After the fucking and the killing, Khan finally ascended.
He found himself in the Blank Space. Waiting there was another version of himself—Esdeath—already seated on a throne of glacial ice, perfectly still, her presence radiating control. She had already mastered this place.
There were no words between them. There didn't need to be. Something unspoken passed in the silence, something deep, instinctual—connection beyond language.
They reached for each other, fingers intertwining. In that moment, their memories collided—pain, triumph, battles, deaths, lifetimes, power. Everything.
After that, he withdrew into silence,
And now... he had time. Time to process. To digest everything he had become. Everything he was.
Every death beneath Zafkiel's shadow. Every lifespan he had stolen, every soul he had crushed and so many lives had been brutally ended. Men, women, children, the elderly—none were spared.
Every previous hostage, every body drained of time, all of it added up to more fuel than Kurumi had ever managed to gather.
But it didn't stop there.
Beasts, rebels, dissenters in the streets, remnants of past Roman loyalties, slave owners, and even their slaves—all of them were devoured by him.
Why kill both slave owners and their slaves?
Because they were the root of Capua's rot. The reason rebels breached the city so easily. It wasn't just external pressure—it was an implosion from within. The slave owners, drunk on cruelty, beat and broke their slaves into animals.
The slaves, in turn, boiled with raw hatred, not just toward their masters, but toward Rome itself. That festering resentment birthed chaos. And chaos—he had no tolerance for that shit.
He wiped them out without hesitation.
No trials. No speeches. Just extermination.
Mercy wasn't a luxury Rome could afford, and Khan sure as hell didn't care to offer it. Stability came first.
And every time he drained another soul, every time Zafkiel ticked forward, he wasn't just preserving Rome—he was feeding the power that kept it from falling apart.
And unlike others, those who broke down from the weight of all the lives they'd taken—those who cried or vomited or begged gods for forgiveness—he felt nothing.
No satisfaction.
No regret.
No shame.
Just the cold logic of a man counting the bodies like currency. Like resources. How much power gained. How many hours. How much time he could spend fixing this crumbling empire.
If he didn't have a power that fed on time—that demanded life to function—maybe he'd have been merciful.
Maybe he could've been that understanding, benevolent ruler people fantasize about.
But that wasn't the world he lived in. His power needed lives. And he didn't take them from innocents.
No—he took from the vermin. From the bastards who already corrupted the empire, who sowed rebellion, who made life hell for others and had nothing left to offer but misery.
Strangers? The innocent? He avoided them.
But if you were already part of the problem?
Sorry, buddy. No hard feelings. But what the fuck did you ever offer me besides being a useless fucking parasite?
You were dead weight.
And that's what you fucking got.
Deal with it.
Now then… where were we?
Ah, yes.
We left off at the throne room—the moment he met Esdeath. And now? They were dating—casually, of course—while using Zafkiel to time-travel.
Back to when Miku still wore that radiant, innocent smile.
Back to her early idol days, before she learned how disgusting the world really was.
Khan smirked, one hand resting on Esdeath's cold thigh as they sat together in the concert's VIP section, while watching Miku twirl and sing onstage like an angel oblivious to the wolves circling her.
So bright. So soft. So stupidly naive. So fucking ripe.
Perfect timing.
Soon, she'd understand that the world didn't care about her songs or her dreams. The only man who truly cared for her—who wanted her not as a product but as his—was Khan.
Not the fans jerking off to her posters.
Not the producers looking to squeeze her dry.
Not the executives who'd drop her the moment she slipped.
Just him.
He'd make her see. Make her love him. Make her hate all the others.
And as he sat there, the crowd cheering, Miku's voice echoing through the arena, Esdeath rested her head lazily on his shoulder, bloodlust and boredom in her eyes, and Khan just smiled.
This was only the beginning.
Note: Yeah, long time no see. I've been dealing with writer's block lately—it took me a whole month just to write this chapter.
This feeling honestly sucks.
Should I write another story with this premise, but faster update?