New fic, not gonna drop my Mahito fic though. I'mma upload next chapter soon Bruzzahs. I just wanted to write this so I can switch between them to not get bored.
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The world stood still in terror.
Across the entire planet, humanity cowered. Cities that once thrived with life were now desolate, their streets barren, their lights extinguished. Humans cowered in their homes, their bunkers, their underground shelters—praying to gods they never believed in, clinging to whatever hope remained. The military, the strongest forces mankind had to offer, stood poised with every weapon at their disposal—tanks, jets, missiles, and nuclear warheads—yet deep down, they knew.
They all knew. It wouldn't be enough.
And then, there were the supernatural.
Mages stood atop their towers, magic formations glowing in preparation for war. Familiars whimpered at the looming death that even beasts could sense. Yokai let their touki and senjutsu burn brightly in preparation. The devils and their peerages readied their demonic power, while angels and fallen angels alike stood side by side, their wings spread wide in defiance of fate. Sacred Gear wielders, cultivators, hero descendants, demigods, immortals, gods and even dragons—all had united under a single banner. The unthinkable had happened. The world, despite its infinite divisions, had come together for one purpose.
To fight Him.
And yet, for all their combined might, they shared one undeniable truth. One common thread that united them all.
Fear.
It clung to them like a cancer —some showed it in their trembling hands, their quickened breaths, while others buried it deep within, hiding it behind hardened expressions and clenched fists. But it was there. Looming. Crippling.
High above the world, past the clouds, past the very sky itself—he watched.
A lone figure hovered in the void of space, gazing down upon the planet as if it were something beneath him. A mere speck in the grand design. He wore the face of a man, his features chiseled and refined, his black hair ruffled by unseen cosmic winds. Steel-gray eyes, colder than the vacuum around him, looked upon the world not with hatred, nor with rage, but with something far worse—indifference.
His armor gleamed in the distant sunlight, a masterpiece of obsidian black edged with silver, as if it had been forged from theheart of a dying star. His long, silvery-black cape billowed behind him like the banner of an emperor descending upon a conquered kingdom.
But he was no mere emperor. No mere king.
He was something more. Something beyond men. Beyond gods. Beyond dragons.
The pinnacle of the pinnacle. The one who stood at the peak of all existence.
The one above all.
He clenched his fist, and space itself rippled around him. The very fabric of reality seemed to bend in submission to his will.
And then, he spoke.
His voice—deep, booming, unrelenting—did not simply echo. It commanded. It did not travel through air or space, nor through mundane means. It was heard everywhere. From the depths of the oceans to the highest heavens. Through every realm, every dimension. The halls of Olympus, the towers of Asgard, the thrones of the Underworld, the very gates of Heaven itself—all of them heard the words that shattered the last vestiges of hope.
"STAND READY FOR MY ARRIVAL, WORMS"
Then, he moved.
In an instant, he descended.
The world barely had time to register it. One moment, he was in the stars. The next—impact.
The planet screamed.
A shockwave unlike anything seen before erupted upon his arrival. The impact was apocalyptic. The shockwave expanded outward in an instant, disregarding all realms of logic and physics—obliterating mountains, sending tidal waves across oceans, and shaking continents to their core. The planet itself was nearly thrust out of its orbit. The very heavens recoiled from the sheer magnitude of his arrival. A massive plume of fire, smoke, and dust erupted high into the sky, blotting out the sun.
For a long moment, silence.
Then, movement.
A single step.
And the world trembled once more.
Dust and debris swirled around him, an artificial storm birthed from his arrival. With nothing but a casual flick of his wrist, he banished it all, clearing the sky as if the chaos itself obeyed his whims. His steel-gray eyes gazed upon the gathered army before him. The strongest of gods, dragons, and warriors stood at the front, their hands gripping their weapons tightly, their hearts pounding in their chests.
They dared not move.
He took another step.
The ground beneath his boots cracked and shattered, large chunks of earth rising and falling apart as if rejecting his very presence. He walked slowly, deliberately, each motion laced with an authority that none could deny.
And then, he spoke again.
"Kneel or die. This is your last chance to surrender yourselves to my Kryptum Empire peacefully."
Silence.
Not a single voice answered. No one dared. No one submitted.
He sighed. A small, almost disappointed shake of the head. And then, a smile—a wide, amused smile that held neither kindness nor warmth, but something far more sinister.
"Fine then. I wanted to see you struggle. It's more fun when they resist anyway."
His gaze lifted toward the sky.
And he called.
"To all my sons and daughters—"
On the moon, a thousand figures stood. Clad in the same black-and-silver armor. Their capes flowing in the vacuum. Bearing the emblem of their empire proudly upon their chests. They were young—mere teenagers, no older than fifteen or sixteen—yet they bore the faces of conquerors, of gods-in-the-making.
Their father's voice rang through the void.
"I only have two orders for you."
"Kill and conquer."
And they moved.
They surged toward the battlefield like a swarm of unrelenting destruction as they descended upon the earth. Faster than the eye could see. The moment they arrived, the slaughter began.
They tore through their enemies like a scythe through wheat. Some crashed into their ranks at supersonic speeds, their bodies turning their foes into nothing but blood and viscera. Others unleashed devastating beams of energy from their eyes, slicing through legions, vaporizing entire squads in an instant.
A god, an old one-eyed deity, tried to strike from the side, a golden spear aimed at his heart.
A simple backhand.
The god was no more—reduced to a smear upon the battlefield.
A massive dragon roared, its claws seeking vengeance. Tannin. One of the mightiest of dragons. He lunged, throwing his entire weight into a punch, with the strength to shatter a continent.
The conqueror simply raised his hand.
And the force of the blow unleashed a shockwave that blew back everything close by within a mile around them.
But instead of his fist pushing through or atleast staggering the being in front of him as Tannin expected.
The punch stopped dead.
The dragon's enormous fist was caught in his palm, as if it were nothing. A second later, he gripped.
And then threw.
The great Tanin was launched from the battlefield, his body soaring through the sky before—Boom. The dragon collided with the moon, carving a crater into its surface.
The Conqueror rose high above the chaos into the sky, before he unleashed his heat vision—the beams twisting and curving through the battlefield, weaving through his children and striking only his enemies. His attack was relentless, erasing hundreds of his enemies in mere moments.
He then stayed there in the sky, watching the slaughter unfold. His children butchered their enemies with ruthless efficiency, their laughter and war cries filling the air.
And he… smiled.
A nostalgic sigh left his lips. A strange, contented look in his steel-gray eyes.
"Hah… it reminds me of when I was just a child."
He had once been weak.
He had once been helpless.
He remembered.
He closed his eyes.
And he remembered the beginning.
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A lone space pod tore through the Dimensional Gap, its structure barely holding together. Sparks flew from its broken hull, cracks forming along its surface as it tumbled through the swirling chaos.
Inside, a baby cried.
The pod flickered, warping through the dimensions, vanishing for mere moments before reappearing in the skies. It burned through the atmosphere, its frame falling apart, exposing the child within. The sun's rays washed over him, golden light cascading over his tiny form. Before the pod warped again—now above a dark desolate wasteland.
Then—CRASH.
The wreckage lay in smoldering ruin. The pod, now molten slag.
From the distance, a hidden hatch opened beneath the earth. Shadows emerged—figures clad in dark robes, their eyes glowing with curiosity and apprehension.
Devils.
And what they found amidst the wreckage, the impossible—a child, unharmed, crying out into the silent wasteland.
A mere baby.
A being who would one day stand above them all.
And the world would never be the same again.