The Storm of Gods.
Nealon slumped back, her body heavy with exhaustion. Her mind spun like a wheel stuck in mud, unable to escape the weight of what she had just heard.
Krelious… a purebred ruler. Older. Wiser. Stronger than any of us.
Zielan stood nearby, his golden eyes unblinking. He nodded slowly, as if confirming a truth too terrible to deny.
"It's the truth," he said, his voice steady but grim.
Akermos let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples. The visions had haunted him for weeks—flashes of fire, screams in the dark, an ending so vast it swallowed everything.
"If you can see all," Akermos muttered, "then you've seen my visions."
Zielan's expression darkened, shadows flickering across his face.
"The war that will end everything… and birth a new era."
Nealon groaned, rolling her shoulders. His body ached from wounds that refused to heal.
"More fighting," she grumbled. "Less time to rest…
Zielan laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that echoed through the chamber.
"If we survive," he said, "peace will come. A golden age lasting billions of years."
Nealon managed a weak smile. The thought of peace was almost too strange to imagine.
"Whatever," he muttered. "I'm just glad Yoton is alive."
Akermos stretched, his muscles tense. He had heard enough. The weight of destiny pressed down on him, and he needed to move.
"I'm heading to the White Room to train," he announced.
Zielan stood, nodding. "Same. Nealon?"
Nealon sighed, shaking her head.
"I'm still recovering from my wounds," he said. "I'll rest."
With that, the rulers dispersed—each lost in their thoughts, each preparing for the storm to come.
The Meeting of Rulers Awaits…
The Weight of Power and Desire
Somewhere in the vast expanse of the cosmos, where gods and mortals clashed and love and war intertwined, a storm was brewing.
A Summons in the Halls of Power
The messenger's footsteps echoed through the obsidian corridors of the High Head's sanctum. Each step was quick, nervous, like a rabbit fleeing a predator. The messenger stopped before the grand doors, swallowing hard. Their throat was dry, their hands trembling.
"My Lord," they whispered, bowing low.
Nealon did not turn from the window where she stood, watching the cosmos beauty in display. Stars flickered like dying embers, galaxies swirling in endless motion.
"What do you want now, Messenger?" Her voice was tired, as if she already knew the answer.
The messenger swallowed again, their voice barely more than a breath.
"The High Head requests your presence in his bedchamber."
Silence.
A long, heavy silence.
The stars outside flickered, their light dimming for just a moment.
Nealon's spine stiffened.
"What?"
The messenger flinched but did not look up.
Nealon exhaled, slow and controlled.
"...Alright. I'm coming."
The messenger bowed again, relief washing over them—but it was short-lived.
"Then I shall take my leave," they said, vanishing into the shadows before Nealon could respond.
Alone now, Nealon clenched her fists, steeling herself against the storm ahead.
The Lion's Den
Krelious' bedchamber was a cavern of silk and sin.
Tapestries lined the walls, each one depicting wars of annihilation—entire civilizations reduced to ash, gods torn apart by their own pride. The bed itself was a monstrosity, carved from bone and draped in velvet, large enough to fit a dozen bodies.
The High Head lounged upon it, a goblet of wine in hand. His amber eyes glowed like embers in the dim light, watching the door with quiet hunger.
Knock. Knock.
"Come in," Krelious purred.
The door creaked open, and Nealon stepped inside. Every muscle in her body was tense, her jaw clenched tight.
"I am here as you requested, High Head," she said, her voice steady but cold.
Krelious smirked, swirling the wine in his goblet. The liquid was dark, almost black, reflecting the flickering torchlight.
"Yes," he murmured. "Thank you for coming."
He took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving hers.
"I believe you know why I called you here, Nealon."
Nealon's hands trembled, just slightly.
"No, my Lord," she said. "I do not know."
The goblet slammed onto the bedside table with a sharp clang.
"You shouldn't act like a human, Nealon," Krelious growled, rising from the bed. His shadow stretched across the room, swallowing the light. "Must you behave like an ignorant being?"
Nealon's breath hitched.
"I'm sorry, my Lord," she whispered. "But we cannot do this. It's a huge sin. You know that."
Krelious laughed—a sound like shattering glass.
"Sin?" he sneered. "Sin unto who? I am the Head of All Rulers—the most powerful of all! I make and destroy rules!"
His power pulsed, invisible but crushing. The marble floor beneath them cracked, spiderweb fractures spreading outward.
Nealon staggered, gasping for air.
"I-I'm sorry, my Lord," she choked out. "But I love another. I cannot possibly have sex with you. I don't even know if I can carry your offspring. You're... too powerful."
Krelious threw back his head and laughed again, the walls trembling with the force of it.
"Love?" he spat. "Your love for Yoton doesn't matter to me. I am only interested in making us stronger—and I can only do that with you."
Tears streaked down Nealon's face, glistening like shattered pearls in the dim light.
"Please, High Head," she begged. "Reconsider! I do not want to betray Yoton and his love for me!"
Krelious snarled, his patience snapping like a frayed rope.
"You fuck other races," he hissed, "and now, to carry my child, you call it betrayal? You're a fool."
Nealon crumpled to her knees, sobbing.
"I'm... I'm sorry, my High Head."
Krelious turned away, his voice a whip.
"Get out, Nealon. Now."
Nealon fled, her tears scattering behind her like drops of rain.
Alone once more, Krelious gripped the bedpost until the wood splintered beneath his fingers.
"Damn it!" he roared. "Betrayal? When she fucks other races? I am only doing this to secure our very existence!"
He whirled, bellowing into the void.
"Messenger! MESSENGER!"
The servant materialized instantly, shaking like a leaf in the wind.
"Y-yes, my Lord?"
"Tell Sted to come to my bedchamber. Immediately."
The messenger bowed, vanishing before Krelious could unleash another wave of fury.
The Receiver's Gambit
Far across the Reveiverse, in a palace of liquid gold, Azarel knelt before Carel.
"My Lord," she murmured, "we have accomplished all your orders."
Carel traced her jawline with a claw, his touch feather-light but possessive.
"That is good," he said. "Tonight, you will sleep in my chambers."
Azarel's breath hitched, her pulse quickening.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Take off your clothes," Carel commanded, "while I give out a message."
Azarel obeyed without hesitation, her skin gleaming like polished bronze in the candlelight.
Carel strode into the hall, his voice booming like thunder.
"King Saga!"
The king appeared instantly, bowing low.
"My Lord, what do you need?"
"Prepare 10,000 troops—strong, ruthless. I depart with them in two days."
"It will be done."
Carel returned to his chambers, where Azarel lay draped across his bed, more radiant than the last moonrise.
"Wow," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "You're even more beautiful than before."
Azarel smiled, slow and knowing.
"Thank you, my Lord."
Carel shed his robes, and the night dissolved into heat and hunger.
To Be Continued.