The Ecliptic Citadel floated silently, impossibly vast, yet alive with the pulse of Lucien's presence. From his throne of fractal crystal, he observed the stars—not as they were, but as they could be. Every universe tainted by the Outer Gods shimmered faintly, marked for correction.
"Prepare the next phase," he murmured. Pale eyes flickering. "I want reconnaissance and execution in tandem. No delays, no mistakes."
Malthior stood at attention, armor gleaming like fractured light. "Understood, my lord. Thariel will accompany me and Seraphyx. We will coordinate the strikes efficiently and ensure minimal collateral in the neutral planes."
Seraphyx hovered nearby, form flickering like living shadow. "And I will ensure Thariel doesn't try any heroic nonsense. He knows his place now, but I like being thorough."
Lucien's lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. "Ah… the two of you, always so earnest. Sometimes I wonder if either of you will survive the boredom before the battle."
Malthior's expression remained stoic, though a faint twitch of irritation appeared at the corner of his crystalline jaw. "We survive because we are capable. Not because we amuse you, my lord."
Seraphyx huffed quietly. "I'll admit, mocking us is fun… until it isn't."
Lucien leaned back, ignoring their muttering. "Fine. Off you go. Show me results."
The dimensional portal shimmered into existence, a tear in the Citadel's boundary stretching toward a distant universe. The three figures—Malthior, Seraphyx, and Thariel—stepped through, leaving Lucien to observe from afar.
The universe beyond was alive with energy, orbiting a colossal Outer God named Veyrath, the Unbroken Throne, whose dominion spanned multiple solar systems. Its armies moved like liquid shadows, constructs thrumming with corrupt energy.
Malthior's crystalline armor glinted in the dim starlight. "This is a coordinated strike," he said. "We will engage, test the defenses, and neutralize key units. Thariel, follow our lead exactly."
Thariel inclined his massive head. "Yes… my lord." His voice trembled faintly—not with fear, but with the residual awareness of obedience.
Seraphyx's form shimmered as she flitted ahead. "And remember," she said softly, "I will dismantle anyone who steps out of line. Not even the stars themselves will interfere."
The first wave of Veyrath's soldiers surged forward, warping space as they approached. But Malthior and Seraphyx moved as one, precise and lethal. Malthior cleaved through energy constructs and soldiers, while Seraphyx dismantled their command nodes silently, ensuring minimal resistance.
Thariel followed, massive fists striking with restrained brutality. He destroyed only what was necessary, every movement calculated, chains of obedience humming with restrained energy. He was effective… and utterly subservient.
Meanwhile, far across the void, the Outer Gods' Round Table stirred.
Nytheris, Crownless Sovereign, sat at the head, halos flickering with faint annoyance. "Thariel…" he murmured, voice echoing across the chamber. "He is gone. And yet, he does not scream, does not resist."
"Servant to the Sole Exception," hissed one god, a being whose form was an endless spiral of shattered galaxies. "Do you realize what this means? If he can be controlled, what hope do we have?"
Nytheris's flaming crown tilted, unreadable. "We must act carefully. This is not just a single god lost. This is an example. Every Outer God watching knows: the one outside all can bend even us to his will."
A third god, its form like a void between voids, growled. "Then we must prepare. Every universe must be shielded, every army readied. He will come for all of us."
Nytheris's eyes flickered with a faint, cold amusement. "Yes. Let him come. Let him play with our pieces. But remember… even the Sole Exception cannot be everywhere at once. There is always a pattern, even in inevitability. And I… will find it."
Back in Universe H-421, Malthior and Seraphyx guided Thariel through the battlefield, dismantling Veyrath's defenses with surgical precision. Soldiers fell, constructs shattered, and planets trembled under controlled devastation.
Yet through it all, Thariel remained obedient, every strike executed with a mixture of residual pride and absolute subservience. Occasionally, he faltered slightly, and Seraphyx would snap a quick reprimand: "Control yourself. Or I will."
Malthior, observing, occasionally gave subtle corrections, teaching the Outer God the discipline of the battlefield under Lucien's command.
And from the Citadel, Lucien watched faintly, a pale smile across his lips. "Patience," he murmured. "They amuse me… but patience is a virtue even I must occasionally exercise."
The stage was set. Outer Gods aware, armies tested, the first servant molded, and the Sole Exception prepared to expand his influence further.