**Chapter 1: The Weight of a Crown**
The Aethelion Nexus, once a realm of perfect cosmic order, now bore the faint scars of Yggdrasil's fall. Its crystalline threads pulsed with an erratic light, as if sensing a void that had yet to be filled. Aetherion, The Eternal Scribe, stood at its heart. The multiversal audience still murmured his name in awe, but the cheers from his victory had faded into a tense silence. The Giggling Glove of Cosmic Clownery rested on his hand, its usual chaotic hum now a low, ominous note.
His retainers flanked him, but the air between them was thick with unspoken tension. Lane's crimson skin glinted with resentment. Void's obsidian form pulsed with a restrained, hungry energy. Raoul's golden-obsidian eyes were narrowed with unspoken judgment.
Lane stepped forward, his infernal gauntlet clenching. "Your will, Aetherion?" His voice dripped with an envy honed by seasons in his master's shadow. "Your N/A stats—infinity beyond infinity—mock our struggles. What of those of us left behind by your divine script?"
Before Aetherion could respond, Void's deep voice rumbled through a telepathic transmission, his Void Blade shimmering. *"The Anti-Void's remnants call to me, Aetherion. An energy ripe for devouring. A power that might rival even yours."* His gluttonous urge was a tangible force, tugging at the stability of the Nexus.
Kaelith's glowing purple eyes flicked between them, her innate desire to control the chaos—her lust for order—itching to impose itself. "Enough," she said, raising the Scepter of the Soul Sovereign. "This dissent ends now."
But her attempt was cut short as Raoul's wrath finally flared. His dual-colored eyes blazed as he moved between them. "You overstep, Kaelith! I trained you, forged your power, yet I am overlooked while you bind souls like puppets!" His voice boomed, shaking the very crystals of the Nexus.
Aetherion's pride surged, his nebula-like cloak billowing. "Silence! I am The Eternal Scribe! My word is the law that binds this multiverse!" He struck a dramatic pose, but the Giggling Glove chose that moment to misfire. It launched a perfectly aimed cream pie that splattered across Lane's furious face.
The audience gasped, then fell into a hushed chuckle. Lane wiped the mess away with a low growl. "Even your errors taunt us, Aetherion."
Aetherion's expression hardened. "A minor glitch. Blame the glove's design, not my intent."
Unseen, Gringo's telepathic whisper slithered into Lane's mind, a seductive lure of greed. *"Join me, demon. I will grant you the power to cast him down."*
As the team's fractures deepened, a rift in the center of the Nexus pulsed, its edges sharpening into the silhouette of a gate. Aetherion's gaze lingered on it, a flicker of Zion's memory surfacing—a forgotten sacrifice, a soul split long ago. The sins of his allies were tearing them apart, and Gringo was fanning the flames.