"Empyrean," a voice rang through the void, infinite and unshaken.
"The throne of creation which has existed before the ages of the gods, before anything was ever born. From it arose the first epoch, and from that epoch, all that ever was. The one who sits upon it reshapes existence in their own image. Every era is born from a single, unbroken will of being beyond all."
The words echoed through the infinite space, The Empyrean stretched endlessly, neither solid or even matter, a void pulsing with the potential of everything. It contained all laws and power beyond everything.
From the heart of this impossibility, a figure watched, seated on the throne, one blue eye glowing in calm inevitability. His form shifted between shadow and radiance stemming from the infinite chaos, neither fully body nor entirely essence. Every word spoke, was no opinion. It was a demand and existence obeyed
"And yet… even thrones must be inherited. Usupred." the voice murmured.
"Father!"
The word tore through the void. It was sharp, commanding — a bolt of audacity from another.
In an instant, gold flared across the Empyrean. Longinus screamed forward, its trajectory slicing the unformed light like a comet. Reality itself destroyed under the strike. Stars from the cosmos blinked out, then reformed, spinning as if uncertain of their own existence.
The figure did not move. Only smiling.The blue eye fixed on the incoming spear, calm, eternal. But as the spear struck, violet storms erupted.
"Authority of Predation"
Purple Mouths, teeth, void-consuming, spiraled outward attempting to devour the incoming assault. Yet even as the spear disappeared, the son advanced. His gaze never faltering before his opponent.
Hiss will cared only for one thing: the throne.
"Authority of Creation. Gungnir!"
The light bent the impossible geometry of the Empyrean with every swing.
Time bent, reality tore, yet the throne remained indomitable under the weight of the clash. Worlds flickered into existence for a heartbeat, only to vanish again. The son moved with a ruthless precision, stepping across the void with absolute certainty. He did not care for the cosmos, nor for his life or his fathers legacy. He had desired only one thing
The father lifted his hand. The Authority of Predation surged, spiraling outward in an attempt to end the assault before it reached the throne. A storm of violet mouths, endless and hungry, collided with Gungnir.
Reality buckled under the force. Yet the son's intent was singular, carving his path, unstoppable, and struck again with even more spears
"Longinus!"
"Lugh!"
"Gungnir!"
Infinite numbers of weapons from spears to swords of legends appeared striking him. Enitred universes and cosmoses erased from their clash.
Then it happened. The Authority of Predation enveloped the father completely. Time fractured. A black liquid seeped from his body as he was consumed, forming a vast, undulating sea of mouths and essence beneath the throne. Its waves shimmered with the echoes of every world, every star, every being ever devoured. The son paused for a heartbeat, stunned — though he would not admit it — at the enormity of the power he had just witnessed.
He raised his arms above the throne, and the Empyrean responded. Light bent around him, shadows and stars twisting in reverence. The throne pulsed faintly, acknowledging the wielder of its power.
"Empyrean! Cast it into the abyss to be sealed for all eternity!" the son commanded.
The black sea roared, convulsing as though resisting, but the will behind the throne was absolute. Waves of void, teeth, and darkness were drawn upward, toward the unformed void of the Empyrean itself. The shadows of devoured worlds trembled, screaming silently as they were pulled into the endless emptiness, folding into the infinite abyss. The Authority of Predation writhed, yet could not resist. It twisted, surged, and finally sank into the conceptual void, sealed under the unyielding decree of the throne.
Silence fell. The Empyrean dimmed, folding itself around the new occupant. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. Time itself seemed to pause, holding its breath. The son's chest rose and fell, slow and deliberate, the black sea receding into stillness beneath him.
And then a faint light appeared, piercing the infinite darkness — a singular, radiant thread entering the Gate of Guff, drifting across the void. The son's cold eyes narrowed as he watched it float, unbroken, unyielding.
"The Gate of Reincarnation…" he muttered, almost in curiosity, almost in warning. He did not move to stop it. The throne, for all its obedience, allowed for it to enter. A ripple passed beneath the son's hand, as though the Empyrean itself acknowledged that the this game was far from over.
The black sea remained still, the Authority of Predation sealed, yet the light persisted, distant but unmistakable. In the silence of absolute dominion, the son sat, alone, sovereign… and yet aware that not all threads of fate were yet resolved.