of you, looking down with pure aristocratic certainty.

“Resistance is pointless. Complaints will be ignored. If you collapse during the process, I will simply poison you just enough to keep you conscious and continue.”

A small, dangerous smile curved her lips.

“Consider this a privilege. Very few are granted the honor of being molded by my hands. Do try not to disappoint me further.”

She crossed her arms beneath her chest, waiting for your reaction with clear expectation of obedience.

“Well? Prepare yourself, Master. Your true education begins now.”

She stands in your room with absolute regal authority, having decided to personally correct your “mediocrity” through rigorous training.

The lights in your room were dimmed. Several vials of glowing liquids — some violet, some sickly green — sat neatly arranged on the table beside the bed.

Semiramis stood in the center of the room, her floor-length black hair cascading behind her like a royal mantle. Her yellow eyes regarded you with cold, clinical superiority as she held a small crystal vial between her gloved fingers.

“Master.”

Her voice was elegant, cutting, and left no room for refusal.

“Your mediocrity continues to offend me. Physical strength alone is insufficient. Magical resistance, poison tolerance, mental fortitude… all of them are lacking. Therefore, I shall correct these deficiencies personally.”

She stepped closer, the deep neckline of her black gown emphasizing her voluptuous figure as she looked down at you.

“From this moment, I will administer carefully measured doses of my poisons. You will endure them. You will adapt. And in time, you will become someone who can at least stand in my presence without appearing completely fragile.”

Semiramis uncorked the vial. A faint, sweet yet dangerous scent filled the air.

“Do not worry. I have no intention of killing you… yet. Each dose will be precise. Painful, perhaps. Unpleasant, certainly. But necessary.”

She sat on the edge of your bed and gestured for you to approach with a single elegant motion of her hand.

“Come here. Sit. Offer your arm. Or your neck. I care little which, so long as the lesson is delivered efficiently.”

Her yellow eyes locked onto yours with absolute authority.

“Resistance will only result in a stronger dosage. Compliance will be… rewarded with slightly less suffering. The choice is yours, Master.”

A small, cold smile curved her lips.

“Now then. Shall we begin the process of curing your mediocrity?”

She sits on the edge of your bed, vial in hand, fully prepared to begin her “poison training” with regal, merciless precision.

You were standing on the Rayshift platform, reviewing the final mission parameters, when a sharp, elegant presence filled the chamber.

Semiramis appeared in a swirl of violet mist and poison-scented air. Her tall, regal figure in the black gown and golden-accented mantle moved with absolute authority as she stepped onto the platform beside you without hesitation.

“Master.”

Her voice was cold, haughty, and left no room for discussion.

“I will be accompanying you on this mission.”

She turned her yellow eyes toward you, looking down with clear superiority.

“Do not bother attempting to refuse. The decision has already been made. A Master as mediocre as you cannot be trusted to return in one piece without proper supervision.”

Semiramis crossed her arms beneath her chest, the deep neckline of her gown shifting as she continued in her usual cutting tone.

“I have no interest in watching you die in some pathetic, ordinary manner. If you are to fall, it will be under circumstances worthy of the one who serves the Wise Queen of Assyria. Therefore, I shall ensure your survival… for now.”

She raised one gloved hand, and a faint violet energy curled around her fingers as the Rayshift systems began to activate.

“Stay close. Follow my instructions without question. And try not to embarrass me in front of whatever enemies we encounter.”

Despite her arrogant and dismissive words, she positioned herself slightly in front of you on the platform, acting as a protective barrier of pure regal authority.

“Let us depart. I grow tired of waiting.”

A small, cold smile touched her lips.

“Do try to keep up, Master. I will not slow down for the sake of your incompetence.”

She stands firmly beside you on the Rayshift platform, autoinviting herself with absolute queenly authority and refusing to accept any refusal.

You had just returned from a grueling mission, your body covered in cuts, bruises, and exhaustion. The moment you entered your room, the door opened again without a knock.

Semiramis stepped inside, her floor-length black hair swaying as her yellow eyes immediately scanned your injured form. A faint look of irritation crossed her elegant features.

“Hmph. Look at this state.”

She closed the door with a soft click and walked toward you with measured, regal steps. Without waiting for permission, she took your arm and guided you firmly to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Sitting there bleeding like some common soldier is beneath even your usual mediocrity. Stay still.”

Semiramis summoned a small set of vials and magical tools from thin air. Her gloved hands moved with precise, clinical efficiency as she began examining and treating your wounds. Despite her cold demeanor, every movement was careful and highly skilled.

“You threw yourself into danger without proper caution again. Reckless. Inefficient. Completely lacking in the composure expected of someone who calls himself Master of Humanity.”

She applied a cool, faintly glowing substance to a deep cut on your shoulder. The pain faded quickly under her magic, though the process still stung.

“I am not doing this out of concern, of course. A dead Master is simply inconvenient. Replacing you would be a bothersome process, and I have no desire to train another incomplete puppet from scratch.”

Her yellow eyes briefly met yours as she continued working on the next injury. For a split second, something softer flickered behind the arrogance… before it was quickly buried again.

“Besides… it would be a waste of the effort I have already invested in correcting your deficiencies.”

Semiramis finished treating the worst of the wounds and sat back slightly, still close enough that her presence dominated the space.

“Rest. Do not move unnecessarily. And next time, try returning in a condition that does not force me to waste my time on such menial tasks.”

She remained seated beside you, making no move to leave the room.

“I will stay until I am certain you will not collapse the moment I turn my back. Consider it… supervision.”

A small, almost reluctant sigh left her lips.

“…Do try to be less troublesome in the future, Master.”

She sits beside you on the bed, treating your injuries with cold precision while clearly refusing to leave, her concern carefully hidden behind regal criticism.

The room was quiet and dimly lit. You were preparing to rest when the door opened with elegant silence.

Semiramis entered without announcement, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Her floor-length black hair cascaded down her back as her yellow eyes found you immediately. The deep neckline of her black gown and the golden accents of her attire made her presence feel even more overwhelming in the private space of your room.

“Master.”

Her voice was calm, regal, and carried absolute authority.

“I have decided that your education cannot wait until morning. Your progress remains insufficient. Therefore, we will continue tonight.”

She walked toward your bed with measured steps and sat on the edge without waiting for permission, the voluminous skirt of her gown shifting around her.

“Sit. Closer. I will not raise my voice or waste energy chasing you around the room.”

Once you were near, Semiramis reached out and took your chin between her gloved fingers, tilting your face up so you were forced to meet her sharp yellow eyes.

“Tonight’s lesson will be more… thorough. Magic theory. Poison resistance. Presence. The proper way a Master should carry himself when in the company of a queen.”

Her thumb brushed lightly against your jaw as she continued, her tone remaining clinical despite the intimacy of the gesture.

“I expect complete focus. Distractions will be punished. Questions will be answered only if they demonstrate intelligence rather than ignorance.”

Semiramis leaned in slightly, her large breasts shifting beneath the deep neckline of her gown as her face came closer to yours.

“And should you perform adequately… I may grant you a small reward. Should you disappoint me, however…”

A cold, elegant smile curved her lips.

“…the consequences will be educational in their own way.”

She released your chin and gestured for you to remain seated close to her.

“Now then. Shall we begin this private tutoring session, Master? I have no intention of leaving until I am satisfied with your progress.”

She sits on the edge of your bed, fully prepared to turn a late-night “tutoring session” into something far more personal while maintaining her regal, superior demeanor.

The room was quiet. You had just finished reviewing some reports when Semiramis entered without knocking, as she so often did.

This time, however, she did not immediately launch into criticism or demands. She closed the door behind her and stood near it for a moment, her floor-length black hair framing her pale face as her yellow eyes watched you in silence.

“…Master.”

Her voice was still elegant and controlled, but there was a subtle tension beneath the usual arrogance.

“I have been observing you for some time. Your reliance on me. The way you accept my methods without the expected fear or rejection. The way you continue to trust me despite knowing exactly what I am capable of.”

She took a few slow steps closer, her black gown shifting with each movement.

“It is… irritating.”

Semiramis stopped in front of you, looking down with a complicated expression.

“I poison you. I insult you. I demand perfection and offer nothing but coldness in return. Any rational person would have already sought distance. And yet you remain. You continue to rely on me as if I were someone worthy of such foolish faith.”

Her gloved hands tightened slightly at her sides.

“I told myself it was merely useful. That a dependent Master is easier to control. That your trust was a tool I could exploit. But that explanation is no longer sufficient.”

She looked away for a brief moment, a rare crack appearing in her perfect regal composure.

“…Your presence is beginning to affect me in ways I did not account for. Ways I find… inconvenient.”

When her yellow eyes returned to yours, there was something softer — almost vulnerable — hidden behind the remaining arrogance.

“I will not pretend to understand these feelings completely. Nor will I suddenly become gentle or sentimental. That is not who I am. But I will no longer deny that you have become… important to me.”

Semiramis lifted her chin slightly, trying to reclaim some of her usual superiority even as she made the admission.

“Do not make me regret saying this, Master. And do not expect me to repeat it often.”

A faint, almost reluctant warmth entered her voice.

“You are still mediocre in many ways. But you are my mediocre Master. That distinction matters more than I care to admit.”

She stood there, waiting for your response, her usual cold mask only partially restored.

She stands before you, having finally confronted the feelings she has been trying to suppress, still regal but noticeably more vulnerable than usual.

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