The moment the God of Darkness vanished, a heavy silence fell over the void, but the gravity of his final words echoed in Lucian's mind like a tolling bell. He instinctively reached for the pendant hanging around his hand—the Nyxveil Relic—but the instant his fingers touched it, the space around him twisted violently.
A force unlike anything he had ever encountered surged through him.
Before he could react, reality fractured.
In a blink, Lucian was torn from the moon's barren surface and hurled into a realm far removed from time and space.
He found himself standing atop the shattered remnants of an ancient ruin, drifting in the endless darkness of the cosmos. Stars shimmered like dying embers in the distance, and the very air pulsed with a divine pressure—old, watchful, infinite.
In the center of this floating domain, three objects hovered in place: a potion sealed in obsidian glass, a tome bound in blackened leather, and a sword sheathed in pure void.
Lucian stepped forward, drawn not by curiosity, but by something deeper—something within him that stirred.
His hand reached for the potion first. The moment he touched it, ethereal runes shimmered into view, floating around it like ghosts.
Umbral Elixir
Rank: Multiversal Class
Effect: Restores all mana and can heal even immortal wounds.
He nodded to himself, then turned his attention to the second object—the tome. Its surface was etched with ever-shifting sigils, glowing red and black. As his hand brushed it, a title revealed itself, etched in smoke:
The Abyssal Chronicle
Rank: Unknown
Effect: Holds the recorded truth of the Multiverse and answers all questions of its bearer.
The moment he opened it, black ink shimmered to life and began rearranging itself across the pages:
"Lucian… Though my body fades, my essence lives on through you. This tome is now a part of your soul. Should you seek the truths lost to time, let these pages be your guide to them."
Lucian closed the book slowly, his breath catching in his throat. Then, his gaze fell to the final artifact.
A sword—unmatched in presence, sealed within a sheath of rippling void. As he gripped the hilt, a name burned into the air around him in violent arcs of energy:
Ebon Vow, the Nihility Fang
Rank: Multiversal Class
Twin of Obsidian Oath
Once wielded by The Supreme Ruler of Darkness.
As he drew the blade, the cosmos itself seemed to shudder. With a single swing, a crescent-shaped slash tore through the emptiness, severing a distant planet in two. The shockwave of destruction echoed across light-years.
Lucian stared in awe. "I barely used a fraction of my mana… and yet this—this is what godhood is."
And then, the realization struck him like a hammer.
Selene.
The children.
He stored the three artifacts into his subspace ring and channeled his mana into the Nyxveil Relic.
In a flash of dark light, he vanished from the dimension.
When Lucian reappeared in the manor courtyard, the air itself seemed to bend around him.
The night was calm—too calm—as though the world held its breath at his return. Moonlight slid across the stone floor, pooling in silver hues that mirrored the quiet tremor of magic still clinging to his form.
Selene was already there, waiting. Her golden eyes widened the moment she saw him, relief and fear warring in their depths.
" Patriarch…" she whispered, her voice trembling just enough to betray what she'd been holding in. "You're back. Are you hurt?"
Lucian's gaze softened. For a heartbeat, he looked simply… human again.
"No," he murmured, exhaling a faint sigh. "No, I'm alright."
But Selene saw more than words—she saw the faint, burnt shimmer on his gloves, the fading darkness that coiled around his shadow like a living thing.
Her tone lowered, cautious, fragile. "That presence I felt in the sky… who was he? What did he want?"
Lucian's eyes dimmed, a golden-red gleam flickering beneath his lashes.
"He was not a man," he said quietly. "He was the God of Darkness."
The words struck like thunder. Selene froze. Her breath hitched.
"So… they truly existed," she whispered, disbelief tinged with awe. "The root of our bloodline… the one the scriptures spoke of."
Memories flickered through her mind—of the forbidden texts she'd read in the Blackthorne archives, the ancient prophecy etched in crimson ink:
"To be born a Blackthorne is to bear a burden heavier than crowns. For those chosen by shadow walk forever between sin and salvation. The gods set them apart—and one day, the test shall return."
Lucian with clam voice "Don't worry, he was not here to fight or to test but to ask for a revenge."
Selene in confuse expression "Revenge…. from whom?"
Lucian, "Revenge from them who were the reason for the fall of our clan." He started moving towards the hall "Gather the family in the hall, everyone should know what, why, and whom we are"
Within minutes, the grand hall filled with presence—the air alive with quiet anticipation.
Aurelius, Cassius, Lyra, and Valen, —all gathered beneath the towering banners of obsidian and gold. The chandeliers above flickered, their flames reacting faintly to Lucian's aura as he entered.
He stood at the center of the room, still cloaked in silence. The family waited, their hearts heavy, knowing whatever he would say next would reshape everything.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried not as sound, but as weight.
"I have seen what our ancestors endured," he began. "I have heard the voice of the God—the first bearer of Darkness. He told me the truth of our name… and of the war that erased it."
Every face turned grave as Lucian revealed the tapestry of their forgotten history—the divine war between Light and Darkness, the fall of the gods who defied the celestial order, the sealing of their power into human bloodlines.
He spoke of how the Blackthornes were not blessed, but burdened—exiled fragments of a god's will, reborn generation after generation to one day restore balance.
Aurelius clenched his jaw. "So that explains why we are naturally stronger than other Hunters. Rather than blessed, we are the part of Gods."
Cassius frowned, ever analytical. "Does this mean… we don't truly belong on Earth?"
Lucian shook his head slowly. "In the eyes of the Universe's laws, we were never meant to remain here. We are the children of gods—That were exiled, scattered and forgotten."
Lyra's eyes narrowed with realization. "That explains why our magic has always been centuries ahead of the rest. We weren't evolving… we were remembering."
Lucian turned toward the great window where the first light of dawn brushed against the horizon.
"This is only the beginning," he murmured, his voice low, carrying both weariness and resolve. "The war of gods never truly ended—it merely waited for us to remember."
For a long while, no one spoke. The family sat in silence—awed, burdened, and quietly burning.
Then Lucian turned and walked out of the hall without saying anything more. There was one last truth he needed to confirm—something the God of Darkness had left behind, pulsing faintly within his soul like an echo of eternity.
Lucian walked alone beneath the pale wash of moonlight, past the iron-wrought gates of the Blackthorne family graveyard.
The air was still, carrying the faint hum of mana through the cold night. His boots crunched softly over gravel as he made his way toward two ancient tombstones—worn by centuries, but never forgotten.
Maximilian Blackthorne
Seraphina Blackthorne
His father and mother.
The names glowed faintly beneath the moonlight, as though aware of his presence.
Lucian knelt before them and drew out The Abyssal Chronicle. Its black cover shimmered faintly, reacting to the divine energy that pulsed in his veins. His voice, when it came, was quiet—but trembled with emotion.
"Can I bring them back?"
For a moment, the book remained still. Then its pages stirred on their own, glowing with soft violet light as ancient runes formed into words—cold, absolute, and unyielding.
"If one revives a soul from Heaven or Hell through personal power, they return as the undead.However, the Blackthorne bloodline is safeguarded by a sealed dimension—beyond the reach of all gods.They may be revived without consequence."
Lucian's breath caught. His hands shook. It was possible.
His heart pounded as he placed both palms upon the earth.
"Arise," he whispered—then commanded, "Arise."
A surge of darkness erupted from him, rippling through the graveyard like a living storm. The ground trembled. The tombs cracked. Shadows stretched and twisted, spiraling upward like serpents of midnight.
The air howled.
A violent pulse of purple-black lightning struck the graves, splitting the clouds above the mansion. The sky churned in circles, storm and shadow entwined, until a single blinding flash illuminated everything—and then all light was gone.
For a heartbeat, there was only darkness.
And when the ground returned beneath Lucian's feet, he lifted his gaze.
Two figures stood before him.
Maximilian stepped forward first—tall, broad-shouldered, his silver eyes gleaming with the same iron pride they once held in life.
He looked around, confusion and awe mingling on his face.
"Where am I?" he asked slowly, voice deep and commanding. "And why… am I alive?"
Seraphina followed, regal and composed, her silver hair flowing like liquid moonlight.
She studied the courtyard, then Lucian's face. Her tone was calm, yet knowing.
"By the state of this place… and that look in your eyes," she said softly, "I assume you are my son, Lucian."
Lucian's voice trembled, filled with emotion that years of war had long buried.
He saw flashes—bloodied battlefields, the fall of his clan, the rise of vengeance, and the hand of Rhaziel offering him the power of Darkness. All of it led to this single moment.
He lowered his head slightly.
"I am your son, Lucian Blackthorne."
Maximilian's eyes widened. Then he let out a half-laugh of disbelief.
"What… you've grown so much I have to look up to you. Just how old are you now?"
Lucian smiled faintly.
"Who knows? This is the second winter of the twenty-first century."
Seraphina chuckled, a soft, melodic sound that stirred the quiet night.
"So… twenty-five years old, yet you still talk in riddles like your father."
The air shimmered again as Selene and the children approached from the path.
They had felt the overwhelming surge of energy and came running, their eyes wide with awe as they saw the impossible sight—the founders of the Blackthorne line standing among the living once more.
Maximilian turned toward them. His expression softened, wonder blooming across his face.
"Don't tell me… I'm a grandfather?"
Lucian smirked, pride flickering in his tone.
"Not just a grandfather… but once again, the Dark Emperor."
Maximilian's eyes sharpened, his voice deepening.
"Does that mean… all National Hunters have surrendered to you?"
Lucian's grin widened slightly.
"Surrender? No. I beheaded them all."
Seraphina's gaze snapped to him—sharp, yet tinged with incredulity.
"And what of the Hunter Association?"
Lucian answered simply, almost casually.
"They're a branch of Blackthorne now."
Her brows furrowed.
"A branch? You didn't kill them?"
Lucian chuckled.
"No. In recent years, Blackthorne has built alliances across the world for mutual benefit. Through those bonds, we were appointed as the highest authority to uphold law. The Association now answers to us."
Maximilian's eyes widened slightly, pride glinting behind disbelief.
"Then we command every hunter across the globe."
Lucian nodded once.
"Yes. But to forge that much trust, I needed political strength. I used Aldric Voss—and a friend—to secure it."
At that, Selene stepped forward, bowing gracefully.
"It's an honor to meet you both. I am Selene Blackthorne, wife of Lucian Blackthorne."
She gestured to the children, who followed suit—bowing one by one and introducing themselves with shy reverence.
Maximilian's deep laugh echoed across the courtyard.
"To think… I'm blessed with so many grandchildren. Truly, the gods haven't forgotten me."
Seraphina's gaze drifted to the pendant around Selene's neck—its sigil faintly glowing beneath the moonlight.
"So, you're the daughter of the Ravencrofts," she said softly.
Selene smiled.
"Mother-in-law, have you ever met my father?"
Seraphina nodded, eyes distant.
"Once. We were invited to a banquet on the night you were born."
Suddenly, a bright light shimmered behind Maximilian, soft and golden.
A familiar voice—warm, teasing—broke the night's silence.
"What a bright sight to see."
Lucian turned. Elias stood there, smiling faintly.
"To think I'd live to meet the Dark Emperor once more."
Maximilian's face lit with surprise before turning into joy. He moved forward and embraced him.
"Elias… I'm glad to see you alive."
Elias laughed into the hug.
"Alive? Did you really think I'd let death claim me?"
Maximilian smirked.
"No. I was certain you'd die—just to accompany me in Heaven."
Elias chuckled.
"Seems the gods made a special heaven for Blackthornes, after all."
Lucian smiled faintly.
"Perhaps. Though… a little different from the usual kind. Come, let's continue this inside the manor."
Elias extended his hand toward Lucian.
"Sure—sure, Patriarch of Blackthorne."
With laughter that carried through the night, the family turned toward the manor gates—
the living and the once-dead walking together again under the pale silver light of dawn.
As they neared the entrance of the grand hall, Elias suddenly halted. His tone was calm, but his eyes carried intent.
"I have some important matters to discuss with Lucian," he said. "We will join you in a moment."
Seraphina, already reaching for the great bronze door, cast a brief look over her shoulder.
"Sure," she replied with a faint smile. "But don't take too long."
The door closed behind her with a soft echo. The light spilling from the hall dimmed as Lucian turned toward Elias, then toward the corridor branching to the right — a long, quiet passage lined with white marble and shadow.
Maximilian paused near the doorway. His gaze followed them for a heartbeat before he understood. 'Important matters' — it was a hint. Without a word, he followed, his footsteps muffled against the ancient stone.
The three men entered the corridor. It stretched deep into the mansion like a sanctum untouched by time. The air was cool, almost reverent. The side walls rose high, carved from special marble infused with faint veins of silver and obsidian — each slab engraved with meticulous reliefs depicting moments from a forgotten age. Golden mana-lights, set into ornate sconces, burned steadily between each engraving, casting gentle halos that shimmered across the carvings and reflected in Lucian's eyes.
"This," Lucian began, his voice carrying softly through the vast corridor, "is one of the secret archives of history — both of humanity, and of the Blackthornes. It begins with the first appearance of the united and strongest of men... our ancestors. Everything written here was left by their own hands. No myths, no embellishment — only truth."
Elias walked beside him in silence, his fingers brushing the faint ridges of the engravings as he read each inscription. The deeper they moved, the quieter the air grew, as though the very walls demanded respect.
Year 001–200: The Dawn of Shadows
Long before the modern world was even a whisper of possibility, humanity huddled in scattered tribes, its existence constantly threatened by creatures that seemed forged from nightmares. Demons, monsters, and primordial horrors roamed the land freely, unchecked and unchallenged.
It was an age when the earth itself seemed hostile, where humanity survived only because of the intervention of beings far greater than themselves.
The Blackthorne family was among the first and strongest of these guardians.
Their origin is lost to time—some claimed they were blessed by gods, others that they were born from the abyss itself—but their purpose was unquestionable: to be humanity's shield and sword.
Legends from this era speak of battles that split mountains, of Blackthorne blades that gleamed with midnight fire, and of demons that fell screaming into voids conjured by their magic. Alongside a small handful of other heroes, they purged the earth of its monstrous rulers. By the end of the Second Century, demons and beasts had been driven into extinction—or so humanity believed.
Lucian's eyes followed the final line of the engraving. His voice echoed faintly as he said, "We may have not revealed our existence if humanity was not on the blink of extinct. But still this many hardships for a century was not accepted by the fate."
Year 201–500: The First Gates
For three centuries, humanity prospered. Kingdoms rose, cultures flourished, and magic became a cornerstone of society.
The Blackthornes faded from public view, becoming a myth more than a presence. But peace is fragile. The death of Beelzebub the Devourer, the last and greatest of the Demon Kings, marked a turning point in history.
As his colossal form fell and his lifeblood soaked the earth, a catastrophic wave of mana erupted, tearing through the very fabric of reality.
For the first time, rifts appeared in the sky—Gates, unnatural wounds between realms. Through these rifts poured creatures more terrifying than any from myth, beasts from alien worlds and infernal planes.
Humanity's golden age shattered overnight, and the Era of Gates began.
The Blackthornes emerged once more, their numbers few but their might undiminished. They became legends not of myth, but of necessity. It was their hands that closed the first rift, their blood that consecrated the first wards.
Lucian's expression darkened as he continued," As centuries pass on we understand that we alone could not save everyone every time, we have to accelerate the growth of Humanity for their own survival, and through this we come up with an a ideology of Hunters."
Year 501–700: The Rise of Hunters
As the centuries passed, humanity adapted. Magic was refined, warriors became specialists, and a new order emerged: the Hunters. Those powerful enough to face the horrors beyond the Gates were elevated to high status, revered as saviors.
But with prestige came pride. By the Seventh Century, Hunters had become symbols of authority and dominance, no longer just defenders of humanity.
And at the top of their hierarchy stood a select few: the National Hunters, each powerful enough to command entire nations.
The Blackthorne's remained distant, serving humanity quietly but never seeking titles or wealth. They were seen as relics by some, legends by others. Still, no Hunter—no matter how powerful—dared to challenge them.
Lucian's tone grew colder, almost disdainful.
"But who knows, with power, many thoughts may arise, and the most absurd thought was to compare themselves to us, the Blackthrone."
Year 701–1000: The First Shadow of Rivalry
The gates grew in size and power, spewing horrors that could decimate kingdoms. Humanity's survival seemed impossible, but the Blackthornes stood like an immovable mountain. By now, their family was small—each generation producing only a handful of heirs—but their mastery of magic and combat remained unmatched.
This age saw the birth of envy. The National Hunters, once grateful allies, began to see themselves as equals—or even superiors.They ruled kingdoms, influenced rulers, and were worshipped as gods among men, yet the mere presence of the Blackthornes overshadowed their accomplishments.
In the back rooms of palaces and war councils, whispers began: Why do we still bow to a bloodline? Why must humanity's future rest in their hands?
The stage was set for betrayal.
"As the time passes," Lucian said quietly, " there thinking become as small as a point, there imagination makes them born a demon inside them know as Jealousy."
Year 1001–1500: The Age of Tension
For five centuries, humanity teetered between reverence and resentment. The Blackthornes never sought power or politics, but their very existence was a reminder that true supremacy lay beyond the grasp of the National Hunters.
During this era, Maximilian Blackthorne was born, heir to a dwindling but still legendary family. His father, Azrael Blackthorne, and mother, Rhianna Blackthorne, stood as symbols of hope and fear alike. Azrael's brothers, Davros and Cassander, were warriors whose names alone made armies hesitate.
Though gates continued to threaten humanity, technology advanced, cities rose, and the world began to resemble the modern age. But beneath the surface, resentment brewed. The National Hunters grew tired of being second in reputation, overshadowed by a family that had withdrawn from the world stage.
And so they waited.
"The idea of United Nations immersions through alliance kingdoms was not our suggestions; it was all taken by Hunters to restrict our movements and to set boundaries in the name of Development of Humanity," Lucian sighed as he went on. "There was one another major befits they get through it, that was misleading. As individual Kingdoms often not support the lead of another, but a nation will have to for their united existence."
Year 1501–1600: The Dragon Cataclysm
The opportunity came in the Sixteenth Century of Gates. An SS-Rank Gate opened at the heart of humanity's strongest city. From it emerged dragons, creatures so powerful that even seasoned Hunters were annihilated in moments.
For seven days and nights, the Blackthornes fought. Azrael, Rhianna, Davros, Cassander, and their few remaining elders held the Gate alone, their magic bending reality itself. The battle became legend—the Dragon Cataclysm—and though victory was won, the price was catastrophic.
The Blackthornes were exhausted. Their magic reserves were shattered, their weapons chipped and bloodied. For the first time, they were vulnerable.
That night, as they returned to their fortress, seeking only rest, the coalition of National Hunters struck.
The betrayal was swift and merciless.
The Blackthornes had just slain the final Dragon King when the Hunters' Coalition ambushed them. Rhianna Blackthorne fell first, pierced by a blade of pure light. Davros and Cassander followed, their bodies collapsing upon the very soil they had sworn to defend. Azrael, mortally wounded, carved a path through his enemies to ensure his son's escape.
In a single night, a dynasty older than nations was shattered.
But the cost was high for their betrayers. Five National Hunters died in the battle, among them Victor Ironfist, father of Marcus Ironfist. Alaric Spellbinder, still unawakened at the time, lost his sister, fueling the hatred that would one day make him a hunter of kings. The deaths of their own were spun into propaganda.
The Blackthornes were painted for the loss of peoples and peace. Maximilian was spared only because the people loved him; even the Hunters feared a rebellion if the last Blackthorne heir was slain outright.
The carvings grew darker here, almost blackened by centuries of touch — the betrayal forever etched into stone. Elias paused as he traced a blade raised against a kneeling figure.
Lucian's voice lowered," Our kindness to Humanity becomes a reason to be slayed. The 16th century that escalated mostly in peace, at the end change the perspective of ours."
Year 1601–2000: A Legacy of Ash
For four centuries, the Blackthornes' name became both revered and reviled. Under Maximilian's leadership, the family rebuilt, earning grudging respect even from their enemies. Yet the hatred of Alaric and Marcus never dimmed.
In the Year 1987, their vendetta reached its climax. Maximilian and Seraphina Blackthorne were assassinated in a strike orchestrated by the National Hunters. With their deaths, the world believed the Blackthornes extinct.
The Hunters rose to supremacy, their word law, their strength unmatched. The world forgot its true saviors.
Maximilian with a sad voice from behind "This was the century I chose to end our aid to humanity. After the end of the SS gate in 1987 I thought to announce the end of the treaty and separation of our Clan from further role of peace but who knows I was too late for it."
Lucian voice erupted as he speaks "Elias do you know why even after so many betrayal and annihilation we never once turn against peace and Humans, we could have built large armies, we may have has as many descents as we want you already what even a single one could do, we may be the one that destroyed all this world. If we want, we can always overthrow the rule that were made by laying traps for centuries. The reason was a single line that passes through ancestors and our holy books that was Never abandon faith in mankind, for even when they shatter the heavens and drown in their own sins, they will rise once more—reborn through pain, and remembered by hope. That is why we endure. Not for vengeance. For them."
The air around the courtyard was still, heavy with the remnants of power that clung to Lucian like a shadow.
Elias and Maximilian stood near the fountain, their faces half-lit by the glow of the manor lamps that flickered against the deepening dusk.
Elias' eyes widened, reflecting the pale light. "In today's world, it's hard to believe there are still people who hope for the greatness of humanity," he murmured, awe and melancholy mingling in his tone. "So that was the reason behind the fewer descendants."
Maximilian folded his arms, his sharp gaze unwavering. "Well, that's one reason," he said, his voice steady, carrying the weight of insight. "But the real purpose was control—over the next generation. The more heirs there are, the more chaos brews for the throne. It's the nature of beings to hunger for dominance once they taste power. In such a fractured world, even the Blackthornes would have turned against themselves."
Elias nodded slowly, realizing the depth of the design behind their bloodline's restraint.
Lucian, who had been silent until then, finally spoke, his expression darkening. "I know why you're here, Elias. You felt it—the dark energy."
Elias met his gaze. "Yes. And it was immense… enough to annihilate the Earth itself."
Lucian's tone was calm, but his words carried gravity. "Yes. But fate was on our side. The source wasn't an enemy—it was a friend. The friend of my first ancestor… the God of Darkness."
He spoke without hesitation. Elias, a man who had once reached the Sacred Restore, understood that higher beings were not myths but truths that lingered beyond mortal comprehension.
"To think," Elias breathed, his eyes bright with wonder, "that I live in the generation able to witness a god in physical form. And if there's one… there must be others."
Lucian was slightly surprised by the clarity of his response—most would have dismissed such words as madness. "There are others," he admitted quietly. "But not all would call us allies."
Maximilian stepped forward, disbelief flashing across his face. "You mean the same existence written in our holy scriptures?" He placed a hand over his chest, voice trembling. "Then our rebirth… it was a gift from him?"
Lucian gave a faint nod. "In a way, yes. But there's more—he appointed me as his successor. The new God of Darkness."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Maximilian gripped Lucian's shoulder, his eyes wide. "You're serious… That's why your mana feels different—so pure, refined, divine."
Elias dropped to one knee, bowing his head. "Then it's true… I stand before a god."
Lucian's gaze softened, though his expression turned grim. "No need for that." A dark aura flowed from him like liquid night, coating the air in shadow. Reality twisted, and a vast domain unfolded around them—cut off from the mortal world.
In an instant, visions surged through the void.
Lucian's eyes burned as fragments of the God of Darkness's memories flooded the domain.
The universe trembled.
They saw a battlefield that stretched across galaxies—stars collapsing under divine wrath.
Armies clad in radiant white armor clashed against legions wreathed in shadow.
Dragons as large as planets roared and collided, their battles birthing novas of destruction.
Every impact could erase worlds. Every scream birthed silence.
Blood and divine light mixed, staining the endless void.
Elias staggered, clutching his chest. "What… what is this?"
Lucian's voice echoed through the realm, low and heavy. "The God of Darkness shared this with me. A glimpse of his final war."
Maximilian's eyes widened in disbelief. "Are you saying… we were part of this? This war of gods and dragons?"
Lucian nodded solemnly. "Yes. Once, we led his armies. We—our ancestors—were the generals of the Darkness."
A laughter suddenly rolled through the vastness—a voice filled with light, arrogance, and mockery.
From the white horizon, a figure emerged—radiant and cruel, clad in golden armor that glowed like a false sun.
"Do you truly think you can win this war?" the figure sneered, his laughter booming across the stars. "Even if you defeat me, hundreds of gods remain. You will fall, and your kind will be forgotten."
Rage burned in Maximilian's blood, his teeth grinding as ancient fury stirred within him.
Lucian turned his gaze to him. "See? That anger—it's engraved in our very bloodline."
With a sharp snap of his fingers, the domain shattered like glass, reality folding back into the courtyard.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Lucian exhaled deeply. "There's nothing glorious left in that war. It began because humans—our ancestors—were chosen as the gods' currency. Their blood, their souls, became the wealth that fueled divinity."
Maximilian's jaw tightened. "Then the God of Darkness wants you to rise against them… to restore balance."
Lucian's eyes darkened with purpose. "Yes. He seeks to rebalance the multiverse—and build the heaven humans have always believed in."
Elias's voice trembled slightly. "But… how will you do it?"
Lucian's gaze drifted toward the night sky. "I'll travel across the multiverse to reclaim the artifacts the God of Darkness scattered for his successor. It may take a decade before I return."
Maximilian crossed his arms, brow furrowed. "Then who will lead the family in your absence?"
Lucian conjured a small black box and handed it to him. Inside gleamed two relics—the Eclipsium Elixir and the Transcendence Pill, both radiating quiet divinity.
"With these, you'll regain the strength our lineage lost over the centuries," Lucian said. "Power once rivaling the gods themselves. Use them to guide my children—train them well. In ten years, I'll return to claim them."
Maximilian's lips curved into a smirk as he accepted the box. "So that's why you brought us back. You always think ten steps ahead."
Lucian chuckled faintly, though his tone carried a shadow of seriousness. "Perhaps. But even now, I need someone to hold the line in my stead. The world must not unravel before I return."
Maximilian raised an eyebrow. "You know, it's not exactly normal for a dead man to lead a clan. What will you tell them?"
Lucian's expression sharpened with quiet resolve. "You're right—it would be a problem… if I were still bound to the realm of humans."
He lifted his hand, summoning a tome from the void—its cover black as the abyss, its pages whispering with divine power. The Abyssal Chronicle.
As it opened, the air itself bowed.
"I can simply rewrite the world," Lucian said calmly. "Reshape memory, time, and truth itself."
Elias stared in disbelief. "That's… impossible!"
Lucian didn't respond. Instead, he raised his palm. A ninth-class illusion spell unfolded, vast and absolute.
His voice became the whisper of creation itself, echoing through every mind on Earth.
Reality bent.
Across the world, memories shifted. History rewrote itself. The existence of the God of Darkness—and the deaths of Lucian's parents—were erased from every living being's recollection.
When the final ripple of magic faded, Lucian lowered his hand. Shadows receded. The world stood silent, reborn.
And in that stillness, he spoke softly—his vow carrying through the night.
"The Blackthorne Clan will rise once more."