He stirred in the silence of the void. All of reality trembled.
The death of his final descendant echoed like a scream through eternity. His blood raged with divine fury. Planets trembled, dimensions howled, and the stars shivered in fear. The pain was not just loss—it was obliteration. It was an extinction of his will, his legacy, his blood.
His soul burned with something darker than vengeance—it burned with retribution.
His empire, once a monolith of cosmic majesty, had ruled for countless epochs. A dominion so vast and unassailable that even the Heavenly Dao hesitated to interfere. He had ruled with absolute authority, spreading his bloodline across planes, creating an everlasting dynasty. His sons and daughters were divine princes and princesses, their names carved into the annals of fate itself.
But when he returned, he saw only ruin.
Once-great citadels reduced to ash. Statues of his blood shattered. The celestial towers that had pierced the heavens had crumbled into dust. His vast empire—a memory.
Rage boiled inside him like a burning star. He walked among the ruins of his legacy, his every step igniting shockwaves. Anyone found who had taken part in the rebellion was instantly turned to dust beneath his glare. Mountains split. Skies bled. Rivers reversed their flow.
The surviving remnants of the Fairy Realm watched with hope that the Voidborn was truly gone. The Children of Destiny—those hypocrites who had plotted his downfall—stood proud, believing their path to ascension clear. They smiled.
Until the sky cracked.
He descended.
Their joy turned to dread. Their knees buckled. The light in their eyes dimmed. The very air around them shattered as his presence tore through the laws of the realm. The world bent under his wrath. The Fairy Realm itself split like fractured glass, unable to bear his fury.
As his investigation deepened, the truth began to emerge.
The so-called Children of Destiny—heroes blessed by the Heavenly Dao—banded together to bring ruin to the Voidborn legacy. Jealous of his empire, fearful of his supremacy, and driven by petty grudges, they united to dismantle what they could never build.
One among them, a false savior, held a personal vendetta. His beloved had once been claimed by one of the Voidborn's sons—a woman he had only admired from afar. That insult, that pain, became the spark of vengeance. And it spread like wildfire.
Each child of destiny carried a wound, a hatred, a reason to fight. They were hypocrites, pretending righteousness while cloaking bloodlust in prophecy. And they succeeded—not through strength, but through deceit, betrayal, and the corruption of divine law.
But they made a mistake—they had not killed the source.
Now, the Voidborn sees clearly.
He will hunt the Children of Destiny. He will snatch their opportunities before they can rise. Steal their destinies from their hands. Claim the very women fate had meant for them. Break their spirits before breaking their bones. Make their rise a misery so deep that even reincarnation would not cleanse it.
He would twist the Heavenly Dao against them. And when they begged for death—he would make them kneel first.
The multiverse would not see justice.
It would see the wrath of the Voidborn.