[A/N: To those who are reading... I'm back dropping! Friday I will be back to dropping multiple chapters a day.]
Tylor stepped back through the rift, his obsidian skin a shade lighter from the effort, the crimson lightning in his veins flickering weakly as he let out a shaky breath tinged with manic laughter. Firing off that message—his most powerful strike—into the Tyrannus Clan's second universe had drained him, even as a Peak Cosmic Overlord.
Still, it had been worth every bit of the cost.
He turned to the gathered allies, mad smile splitting his face wider, void-white eyes blazing with unhinged joy.
"Haha! Let's begin!" he roared, voice echoing like war drums across the Nexus. "We won't wait for them to recover... no, we move immediately! Gather your troops, protect your homes if you must... but above all, let's cause some damn CHAOS!!!"
The allies burst forth—shouting like lunatics, laughter raw and untamed, their auras blazing in chaotic unison as they vanished one by one in flashes of fire, shadow, lightning, and ripples through time, racing off to rally their worlds for all-out war.
The Helix Galaxy fell still—shaken in the wake of their exit.
It didn't take long for the message to be heard loud and clear.
In the shattered remnants of the Tyrannus Clan's second universe—a once-vast expanse of fortified galactic empires, now half-erased into silent void—the ruins hung like broken bones in the dark.
Continents floated as dust clouds, stars extinguished mid-fusion, entire clusters hollowed to nothing. The demonic head barrier—icon of their clan's tyrannical might—cracked and leaking ethereal blood, eyes flickering in distant agony.
Amid the devastation stood a young woman—appearing around 24 years old, though her power belied millennia.
Her skin was charcoal-black, smooth as forged obsidian, white eyes pupil-less voids that glowed with cold fury. Long silver hair whipped in residual extinction winds, robes of imperial crimson torn but clinging to her curvaceous, athletic form.
This was Nyx Tyrana, Third Heir of the Tyrannus Clan.
She floated at the heart of the chaos—where Tylor's needles had torn through with the worst fury—her fist clenched so hard the fabric of space splintered around her knuckles, white eyes burning as she took in the destruction: half the universe wiped away, galaxies vanished, worlds ground to dust, and billions of lives snuffed out without a trace.
Pissed didn't cover it.
Rage boiled inside her—pure, tyrannical fury that made the void itself tremble, residual extinction needles quivering as if fearing her wrath.
The broken remains of the universe hovered motionless around her: one half erased into silent void, the other stubbornly hanging on with fractured barriers and fading stars, while the demonic visage bled ghostly light from deep, jagged cracks.
"That bastard…" Nyx hissed, voice low and venomous, charcoal skin flushing darker with wrath as her white, pupil-less eyes blazed like frozen stars. "Tylor Narakava. Only he could strike like this— his extinction verdict, sovereign bullshit. Father will—"
She cut off abruptly, white eyes narrowing as she sensed the lingering precept echoes—needles' remnants dissolving distant stars even now, their monstrous forms still rampaging in fading clusters, erasing the last gasps of light.
"The Asuras declare war," she muttered, a cold, cruel smile twisting her lips, fangs glinting faintly.
"Fine. We'll crush them for good. Starting with that psychotic dog and his whore mate."
But before she allowed herself to get carried away in visions of vengeance, Nyx closed her eyes—breathing deep, centering the tyrannical fury into cold calculation.
She released her Peak strength as a Late Cosmic Overlord.
|Authority of Equilibrium – Cosmic Symmetry|
She activated her core authority alongside her innate talent. The moment she did, the half-destroyed universe paused—time stuttering, extinction needles freezing mid-dissolution, crumbling worlds halting in their death throes.
Her title activated in tandem: The Eternal Arbiter of Perfect Parity—allowing her to designate any situation, conflict, or cosmic phenomenon as unbalanced.
Reality instantly recalibrated to perfect parity, using Nyx as the absolute median.
The destroyed half—declared imbalance—began to mirror the surviving portion with terrifying precision.
In mere moments, the universe rebuilt itself: obliterated galaxy clusters reforming in perfect symmetry, stars reigniting with mirrored brilliance, worlds reshaping from dust into thriving civilizations—laws, matter, essence, even souls recalibrating to flawless equilibrium.
The demonic head barrier sealed its cracks, eyes closing once more in eternal slumber, the void filling with restored light and life as if the extinction had never occurred.
Nyx opened her eyes—face pale, breath labored as she staggered slightly, wiping a trickle of white blood from her lip, the toll of forcing cosmic symmetry immense even for her.
"These bastards will die just like that one princess," she said coldly, voice steady despite the exhaustion, cruel smile returning sharper.
She took out a token—black jade etched with tyrant runes—and infused it with mana.
Space folded—she disappeared in crimson rift.
-----
The Myriad Sect of Races had been at the Grand Interstellar Sect Conclave for over a week now, the massive event world—a colossal artificial realm forged by the Stellar Gate Lords—buzzing with an energy that made the air itself hum with anticipation.
Floating continents connected by shimmering portal bridges stretched across the horizon, each one a hub for different sects, their banners waving in mana-infused winds: phoenix flames dancing on crimson silk, dragon scales glinting like forged stars, ethereal void-webs pulsing with shadow essence.
The sky was a perpetual twilight canvas, dotted with holographic announcements and floating vendor stalls offering relics from forgotten eras—ancient mana crystals that whispered secrets, elixirs brewed from nebula dew, weapons etched with Laws from distant galaxies.
Races from across Venia and beyond mingled in the crowds: towering crystal titans lumbering beside slender starlight sylphs, shadowy revenants bartering with aetherstorm nomads, the scent of exotic spices and metallic ozone thick in the air.
The eight Originat companions walked through one of the central bridges—a wide pathway of translucent energy that overlooked a massive floating arena below, where preliminary sparring matches already drew cheers from onlookers.
Nia led the way, her white hair flickering with rose-pink flames at the tips, blood-red eyes wide as she gestured wildly at everything around them.
"Check out those guys over there—the Frostveil Choir Sect," Nia said, gesturing toward a group of ethereal beings with glacial ice skin and wings shimmering like a frozen aurora. Their voices wove harmonies that shaped frost sculptures in mid-air. "They sing, and the whole battlefield transforms into an ice palace. Pretty neat, right?"
Vaeloria walked beside her, blood-moon eyes calm but alert, hand resting on her sword hilt as she scanned the crowds with quiet resolve.
"Beautiful, but they look fragile. The Obsidian Thorn Collective over there—" she gestured toward a group of plant-like warriors clad in bark armor, thorned vines lashing around them, eyes glowing with green sap "—they grow weapons straight from their own bodies. I saw one regrow an arm mid-spar and shape it into a spear. Talk about ruthless regeneration."
Seris twirled a dagger subtly between her fingers, ash-blood mist coiling playfully as her calculating smile sharpened.
"Regeneration's nice, but the Dreamweaver Enclave creeps me out more. Those floating jellyfish things with tentacles of pure dream-essence? They pull you into illusions where you fight your own nightmares. One disciple got trapped for hours—came out babbling about his childhood fears."
Thalion adjusted his glasses, the void quill hovering at his shoulder as he plotted routes through the crowd, his mental tone dry though his spoken words remained calm.
"The wonders are endless, but we can't ignore the dangers. The Starforge Mechanists—metal-human hybrids clad in living armor—were showing off self-repairing constructs earlier. If we face them in the trials, it'll be sieging warfare against machines that adapt mid-battle."
Caelan let out a rumbling laugh, his gravity aura pressing on the bridge as he walked, drawing uneasy glances from nearby disciples. "Siege? Sounds fun. I'll crush 'em flat."
Kael nodded, arcs of lightning dancing between his fingers. "Or short their circuits first."
Nia pouted playfully. "You boys and your smashing. But yeah… five months flying to get here, and now we're finally in the thick of it. I can't wait to show what we've become."
They arrived at the Myriad Sect's domain—a floating island of adaptive crystal reflecting the sect's many races, with tents and pavilions gathered around a central arena where disciples trained under the watchful eyes of elders.
At the center stood Eldran Myriad, silver hair streaming as he addressed the assembled disciples while the eight slipped to the edges.
"The first event starts at dawn: the Domain Hunters Realm," Eldran declared, his voice carrying.
"Hundreds of thousands of sects will enter a vast realm, each given a domain fortress filled with hidden knowledge, techniques, formations, and relics. Defend your own or strike others to plunder theirs. True death awaits within—no revivals. You may yield by shattering your token or fall in battle.
The contest ends when only ten thousand sects remain. Inside you will meet someone who will further explain the rules."
Excited and nervous whispers spread through the crowd. Nia's flames sparked. "Top spots—ours."
The eight exchanged determined nods. The Conclave had begun.