*Content Warning: This chapter contains mature themes, violence, blood, and morally dark actions. Reader discretion advised.*
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After Void began to move, the empires responded just as he foresaw: alliances forged from desperation, the elite assassins summoned from hidden clans, ancient powers waking to sniff out his trail. Hunting him was a spectacle, a performance staged for gods and mortals alike.
He walked into Eternal Zenith Empire with unhurried steps and a shroud over his face. The city was a bramble of noise and humanity—market vendors hollering, guards clanging their spears, beggars clawing at travelers, children darting between carriages.
Void's eyes were cool, disinterested. "Too noisy. Too many eyes. Troublesome." He sought out an inn where anonymity was bought and suspicion was the only constant.
Inside, smoke curled from lanterns and mistrust sharpened the inn master's gaze.
"Who are you, lad? Why are you covering your face? Up to trouble?"
Void met the suspicion with feigned self-pity, voice low and ragged: "A scar. I dislike showing it. Just a room for the night. I'll be gone by dawn."
The inn master's greed rose above his doubt as Void let a gold coin clink on the counter.
"A gold coin, eh? Up the stairs, second floor, last room on the right. What's your name, stranger?"
Void's lips curved in an empty smile. "Call me anything. Names are temporary."
As Void climbed the stairs, the inn master muttered, "Gold coin for a cheap room, yet acts oblivious… isn't right." His suspicions lingered, but for Void, they were of no consequence.
The room was cramped, damp, barely fit for habitation. But Void needed no luxury—only a vantage to observe, a temporary den.
"I might kill that innkeeper if he becomes troublesome," he mused, utterly unruffled.
He sat by the window and looked out onto chaos: three men beating a skinny boy, demanding coins and respect. Their laughter was sharp and venomous.
Void's face remained an impassive mask. "Weakness is a curse. No one pities the prey. "The strong should never apologize for being strong. The weak should never complain for being weak. If you cannot rise, you are nothing but fertilizer for those who can."
He felt no urge to interfere—nor any disgust—only the acknowledgment of an eternal law.
War was brewing; apostle agents and their followers were moving everywhere. But it was all just a game—a test of moves, psychology, and patience.
Void's mind unraveled the likely sequence. "Once I leave this inn, assassins will strike. If they fail, their superiors will trigger alarms, and the city's swordmasters will descend. I'll bleed them dry, one by one, until the world becomes my stepping stone. I care not for the means—so long as victory is certain."
He pondered his next evolution: "A skill that can move me between worlds. Then I become uncatchable. If only Origin Collapse was usable—I would annihilate these gods instantly. But the Void Expanse binds me, at least for now. I wait, I plan, I survive."
Packing his meager provisions, Poisoned blades, special stones, Void melted into the labyrinth of alleys. The city's elite stalked him—more than 50 assassins threading through the dark, waiting for isolation.
He blended with their expectations, thinking, "They want me away from crowds—they fear collateral damage. Smart. But they have not measured my ruthlessness."
Leaders sent coded instructions among themselves—"Code 0052, move! Warn the empire. Spread word: the demon seeks to slaughter innocents. Call the whole swordmaster corps if you must."
Void's lips curled as he felt their net closing and let Echo of Silence veil him. All traces of his presence faded, invisible even to the gods. But a new sensation pricked his senses—a ripple of threat rippling through the world.
Above, the gods debated.
"The brat's in place. Strike?"
"No. He's too cunning. Could be a trap. Send the apostles instead. Followers are expendable."
Orders rippled through divine networks. Followers and apostles alike moved not just in this world, but across others—realm-crossing agents sowing terror, following vague traces, tearing apart cities and sects with zeal.
Even concealed, Void smirked to himself, "So, they have moved the apostles onto the field. If only they would come themselves—how regrettable, that gods can only move pieces, never risk their own hands."
The apostles spread, mysterious and monstrous. Some were radiant like paladins; others, living shadow, or shimmering with unearthly power. Paths of destruction formed wherever they hunted, but their target was a ghost.
Yet, Void noticed something odd: despite Echo of Silence, a few apostles seemed to sense fragments of his presence. A needle of concern pricked his mind.
"So they are tracking me—even through silence? A curse, a divine artifact, or simply intuition? Or perhaps betrayal, though I tolerate none in my service… If this persists, it could become a true threat."
He played deeper games, sending false traces—illusory auras, scattered tokens of power, red herrings designed to lure apostles into deadly traps. In remote districts, some apostles fell upon decoys and slaughtered each other by mistake, brief flashes of divine fury followed by frustrated black silence.
On a rooftop, Void paused, looking over the city warily.
"These are the apex predators the gods trust? Pathetic. If they struggle now, what hope when real danger comes?"
Beneath the moon, confusion and panic grew: rumors of a "demon" spread, apostles interrogated, crowds fled or surrendered on rumor alone. The Empire's elites found themselves trailing the apostles, never quite knowing whether to attack or hide.
Void, drifting in and out of sight, delighted in this chaos. The more apostles and followers entered the hunt, the wider the trap closed around them—and the more gods themselves grew restless.
"They think me prey, but soon, they will understand: the real hunter never moves first. He lets the hounds exhaust themselves on shadows and dust."
"To the strong, all things are game pieces. The world's outrage is only the howling of the herd—irrelevant, forgettable. Only outcome and profit matter."
As the night deepened, Void moved once more, each step calculated, posture relaxed, but every sense alert for the apostles sure to come next. For now, he was content to wait and watch as the gods blundered, their arrogance blinding them
He let out a low laugh—cold, pitiless.
"This gamble is large, but so is my reward. When this game ends, the gods will remember: the one they called demon was always the wolf among sheep."
And so he vanished once more into the Empire's night, leaving only fear and uncertainty for those naive enough to hunt him.