Chapter 101: The Emperor's Throne Beyond the Heavens
They stood still, uneasy. What if they had escaped one hell only to be cast into another?
"This is strange…" murmured the Star God of Misfortune, his ancient eyes squinting into the dark void beyond the ship's hull. The stars outside were faded—no radiant constellations, no celestial warmth. It didn't feel like a divine plane. It felt… real. Tangible. Like the physical universe itself.
"If this is the primary universe, why is it so… dark?" he asked aloud.
Another voice responded from beside him—grating, deep, and impossible to forget.
"That's Earth," declared the infamous demon god Chīntiān. A towering headless figure, his voice emerged grotesquely from an open mouth carved into his navel.
Chīntiān, who had once warred against the Yellow Emperor himself, had shattered every seal laid upon him—until this strange empire had finally succeeded in locking him away.
He gazed through the reinforced glass and nodded slowly. "Yes. That's Earth… or what they call 'Deixing.'"
But the planet wasn't what shocked them most.
What stunned both gods was what surrounded it.
"Is this... the Heavenly Court?" asked the Star God, puzzled.
He had never visited it before, and now assumed this must be Chīntiān's native celestial realm.
But this "Heavenly Court" was… odd.
Gigantic structures of metal hung in orbit, encircling the planet like mechanical rings forged by titans. Strange satellites blinked like watchful eyes. It looked less like a divine realm and more like a fusion of myth and industry.
"This isn't the Heavenly Court I remember," muttered Chīntiān, his tone low and unsettled.
Indeed, it was not.
Something had changed.
The beings who welcomed them spoke not of the gods, but of a place called the Great Qin Empire.
No immortal essence pervaded the air. No divine hymns echoed across the sky.
Just machines.
And humans.
When the gods were brought down to one of the vast cities below, they found it teeming with mortals—millions of them, bustling about as though they lived atop divinity's doorstep.
"Is that... the World Tree?" the Star God muttered.
It looked familiar, rising from the heart of the city like a colossal organic tower—but something was off. It felt weaker. Not quite like the primal tree that linked realms. More like a facsimile.
Then a soldier appeared—his body cloaked in armor lined with arcane circuits.
"His Imperial Majesty, the First Emperor, awaits your presence," the soldier said, voice metallic and formal.
"The First Emperor?" Chīntiān scoffed. "Interesting title."
'First' denoted the beginning. 'Emperor' suggested rule over all.
Was this mortal truly bold enough to call himself a fusion of mythic titles, combining the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors into one?
He would soon see.
As they approached the central palace—suspended above the ancient capital of Xianyang—Chīntiān felt pressure.
It wasn't tangible. It wasn't physical.
It was something else.
The aura pulsed from the citadel like gravity itself, pressing down with silent force, as if daring them to kneel.
They stepped into the throne room.
At its heart sat the emperor.
He did not speak. He merely stared.
And when their eyes met, Chīntiān instinctively locked gazes. Fierce. Unyielding.
A heartbeat passed.
Then sweat.
His body trembled. His spirit recoiled.
Chīntiān realized, with sobering clarity, that the pressure this man emitted dwarfed even the Yellow Emperor's legendary might.
They hadn't exchanged words. But the duel was complete.
And he had lost.
This was no celestial court.
No realm of immortals.
Only mortals—hundreds of them—moved throughout the metal halls. But none looked afraid. None looked weak.
Then the First Emperor spoke.
And what he revealed stunned them all.
The ancient gods—those cast into exile during the chaotic dawn of creation—were stirring. They sought to return.
More than that—the former inhabitants of the Heavenly Court had fled.
They had abandoned this world.
They had migrated to a new universe entirely.
Left this reality behind.
The Star God and Chīntiān exchanged glances, rattled.
They hadn't expected to return to a world ruled not by divine order—but by human ingenuity and ambition.
By Qin.
By the Emperor.
And he bore the title not in arrogance, but in right.
The Emperor sat alone on his throne, scanning intelligence documents pulled from rare sources.
The implications were massive.
The exiled gods weren't content to reclaim this realm—they had their eyes set on another universe. Not a fragment. Not a copy.
A complete, sovereign reality.
And they hadn't infiltrated it with their own avatars. No. They had created false gods—beings whose appearances bore no resemblance to Earth's myths.
These imposters slipped into the parallel world, sowing conflict, shaking foundations.
It was, oddly enough, also an Earth—a mirrored planet on the other side of existence.
This wasn't just expansion.
This was conquest.
But they didn't dare move openly.
Clearly, this parallel Earth harbored its own pantheon. Its own divine resistance.
And according to reports, the strongest of their gods had recently perished in a triadic war between opposing factions.
The Emperor's general, Baiyue, studied the information with care.
The fallen god, in that world, resembled one of their own historic enemies.
The mirror made things murky.
Could infiltration backfire?
Was this "sheep" truly a wolf?
Could an incursion summon retaliation?
They needed more intel.
Meanwhile, back in the celestial arena, tensions erupted.
Three consecutive defeats had left the gods shaken.
"BOOM!"
The room quaked.
Ares flinched and turned toward the source.
Lord Shiva had slammed the table—nearly reducing it to dust.
"Zeus! I'm going in for the fourth round!"
Shiva was done holding back.
Not just out of shame—but because his warrior's blood demanded release.
If anyone tried to claim this match—he'd fight them for it.
Zeus raised his hands in surrender. "Fine by me."
Truthfully, Zeus himself was boiling over. His own blood simmered beneath immortal skin.
Then Shiva turned to Odin, his gaze sharp.
"Don't tell me you have objections too," he hissed.
Odin had meddled in the last two matches, letting Beelzebub wreck chaos in Round Two, and accidentally (or not?) opening the seal on the Devil's Star in Round Three.
Many suspected foul play.
Was Odin trying to instigate human retaliation?
Had he acted out of grief, after Thor's death?
Odin said nothing.
Which Shiva took as approval.
"Then it's settled. Match Four will be—"
"Me."
"Hah?"
A voice interrupted the declaration.
Shiva turned slowly, eyes gleaming with menace.
It was Hades.
The Lord of the Underworld rose to his feet, smile calm yet razor-sharp.
"I claim the fourth match," he said.
Shiva's aura flared instantly, roaring like fire against wind.
The atmosphere twisted.
Pressure collided.
The air wailed.
The table cracked.
Then shattered.
"Fine," Shiva growled. "Let's fight. Winner goes in."
"I don't mind," Hades replied with serenity.
Ares stepped forward, anxious. "Wait—please, Lord Hades—"
Had this been Round One, Ares wouldn't have cared.
Hades would win, humans would fall.
But now? Humanity had won three rounds.
He was nervous.
"Are you suggesting I stand down?" Hades asked coldly.
Ares froze.
Hades's eyes had shifted—and they glinted with death.
"Not at all, my lord…"