Asmodeus's lashes fluttered like a tremor across still water. Gold irises focused, and the first thing they met was an unfamiliar face—mine. A heartbeat passed, her expression went from startled to cool, the way ice reforms after a single crack. I felt the tug of a new bond—the Law of Heaven linked to its Maintainer—and she felt it too.
"The fifth descendant?" she said, voice low and level. "You have inherited everything from her?"
She rose in one smooth motion, gaze raking over me with a professional detachment only millennia could teach. Then, a flicker—surprise? She flexed her fingers, testing sinew, power, balance. Her aura settled like a mantle. I watched something invisible lift from her shoulders.
"The corrosion… it's gone," she murmured, nearly to herself. "My body hasn't felt this light in thousands of years."
Her eyes, star-bright and ancient, slid back to me. "You can purify abyssal power. No wonder she chose you directly."
"I kind of woke up next to you and, uh, got promoted by accident," I said, spreading my hands in helpless honesty. "I was a courier guy five minutes before this. Now I'm chained to the fate of a whole world. Not exactly how I pictured my afternoon."
I was in a good mood—hard not to be when absolute authority hummed quietly at your fingertips—but a little drama never hurt. A crown wears better when you play the part.
Asmodeus studied me, that cool façade bending into something warmer, resolute. "If you can cleanse the abyss, the world will be safe." She said it like a verdict, not a hope. For someone who had wrestled with corruption for ages and watched Phanes die under its weight, the existence of a remedy was a miracle.
But I shook my head. "Safe isn't enough," I said, stepping closer and resting a hand on her shoulder. Her posture was all iron and poise; the contact felt like touching a drawn bow. "I don't want Teyvat to limp along. I want it upgraded—from a single embattled world into the sole eternal world in the Quantum Sea."
Through the living architecture of the Human Realm Power System, via the hidden channels that linked Divine Thrones and Seats of God, I sent her a compressed storm of information: the Dimension Dominator blueprint, the target worlds, the annexation routes, the way their laws would stitch into our broken foundations. I masked the "system" as innate heavenly capability; no need to dump patch notes on day one.
She took it all in silently. Shock widened her eyes first, then calculation, then a fire I had not expected—fervor.
"Annexation… integration… completion of missing structures…" she whispered, reading layers upon layers of plan. "If those three worlds fall under our rule, then abyssal power can be made safe, reincarnation established, the Vision framework completed, barriers sealed…" Her gaze snapped back to me, molten gold. "And Teyvat's lifespan—extended by five hundred thousand years."
For the Maintainer who had watched ten thousand short, fragile years flicker past since Phanes arrived, half a million was indistinguishable from forever. I could see it land in her—what that promise meant to someone built to hold the sky.
She bowed her head slightly, reverently. "Your power exceeds Phanes at her peak." There was no envy in it, only the steady joy of a sentinel who finally sees reinforcements march over the ridge.
I coughed softly. "Asmodeus, as the Maintainer, you're technically my… dependent, right?"
That got her attention. The fervor in her eyes didn't dim; it gathered, focused into something fierce. "Yes. Your will is my will. Use me as you wish."
There it was: loyalty, clear and ringing. It wasn't blind. It was forged by comprehension: she'd read the path, weighed it, and found it worthy.
"Define 'use,'" I said, my gaze drifting for half a heartbeat over the effortless geometry of her silhouette, the mathematic perfection of divine proportion.
She blinked, puzzled. "Use… as in command?"
I cleared my throat, heat touching my ears. "Right—command. The political kind. First order of business: summon the Seven to Sky Island. We're about to run a plan that spans multiple worlds, and I'll need the archons who can actually execute."
"As you decree." Her aura rose, majestic, iron-clad. For a second I pictured her descending on the nations like a comet and decided—perhaps not yet.
"Wait." I caught her arm. "Not everyone. Not yet." A flash of cold sweat. The instant she saw the rot in Sumeru, the fractures in Fontaine, the ambition simmering in Snezhnaya, or the storms still howling in Inazuma, she might level the board out of righteous efficiency. And I needed a board, not a crater.
"We start with four," I said. "Anemo, Geo, Electro, Hydro. I'll notify them through the Seats. Quietly."
Her answer was immediate, untroubled. "Yes. Your will is my will."
I touched the lattice again—the Human Realm channels—sending a cool thread of authority spiraling down the earth-veins toward Mondstadt, Liyue, Inazuma, and Fontaine. A summons went out like thunder muffled by snow: Come to Sky Island. The Heaven you prayed to is awake.
"Before they arrive," I said, glancing around at the stark, luminous platforms, "let's refresh the décor. If we're going to host gods, we'll do it properly."
I smiled despite myself. Even archons who outlived empires had never laid eyes on Phanes—not in person. Morax alone had glimpsed the Primordial One, ages ago, through the fog of the Demon God War. Barbatos received a throne, not an audience. For the Seven, Asmodeus had always been the hand that delivered the Hearts of God, the silent courier of mandates.
Which, by the way, were misunderstood trinkets. The Heart wasn't an exalted relic. It was a battery—faith condensed and stored, a regulator for leyline pressure when the sky cracked and the Law bled. Useful, elegant, limited. At best it elevated one to a low-tier demon's output by borrowing the world's own warmth. With me awake and the world's veins under direct control, the Heart was a souvenir of a darker era—respectable, antiquated, unnecessary.
I shaped a thought. The platforms brightened. Columns lifted and unfurled like white trees. Starlight poured through latticed vaulting. Sky Island breathed.
"Meeting room first," I murmured.
"Reception hall second," Asmodeus said, lips curving. "You enjoy ceremony."
"I enjoy impact." I cut a grin sideways. "Ceremony is a blunt instrument with velvet on the handle."
A ripple of a laugh—quiet, surprised—passed her. I found I liked surprising her.
Then the worldline tugged. A wind-song pricked the back of my mind—Mondstadt.
—
Mondstadt.
Angel's Share glowed amber in the late sun, glassware lined like soldiers on parade. At the bar, a red-haired man with the face of a marble lion polished a chalice until its surface was a mirror.
"Grandpa Diluc, just one drink," pleaded the bard in green, palms pressed together in theatrical supplication. "Only one, to soothe the sorrow of parting with dear Travelers…"
"Third time you've tried that line," Diluc said without glancing up. "And the third time you've asked for the best. You can't barter a sob story for the top shelf."
If he didn't know exactly who the shameless musician was—Barbatos, god of wind and incorrigible bar tab—he'd have had the staff escort him out with a broom and a sigh.
"The last time," the bard said. "Truly. Grandpa—Diluc—sir—"
Diluc's brows knit one exacting millimeter closer together.
The bard's cheeks puffed. He spun on a heel to take his lyre to the street—then froze. Cyan eyes widened, breath arrested mid-huff. A wind, silent and absolute, threaded his hair.
"No…"
The barroom clatter softened to a hush. The lion-faced proprietor, poised and wary, watched the bard's jest fall away like a mask slipping from the hand that held it.
Barbatos lifted his head toward the high windows, toward the sky that he knew, toward a throne he had never seen.
"Heaven summons," he whispered, and in that whisper no trick remained.
The wind bent, obedient. Somewhere far above, Sky Island shone.
—
Back in the heavens, Asmodeus tilted her head, listening to threads I could not see but had already begun to tug. "Anemo has heard."
"Good," I said. "Geo will not be surprised, only careful. Electro will be defiant for three breaths, then practical. Hydro will want terms."
"Do you want me to… ease their attitudes?" She meant adjust the leylines under their feet until their pride softened into prudence.
"Let's try diplomacy first." I flexed a hand and the rafters brightened again. "I intend to lead, not rule by fire."
"Yet you will, if necessary," she said.
"If necessary," I echoed, and we both smiled—steel recognizing steel.
A moment of pause stretched, companionable and light. I studied her openly now, not as a relic or a weapon, but as a person who had held vigil alone for too long. "When did you last sleep without fear?" I asked.
She answered without shame. "I do not remember."
"Then remember this." I didn't touch her this time. I let the new harmony in the worldlines hum between us. "The abyss will not eat you again. Not while I am Heaven."
Something eased in her stance—just a fraction. Enough to count.
"Report," I said, voice returning to the cadence of command.
She folded her hands behind her back. "Anemo is en route. Geo listens and calculates. Electro senses but resists; she will come if only to refuse in person. Hydro has paused her investigations and is calling her court."
"Fontaine's courts always loved a spectacle." I exhaled, then turned my attention to the edges of the map only I could see—three bright marks glinting beyond our sky: Demon Slayer, Red Eyes, Inuyasha. "When they arrive, we start with Demon Slayer. Quick win, public benefit, moral clarity. The populace will see a miracle; the archons will see a method."
Asmodeus nodded. "We embed the Vision concept into their mythos, brand the divine into their narrative, and reclaim the world's permissions through belief and destiny. Annexation by invitation."
"Exactly. Then Red Eyes for barrier and longevity. Eighty percent belief is the threshold; we'll exceed it in a week if we time our interventions with the empire's most public crimes."
"And Inuyasha for underworld law," she concluded. "We make the Eye of God mainstream, weave new Divine Thrones, stabilize both mortal and nether dominions—and then take the keys."
"And we don't give them back," I said mildly.
Her lips curved again. The Maintainer liked clean solutions.
I looked out over the shining terraces of Sky Island, and a sudden, irrational warmth pooled in my chest. It wasn't triumph. It wasn't even relief. It was the simple pressure of not being alone under the weight of a world.
"Welcome back," I said to her, softly, and meant it.
She dipped her chin. "Welcome home," she returned, and meant that, too.
A chord thrummed through the heavens—Anemo, nearing. Another—Geo, steady. A third—Electro, sparking. A fourth—Hydro, cool and coiled. The meeting would begin soon.
"Final note," I said, almost as an afterthought. "If any archon attempts to leverage foreign power to contest Heaven—"
"I will remove them," Asmodeus said, perfectly calm.
"Only if necessary," I repeated, and she inclined her head, a silent understanding passing between us like a shared oath.
The hall brightened. The sky opened. Four paths of light, like rivers turned vertical, rose from the lands below. Wind sang. Stone murmured. Storm hissed. Water whispered.
"Showtime," I said.
"Heaven convenes," said Asmodeus.
And the gods came.
---l