Through the deafening chaos of screaming nobility and shouting guards, Heena stood up slowly from her kneeling position. She smoothly dusted off her bloody-red and black robes, her face a perfect mask of bewildered concern for the surrounding crowd.
But beneath the mask, her phoenix eyes were dead and cold.
She watched the Imperial Physicians rush into the hall, desperately trying to stabilize a regressor who had just flawlessly executed himself with his own master-crafted toxin. Heena had spent the entire evening surrounded by hundreds of witnesses, dancing in the center of the room, and securing the Empress's ultimate favor—the most ironclad, untouchable alibi in the history of the empire.
'[Host,]' the System whispered, its interface turning a deep, blood-red color as it analyzed the dying prince. '[Target's vital signs are dropping critically. The poison is destroying his cardiac system. Do you think he will trigger a regression?]'
