The veil between dimensions parted beneath my hand, smooth and silent as a whisper. Beyond lay the Market of a Thousand Worlds—a sprawling nexus of realities folded into one endless bazaar. Here, beneath swirling auroras and shattered constellations, vendors from countless planes offered treasures and lives bound in chains of fate.
I stepped into the thrumming chaos, cloaked in invisibility but seeing all. The market's heartbeat pulsed with raw power and desperation, voices and magic weaving a tapestry of commerce that spanned existence itself.
Among the rarest wares were those I sought: female souls, frozen in stasis or bound by magic, harvested from the farthest corners of the multiverse. Each was a universe unto herself—goddesses fallen from forgotten pantheons, ancient elves bearing memories of millennia, demons whose eyes burned with infernal fires, and creatures beyond mortal comprehension.
The stalls stretched endlessly, shimmering with exotic artifacts and weapons, but my eyes remained fixed on the slaves.
A tall figure approached, her skin like molten silver, eyes glowing violet. She was an ageless goddess from the shattered realm of Theryn—a goddess of storms and whispers.
"Master," the vendor bowed low, voice thick with reverence, "I present to you Vaelira, once sovereign of tempests, cast down when her realm crumbled into chaos. Her power is raw, tempestuous. Few can bind her will—but she yields to those she deems worthy."
Vaelira's gaze pierced me—proud and unyielding. She lifted her chained wrists, the shackles glowing faintly with enchanted runes.
"What is her loyalty potential?" I asked, voice calm but firm.
"Eighty-five percent," the vendor replied, "though her wrath is as fierce as the storm. She will test you, but with time, her devotion is absolute."
I nodded. "She will serve."
The chains dissolved in a shimmer of my power, replaced by bonds keyed to my essence. Vaelira bowed once, a fierce fire burning behind her submission.
Nearby, a graceful elven woman stepped forward, ethereal and luminous. Her hair shimmered with starlight, her skin flawless and pale as moonlight.
"This is Aryniel," the merchant said, "a timeless elven seer, keeper of secrets whispered across millennia. Her eyes see beyond time's veil. Though ancient—thousands of years old—her mind remains sharp and agile."
Aryniel's gaze met mine, calm yet calculating.
"What of her obedience?"
"Ninety-three percent loyalty potential," the vendor answered. "Conditioned with subtle magics to ensure compliance, but she maintains her wisdom and judgment. Useful for counsel and guidance."
"Add her to my holdings," I said.
Further along, a demoness emerged—her skin a deep obsidian, eyes blazing with crimson fire. Horns curved from her forehead, and wings of shadow flickered at her back.
"This is Maliseth, once a general in the Infernal Wars," the vendor explained. "Her strength is legendary, her cunning unmatched. Bound in chains of soulfire to keep her power in check."
Maliseth's lips curled into a sly smile, pride flickering in her gaze even beneath restraint.
"Her loyalty?"
"Eighty-eight percent. Fierce but honorable. She obeys the hand that commands."
I reached out, the fiery chains dissolving into silken threads of control.
She inclined her head once, eyes burning with a challenge and acceptance all at once.
Around me, more women of myth and power came forth—ancient priestesses whose prayers once moved mountains, sirens whose voices could shatter minds, shadow witches born of forgotten curses.
Each soul was unique. Each possessed gifts beyond imagining.
I surveyed them all—powerful, obedient, exquisite.
But I did not stop there.
Every female slave in the market, every rare enchantress, every goddess fallen or captive, every warrior woman—none escaped my command.
Every single one was purchased.
Swords sang with arcane light, shields gleamed with enchanted runes, relics whispered secrets older than stars. I claimed every weapon, every artifact, every shard of power offered in the market.
The vendors' faces hardened with disbelief as their riches slipped through their fingers—emptied by one silent master.
The market began to dissolve around me—the cacophony dimmed into silence.
I turned, stepping back through the portal I had opened beneath the earth.
This place—my base—was merely an operational point, a hidden shell under the mundane world.
I did not bring my acquisitions here.
With a gesture, the portal shifted and reformed—opening not into the base beneath my house, but into the heart of my empire: the separate dimension I had created, a vast world suspended in time and space, obeying my will alone.
The slaves, the weapons, the artifacts—all flowed into this realm of starlight and shadow, where I would store, study, and command them.
Hours passed as I watched the slaves settle into suspended stasis or awaken under my careful scrutiny. Each was cataloged, their potential assessed, their roles within the empire carefully assigned.
Two hours of sleep later, dawn crept over my real world bedroom window.
The ordinary life awaited.
The mundane day beginning as my parents moved through their morning routine, blissfully unaware of the goddesses, demons, and warriors I now held in chains beyond the veil.
I dressed quickly, sliding on the mask of the quiet, unremarkable boy.
Because beneath the surface, the true ruler waited—silent, powerful, and unseen.