The Void stirred.
It was not a sound. It was not a sight. It was something far deeper—something that could not be measured or perceived by mortal senses. It was the first twitch of existence beneath his fingertips, a subtle quiver of raw reality responding to the presence of a being who had not simply returned... but awakened. A god did not arrive. He was.
Within the infinite silence, the system flickered again inside his mind.
[System Initialization: 2% Complete…][Authority Stabilization: 5%... 6%...]
He remained seated upon the Black Throne, unmoving, his posture regal without effort. Each breath he took was slow and deliberate, resonating with a cadence that unraveled the fragile fabric of nothingness around him. With every exhale, the shapeless dark bent further to his presence, fragments of light—faint, trembling, terrified—beginning to flicker at the edges of existence like newborn stars unsure if they should dare to shine.
"Creation..." he mused, voice a low murmur that shaped the atmosphere around it. "So fragile at first."
And now he remembered—not faces, not names, but the feeling. The sensation of once having lived a life smaller than this one. A life where he had walked among crowds who never saw the god imprisoned in flesh and bone. A life that ended as quietly as it began, with no legacy, no mourners. Forgotten. Meaningless.
But that life was over.
This time, he would not be born. This time... he would be the birth.
The system chimed again, louder now, more confident in its structure.
[Core Abilities Locked: Pending Host Stabilization.][Racial Authority Detected: Primordial Ōtsutsuki.][Mandatory Quest: Establish Domain.]
A slow smile tugged at his lips, sharp and knowing. "A domain," he said aloud, his voice thickening the newborn space as if the sound itself had mass. "A kingdom before a people. A throne before the crown."
The Black Throne pulsed beneath him in acknowledgement, a living monument built not from stone, but from pure will. He lifted his right hand lazily. From his fingertips spilled faint strands of violet-black energy, curling into the emptiness like smoke weaving a tapestry. They stitched through the void, lacing it with threads of something new.
It would not be a world. Not yet.
It would be a plane. A foundation. A perfect and empty canvas vast enough to hold the weight of destiny. A stage upon which gods, monsters, and legends would one day dance.
[World Seed Initiated.][Abyssal Throne Plane - 0.001% Constructed.]
The blackness recoiled, buckled, and cracked like thin ice. The Void peeled away to reveal something older, deeper: a horizon of swirling silver mist, a floor of glistening obsidian stone, and a sky with no stars—only the potential for stars. The Throne remained at the center of it all, the only anchor in a storm of unraveling nothing.
And for the first time, He stood.
The act was simple. The consequence was cataclysmic. The very fabric of the newborn plane screamed in response, tectonic plates of dreamstuff grinding together as if the multiverse itself were adjusting to his presence. Winds that had never existed howled into being, carrying no scent but fear.
He placed his feet upon the dark stone floor, and with that single act, reality crystallized. The Abyssal Throne Plane was his now—his first home, his first kingdom. Empty. Silent. Waiting. As it should be.
Another system chime echoed through the still air, strained but persistent.
[Warning: Host exceeds stabilization protocols.][System Adaptation Required.][New Title Unlocked: "God of the First Silence."]
A soft chuckle rumbled from his throat. "A title…?" he whispered, amused. "How quaint."
And yet, it pleased him. Not for pride, but for purpose. Symbols mattered. Names carried weight, and the weight of this one would only grow. He turned his gaze outward, casting it across the infinite plain he had summoned with a thought. Somewhere, far beyond the edge of what even gods could see, something stirred.
Not yet.Not soon.But eventually.
Others would come. They would crawl toward the warmth he had kindled, drawn like moths to the shade of his throne. Some would worship. Some would rebel. All would kneel.
Eventually.
He reached up and casually plucked a fragment of void from the air. It shimmered like a star that had never learned how to shine. Holding it between two fingers, he whispered, "Let there be…"
He crushed it.
The Abyssal Throne Plane convulsed as the spark vanished, and across its surface, pinpricks of light flared to life. Not stars—no. Seeds. Possibilities waiting to be chosen. One day, he would let them bloom into beasts and brilliance—creatures, civilizations, entire clans that would carve their own legends.
But not today.
Today, he remained alone. And he would savor it.
The silence was his first loyal subject. And loyalty… loyalty mattered.
He returned to the Black Throne, now seated not in void, but in a dominion of his own making. He closed his eyes.
Waiting.Patient.Inevitable.