Transmigrated as the Cuck.... WTF!!!

He quickly bowed his head, his body trembling in pure, unrestrained fear for his life. The proud noble blood that once surged with arrogance now felt thin, weak, almost poisonous in his veins.

"Empress!" Gange's voice cracked as he pressed his forehead closer to the ground. "This Gange did not mean to question your authority… I was merely voicing an opinion regarding the matter. A heartfelt opinion, nothing more. One that, I presume, lies deeply seated within many of our fellow officials."

Desperation leaked through every syllable. He shifted, his eyes darting like a drowning man searching for a rope, a hand, anything to hold onto.

Slowly, hesitantly, he turned his head toward the remaining officials, scanning their faces for some sign of hope—for sympathy, for solidarity, for even the faintest flicker of acknowledgment.

But all he found was an abyss.

Not one of them moved. Not one offered so much as a glance. Their eyes remained fixed forward, their faces rigid masks carved from stone.

To them, Gange's struggles were as invisible as the cries of a fish at the bottom of the sea.

His chest tightened, his breath caught. The realization struck like a spear—he was alone. Completely, devastatingly alone.

And that made his eyes tremble. The edges of his vision began to spiral, his thoughts collapsing into themselves as his mind scrambled to find a way out of the tightening noose.

"Empress…" His voice cracked again, weaker now, almost a whimper.

Wannre raised a hand, palm gentle yet absolute, and her veil-shrouded lips parted with a single word.

"Silence."

The chamber froze around her voice. The sound was not loud, yet it resonated through the water, carrying a pressure that pressed against every chest present.

She sighed softly, then shook her head, the motion slow and deliberate. "Official Gange… you have made a mistake. And yet, even now, you have not offered me the simplest thing. An apology. Do you not think, instead of stumbling through explanations, a humble apology would have been better?"

Gange's throat bobbed. He forced out a crooked laugh. "Empress… you are benevolent as our deity. Words such as 'sorry' would never carry weight in front of your majestic presence. I feared wasting your time with such useless acts, and so… I chose instead to continue explaining myself."

A dangerous hum vibrated from behind her veil. "Hmm. You do have a glib tongue, I will grant you that. Impressive, even. But…"

Her tone sharpened. "You are mistaken in one thing, Official Gange."

The chamber fell into silence so heavy it seemed to choke the very water itself.

"I am not a benevolent deity," Wannre whispered, her words curling through the water like a predator's coil. "Another word fits me far better. Malevolent!"

The last syllable cracked like thunder.

She extended her right hand. The water around them shuddered violently, ripples bursting outward before collapsing into a vortex.

The chamber floor groaned as the current whipped into shape, a spiraling storm that lunged toward Gange and swallowed him whole.

It happened in less than two seconds.

One moment he stood there trembling, and the next he was ensnared, dragged upward by water that bound him tighter than chains.

His scream never even had the chance to form. His body twisted unnaturally, his limbs flailing, the vortex grinding into him with a violence that stripped him bare.

The water did not cut cleanly; it shredded, it flayed. Skin peeled in bloody fragments, carried away by the current as if mocking him with each strip that was torn free.

Blood painted the spiral crimson, a gruesome ribbon swirling in endless circles.

Gange's eyes widened in horror, the last fragments of pride shattered into raw, animal terror. He tried to scream again, but water filled his throat, silencing him forever.

And still, the other officials did not move. Not a twitch, not a sound. They sat rooted in place, unflinching, as if their fellow noble were nothing but another piece of debris caught in the tide.

It did not take long. The vortex compressed inward, tighter, hungrier, until his remains were devoured in a crushing instant.

What was once a man became nothing but red haze and shredded tatters, swallowed by the current like a black hole.

Then—silence.

The water stilled, returning to its stagnant, glass-like calm, as if nothing had ever happened.

Wannre lowered her hand. Beneath her veil, a smile bloomed. "Ah… this pleases me. It truly does."

Her tone carried the ease of someone who had merely swatted a fly. She tilted her head, her voice lilting with false sweetness. "So then… does anyone else wish to please their Empress?"

The only response was… silence.

…

A few hours later, after Empress Wannre's decree had been announced and her imposing presence withdrawn from the chamber, several officials lingered in the palace halls.

They were the ones who had sat frozen during Gange's death—those who disapproved of her actions but lacked the courage to speak aloud when it mattered. Now, in the relative safety of her absence, tongues loosened, though not without caution.

"Empress Wannre's oppression has grown unbearable these days," a low voice grumbled, breaking the tense quiet.

The speaker, a red-tailed official named Naime, leaned forward with a bitter scowl etched into his features.

His voice carried the weight of bottled resentment, sharp and bristling. "For a being who has lived for over a million years, you would think age might grant compassion—or at least a shred of affection. But no. All she ever does is tighten her grip, forcing her will onto others, bending us until our spines crack. Surely… I cannot be the only one who sees this."

The words hovered dangerously.

Across from him, another red-tailed official sat at ease—Kainal. He swirled the reddish liquid in his porcelain cup, the faint glow of the beverage reflecting in his calculating eyes.

He sipped slowly, deliberately, before smirking at Naime's daring. "Sir Naime, are you speaking of mutiny?"

His tone was amused, almost mocking, yet beneath it lay the edge of a warning. "If so… I must remind you just how pathetic we truly are before her. As you yourself admitted, she is over a million years old. A million years may not have given her compassion, but it has given her something far more dangerous—the time to refine her power until it knows no equal. Do you really believe we could ever match that kind of prowess?"

Naime scoffed, the sound sharp, defiant. His gills flared with agitation as he slammed his fist lightly against the arm of his coral seat. "We cannot, no. That much is true. We are worms before her, powerless in her shadow."

His lips curled into something sly, a thin smile that didn't reach his eyes. "But just because we cannot… does not mean others cannot."

The words drew Kainal's attention fully. His brow arched, curiosity piqued. For the first time, the smirk faded from his lips, replaced by measured intrigue.

He set his cup down carefully on the coral table, leaning forward. "Oh? Is that so?" His voice dipped low, conspiratorial. "And who, please tell, is this mysterious force you speak so highly of?"

Naime's smile widened. He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous certainty.

"The land dwellers."