First Intergalactic Emperor: Starting With The Ancient Goddess

Xavier sat down on the edge of the mat after Viola disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water echoing faintly through the apartment. He rubbed a hand over his face, his breathing still calm and steady, not even a hint of strain in his lungs or his muscles. He should’ve been drenched in exhaustion after that session. Viola had been relentless, her techniques sharp, her strength far above normal humans, and yet she had been the one gasping for air, while he stood like nothing touched him.

His fingers tightened on the towel draped around his neck. Was this... because of Zephyros’ blood? The thought sent a ripple of unease through him. It lined up too neatly—the unnatural stamina and the lack of fatigue.

But he shook his head almost immediately. ”No,” he muttered under his breath. ”Not confirmed. Could be a coincidence. Could be something else entirely.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes narrowing. ”If it is the blood... then I don’t know its limits. I don’t know what it’ll do to me. Or when.”

Xavier left Viola’s apartment and went to his. He took a nice and long bath and went to Seraphina’s restaurant to eat something. Later, he put on the smart glass when he received the text from Angel about her arrival at Alexander’s penthouse with Eamon.

The atmosphere inside the penthouse conference hall was sterile, too polished, like the shine on something that had already begun to rot. Rows of chairs gleamed beneath the overhead lights, the massive screen on the far wall pulsed with the Sterling Corporation’s emblem, and the long table in the middle sat waiting, dressed for an audience that would never come.

Except there was no audience. Just Angel and Eamon. Their calm contrasted sharply with Ethan, who was pacing behind the table like a man balancing on thin glass. His usual smug confidence had cracked, replaced with a thin layer of anxiety poorly hidden behind his faint smile.

He had greeted them politely enough, but his eyes kept flicking to the doors, expecting more people to pour in any second. None did.

At last, Ethan muttered something about ”a slight delay” and excused himself. He disappeared into Alexander’s office, fingers flying across the console’s controls, pulling up the auction backend.

His brows furrowed deeper with each flick of his hand. The listing had gone through. The numbers were all there—views, clicks, insights, the works. Yet... not a single bid request. Not a single buyer logged into the system. Impossible. He refreshed twice, but same result.

”This doesn’t make sense,” Ethan whispered, rubbing the back of his neck. ”It’s visible. It has to be visible...”

Still, the numbers didn’t lie. And now, with time already bleeding away, he decided he couldn’t stall. If no buyers were coming, then he would make do with what was in front of him.

When he stepped back into the auction hall, his expression was taut, pale as wax but wearing the mask of composure. He returned to his seat, smoothed out his jacket, and cleared his throat.

”Well,” Ethan said, voice steadier than his eyes. ”It seems... today’s proceedings will be less of an auction and more of a direct negotiation.” He forced a small laugh, then gestured toward Angel and Eamon. ”So. Let us discuss the terms of the contract.”

Angel leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, her lips curving into the faintest of knowing smiles. Eamon’s silence was heavier, his gaze steady as if already reading Ethan’s every thought.

The mission had begun, and everything was unfolding exactly as Xavier had planned.

They moved from the silent rows of empty chairs to the negotiation table. Ethan tried to keep the facade, shoulders straight, voice even, as if a full audience was still watching him. He poured water into the glasses himself, smiling thin but careful.

Eamon, however, didn’t waste time. He introduced himself first, almost meekly. ”I am Eamon, founder and CEO of Lumen Industries,” he said, tone polite, his frame shrinking into the chair like he wasn’t used to these kinds of rooms. Angel slid a sleek black card and a thin folder across the table, adding, ”And I handle Lumen’s finances.”

Ethan leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, fingers tapping the polished wood. ”Sterling Corporation has always been unmatched. Wide network. Unshakable roots. We’ve led every market we’ve stepped into.”

His smile tightened as Angel corrected him softly, her words cutting like a scalpel: ”Had.”

The flicker of anger showed in his jawline, but Ethan smothered it under his salesman charm. He cleared his throat and flipped a thick contract onto the table, pushing it toward Eamon and Angel. ”Terms are straightforward. The name ’Sterling Corporation’ remains untouched. Final, executive decisions will still rest with me. Power of attorney, naturally, stays in my hands. All restructuring will need my approval, and of course, any subsidiaries created under Sterling branding will funnel revenue into Sterling’s central account.” He rattled on, voice smooth, each clause more absurd than the last.

Angel skimmed the pages, brows lifting higher with each line. ”These terms are... ridiculous,” she said, her tone sharp. ”You’re asking for authority without responsibility. These aren’t conditions for a buyout, they’re shackles.”

Ethan’s gaze snapped to her. The smirk returned, poisonous this time. ”I believe I’m making a deal with the founder and CEO of Lumen Industries, not his accountant. Let the man speak.”

The moment hung heavy. Up until now, Eamon had been soft-spoken, deferential, almost timid. But then he let out a long and heavy sigh, and unfastened the top button of his collar. His posture straightened, eyes sharpening like steel sliding from a sheath. He slid the contract back across the table toward Ethan with a deliberate hand.

”I’m not interested in this deal anymore,” Eamon said, his voice carrying no emotions.

Angel blinked, startled by the transformation. The timid old guy who had walked in wasn’t the same man sitting across from Ethan now. For a moment, she saw a reflection of Xavier—the calm veneer flipping, a sharper, colder edge taking its place. A dangerous certainty.

She thought to herself, ’It runs in the family, doesn’t it? No wonder Xavier trusted him so much.’