The centuries drifted by, weightless against the vast stillness of the Silent Abyss.
At its center, atop the Black Throne wrapped in the Cocoon of Authority, Veyrath slept. A slumbering god-king, dreaming deep within the marrow of existence. His breath was a law the multiverse obeyed without knowing. His will remained absolute, even in silence.
Level 29 — Larger Multiverse Level.Primordial Origin. The First Sovereign.
Two eternal guardians kept their vigil at his side.
Seraphis, Empress of the Primordial Ōtsutsuki — first of his bloodline, sovereign flame forged from his soul.Level 28 — Multiverse Level.
Caelora, First Knight of the Void — the blade forged to defend his name.Level 27 — Small Multiverse Level.
They endured.They ruled.They waited.
And far beyond the edges of their immaculate dominion, the lesser multiverse stumbled forward in ignorance.
Scattered across countless realms, the primitive Ōtsutsuki clans grew—twisted echoes of Veyrath's sleeping might, shaped by the aftershocks of his dormant power rather than his direct hand.
From the chaos of raw creation, six clans rose like false thrones built on borrowed glory:
Kozurai Clan — arrogant, endlessly hungry for conquest.
Xavora Clan — cold, calculating sovereigns of manipulation.
Myraku Clan — patient, wandering shadows cloaked in silence.
Zorak Clan — proud schemers, tangled in desperation.
Selvane Clan — haunted visionaries, lost between dream and prophecy.
Ravael Clan — disciplined warriors, bound by rigid honor.
Each bore a broken shard of the Primordial Blood.
Each believed themselves mighty.
None knew the name of the King who birthed them.
It was the Kozurai and Xavora Clans—the most reckless, the most arrogant—who dared what none should.
They breached the sacred border of the Silent Abyss.
Ripping a jagged wound across the multiversal veil, six figures stepped into a realm no mortal blood should touch.
White-robed, misshapen horns, chakra burning like a stolen fire, they came as invaders.
Level 19 — Full Solar System Level.Dangerous among insects.Pathetic before the Crown.
Across the endless obsidian plain, two figures awaited them.
Seraphis.Caelora.
The Empress and the Knight descended the Black Throne's dais. Each step carved silent proclamations into the fabric of the Plane. The very presence of their forms pressed down on the invaders like gravity forged from reverence.
Seraphis's silver hair rippled like a river of stars behind her. Her golden gaze cut through the primitives with divine apathy. Caelora walked beside her, sword half-drawn, armor whispering the sound of inevitable judgment.
The six intruders stopped.
They did not resist.
They could not.
Their bodies shook under the crushing weight of forgotten authority. Chakra paths cracked. Pride collapsed. And without thought, without command, they dropped to their knees.
Foreheads pressed to the stone.
Not from reason. Not from fear.
From instinct.From blood memory.From ancestral terror buried so deep that it rose unbidden.
They did not know why they bowed.But their very souls remembered.
At the Plane's heart, the Black Throne pulsed once—softly.The Cocoon shuddered.And in the depths of his sleep, Veyrath stirred.
[Primordial Sovereignty: Stirring.][Host: +15% Stabilization Increase.][Projected Awakening: Approaching.]
Closer.Closer than ever before.Soon.
Seraphis stepped forward. She said nothing. Her gaze alone made the air fracture around her. The Plane itself pressed its memory into the six kneeling primitives.
Caelora moved beside her, silver eyes glinting like blades.
"Pitiful," she said quietly, voice sharp as drawn steel. "They believe themselves mighty… yet even their bones tremble before his name."
Seraphis's lips curved in a faint, cold smile—beautiful and merciless.
"They are not worthy to speak his name," she replied. "But they will serve. They will carry fear back into the multiverse. They will spread the prophecy of the sleeping King."
The primitives dared not raise their heads.They did not speak.They barely breathed.
Their very essence had been branded with the truth:They were children wandering in a world ruled by gods.
And the god they feared?He still slept.
But he would not sleep forever.
Seraphis turned slightly, her voice resonating across the Plane like distant thunder.
"Leave," she commanded. "And remember this terror. Spread it among your broken clans. Tell them your King has not yet risen."
Her eyes narrowed with regal finality.
"Tell them that when he does… they will kneel—or perish."
The six primitives fled, stumbling back through the torn gateway like broken shadows. Behind them, their blood still sang with fear. They would never forget.
The Plane fell still once more.
Above all things, Veyrath slept.
Closer.Closer to waking.Closer to reclaiming all that bore his mark.
And when he did—when the King of All rose from the throne that never bent—every clan born from his forgotten bloodline would face a single choice:
Kneel in truth…
…or be erased.