The Abyssal Throne Plane pulsed—slow and rhythmic—like the heartbeat of a universe still slumbering, not yet ready to be born. The rhythm was subtle, yet absolute. Every pulse echoed his will. Every silence answered to his throne.
He sat upon the Black Throne, unmoving, silent, watching as the vast emptiness began to bend under the weight of his presence. Around him, the world responded—not with chaos, not with fire, but with reverence. With obedience. It was not sudden. Creation never was. It unfolded slowly, layer by layer, blooming from nothingness like an ancient flower long buried in frost.
The silver mist thickened, swirling and dancing through the plane. It wove itself into rivers of moonlight that split the dark stone like veins beneath the skin of a sleeping titan. Mountains rose from the abyss—not jagged or wild, but graceful and vast, formed from the silent pressure of his will. Smooth, monolithic, perfect.
Above, the sky cracked open. Where once there was only void, now hovered a thousand dark suns. They cast no warmth, only revelation. Their pale, steady light was not meant to comfort—it was meant to illuminate, to expose, to proclaim that this realm belonged to a being beyond understanding.
A world of beauty.A world of power.A world made not for mortals, but for gods.
And he—he alone—was its King.
Then the system stirred again, stronger than before, like a student ready to serve its master's vision:
[System Stabilization: 5% Complete.][Creation Function: Activated.][First Life Authorization: Approved.]
He leaned forward, expression unreadable.
"First life…"
His voice was a murmur, but in the Plane, it was law.
"It must be worthy. A reflection of my will… but never my equal."
He did not reach outward. He reached inward—not into flesh or chakra, but into the core of who and what he was. Into the infinite font of authority that defined him. And from that truth, from that concept, he willed her into being.
The space before the Throne shimmered. A single point of light—silver and gold, burning with purity—twisted violently. Faster. Brighter. More profound than any star. The Plane bowed as reality itself bent to accommodate what was emerging.
And then… she stood.
She was breathtaking.
Her hair fell like rivers of silk, darker than the void, yet veined with glimmers of celestial light. Her skin was flawless, like the first snowfall on a world never touched by time. Her eyes—oh, her eyes—were galaxies imploding into eternity, beauty and destruction dancing in eternal union.
She was more than form. She was majesty. Power wrapped in grace.She was his first child.His first Empress.
And she knelt.
Without hesitation. Without pride. Without prompting. Her forehead touched the obsidian stone, and the very air warped around her in reverent surrender. Not to a god—no, she was made from one—but to her creator, her King, her everything.
He rose, stepping down from the Black Throne. For a time, he simply looked at her—not with affection, but with something older. Something sacred. He acknowledged her. And that alone was worth more than love.
He placed a hand gently on her bowed head. His voice rolled through the Plane, echoing not through sound, but through law.
"You are mine," he declared. "My firstborn of my race, shaped from the marrow of my authority."
"I name you… Seraphis."
The name did not merely echo—it engraved itself into the Plane. Reality acknowledged it. The stars blinked in recognition.
[New Entity Registered: Seraphis.][Designation: Empress of the Silent Abyss.][Primordial Bloodline: Direct Descendant.][Loyalty: Absolute.]
At his unspoken command, the Plane shifted again. Beside the Black Throne, the stone rippled and rose. Another throne took shape—smaller, more delicate, but no less divine. It was forged from starlight and shadow, crowned with silver flame.
But it stood one step lower.
Always one step lower.
It was a reminder—etched not in cruelty, but in law—that she was not his equal. She was his chosen. His Empress. His beloved creation. But never Supreme.
And Seraphis understood.
Without a word, she rose and took her place beside him, her head bowed once more. Her presence pulsed with power, but it remained perfectly still—perfectly obedient.
The Plane responded.The mountains hummed.The rivers glowed.The stars flickered.
No sound was heard, yet approval roared across the Abyssal Throne Plane.
The Outskirts Clan had begun.
An Emperor.An Empress.Two thrones.One world.
And soon, an eternity to conquer.
He returned to the Black Throne, folding his vast wings behind him. His gaze stretched far across the world he had summoned—his empire still raw, still growing. But his will had anchored it. His authority had birthed it.
He curled his fingers slightly.
"This is only the beginning," he said.
And then—for the first time—the void answered.
"Yes, my King."