The Vault of Endless Want was not built—it was accumulated.
Layer by layer, Greed had stacked its realm with the spoils of forgotten wars, the promises of dying stars, and the ambitions of every soul that had ever whispered "more." The air shimmered with desire. Even silence had a price here.
Greed sat upon a throne of contracts, its fingers adorned with rings that pulsed like living currency. It did not blink. It calculated.
Pride's reign had lasted eons. Too long.
Greed did not envy Pride's throne. It saw it as a mismanaged asset. A symbol of wasted potential. Pride ruled with presence. Greed would rule with leverage.
It summoned Wrath first.
The warlord arrived in a blaze of fury, his armor scorched from battles he never lost. He did not speak. Greed did.
"Pride commands. You obey. But what has it given you?"
Wrath's silence was not agreement—but it was not denial.
Greed smiled.
Next came Lust, veiled in illusions, her voice a melody that made reality bend. Greed offered her a mirror—not to reflect, but to magnify.
"Pride does not see you. I can make you visible."
Lust took the mirror.
Envy arrived uninvited, already mimicking Greed's posture. Greed did not mind. Imitation was a form of investment.
Gluttony slithered in, drawn by the scent of ambition. Greed offered it a feast—not of food, but of power.
Sloth drifted last, barely awake. Greed did not speak. It simply waited. Sloth joined—not out of interest, but because movement was happening, and that was intolerable.
The pact was forming.
Greed did not roar. It whispered.
And the Egoverse began to tilt.