The silence of the void lingered long after the whispers faded, but Megumi's heart still pounded. That throne wasn't just a relic—it was a prison, and the chains around it were failing.
Megumi knew one thing: knowledge was power. If he was going to stop what was coming, he needed to understand who this being truly was.
⸻
He left the ruins of the throne behind, pushing deeper into the void. Hours—or maybe days—passed without sense of time. Then, finally, he stumbled upon something unexpected: a library, carved into the very bones of the abyss.
Ancient black stone walls stretched into infinity, lined with floating tomes that glowed faintly with golden script. They were untouched, undisturbed since the dawn of existence.
Megumi reached out, his hand brushing against one of the books. The instant he touched it, the knowledge flooded his mind.
⸻
Visions.
He saw an age before Olympus. Before even the Titans. A time when the First Fallen King ruled not with a council, but alone—his will absolute, his armies stretching across creation. He had been more than a god, more than a titan. He had been a singularity of power, a being so complete that the gods who came after could only imitate him in fragments.
But his flaw was arrogance.
The visions showed the First Fallen King turning against his own kind, devouring power endlessly, until even the Primordials—the very embodiments of Night, Chaos, and Time—had risen together to strike him down.
It had taken everything to defeat him. Not destroy—seal.
The black throne was forged from his very essence, and the chains of light came from the combined sacrifice of countless Primordial beings.
And yet… even sealed, even stripped of dominion, his power never diminished. It simply waited.
⸻
The vision shattered, and Megumi gasped for air. He was trembling, sweat running down his face despite his immortal body.
"That… thing…" Megumi whispered. "He's not like the gods. Not like the titans. He's something else entirely."
As if in response, the library trembled. Several tomes flew open at once, pages turning rapidly as though trying to reveal something else. Megumi walked closer, his eyes catching on a single phrase written in countless tongues.
"The successor must fall for the king to rise."
Megumi's eyes widened. His breath caught in his throat.
"…Me."
The First Fallen King's awakening wasn't random. The seal fed on conflict, feeding on the bloodshed and chaos Megumi himself had unleashed in his war against Olympus. The throne recognized him—his aura, his rage, his crown of vengeance—as the perfect vessel.
It wasn't just awakening.
It was calling to him.
⸻
Megumi slammed the book shut, his aura flaring with defiance.
"No," he growled. "I won't be your vessel. I won't be your successor. I am me—Megumi Valentine. Not your shadow."
But deep in the void, the throne pulsed again, as though laughing at him.
And for the first time, Megumi realized the true danger wasn't just the First Fallen King awakening.
It was that the throne wanted him to sit on it.