First Intergalactic Emperor: Starting With The Ancient Goddess

The old man’s eyes glowed brighter as he stared into the veil. ”That’s not failure, Luther. That’s survival. No vampire has ever done that—not even the gods we once worshipped.”

Luther opened his mouth but found no words.

Eryndor looked over his shoulder at him. ”So tell me, my dear great-grandson... if the prophecy said the one destined to rule all would awaken under the red moon, then perhaps you should ask yourself this—”

He pointed at the blood cocoon where Xavier writhed, gold light flickering within.

”—what if the prophecy never said it had to be a vampire?”

Luther stood frozen, words scraping out of him like gravel.

”You could be mistaken,” he said. ”Think about it. Our kind existed long before theirs. Even the prophecy that spoke of the True Lord never said when it would happen. And look at him—”

He pointed toward the blood veil where Xavier’s body twitched and convulsed, his breathing erratic. ”Even if we treat him, he’ll never walk again. How could such a disgustingly pitiful, broken creature be the Lord of the Universe?”

Eryndor’s expression didn’t change. ”That,” he said softly, ”is what we’re about to find out.”

He raised his cane and struck it once against the stone floor. The sound was deep, resonant—like a bell tolling through the entire mountain. The blood barrier shifted in response, forming concentric circles around Xavier’s limp body.

Luther’s eyes widened. ”You can’t—”

But it was too late. The old man had already called for it.

From the distant vaults beneath the castle, the guardians began to move. Each wore black armor engraved with ancient runes, and in their hands floated a sphere of liquid light—the Orb of Eternity. There were twelve of them, glowing like bottled stars. They carried them forward in silence, and even Luther lowered his head in spite of himself. The air itself vibrated under the weight of the orbs’ presence.

Eryndor motioned for them to circle the veil. One by one, they set the orbs down, forming a ring around Xavier. The moment the twelfth orb touched the ground, the chamber trembled.

”This is insanity,” Luther hissed. ”You’re burning twelve orbs for a human.”

Eryndor didn’t reply. His voice carried instead in the old tongue, each syllable resonating like a command to the blood that lived in every wall of the castle.

”Essentia aeternum, lumen sanguis... awaken.”

The orbs ignited at once. A surge of red and white light erupted, connecting all twelve into a blazing circle. The runes on the ground melted into liquid light, crawling toward Xavier’s body. His convulsing slowed—then his chest arched violently as if a lightning storm erupted within him.

The blood veil shattered like glass.

The entire chamber filled with a roar that wasn’t human. Not beast either. It was something old, ancient—like the sound of existence itself tearing for a breath. Luther stepped back, shielding his eyes, while the old man’s robes whipped in the storm.

The orbs burned brighter until they started dissolving, one after another, releasing streams of pure energy that poured straight into Xavier’s body. His veins glowed gold, his skin cracking and reforming in flashes. His wings, half-torn, restructured with layers of translucent armor.

But it wasn’t smooth. The power was too much. Every second, Xavier’s body broke and healed again, the cycle repeating faster and faster, until the whole process became a blur.

Even Eryndor, calm and composed as he was, clenched his cane with both hands. ”He’s not rejecting it,” he whispered. ”He’s consuming it. It’s like... it always belonged to him.”

Luther shouted over the noise, ”He’s going to destroy himself!”

”No,” Eryndor said. His eyes shone red now. ”He’s learning to survive it.”

Then, without warning, everything went silent.

The light faded. The air stilled.

Xavier lay on the ground, completely still. His wings were gone. His skin was pale again, but not human pale—like silver washed in moonlight. His hair was longer, and faint markings, shaped like runes, ran down the sides of his neck.

The Orbs of Eternity were gone. Not shattered. Gone.

Eryndor stared at the aftermath. ”Take him,” he said to the guards. ”To the Isolation Chamber. The ancient one below the crypts. Seal it with bloodsteel and essence runes. Let him rest until his form stabilizes.”

The guards nodded and obeyed. Chains of shimmering red wrapped around Xavier’s arms and legs as they lifted him and carried him away.

Luther turned to Eryndor, his tone half fury, half disbelief. ”Satisfied? We lost twelve orbs. That was eons’ worth of blood and sacrifice. And for what? A corpse that looks prettier?”

Eryndor didn’t answer immediately. He simply stared at the space Xavier had lain, then at the faint scorch marks left by the vanished orbs.

Finally, he said, ”You’re right, Luther.”

Luther blinked, thrown off. ”What?”

”You’re right,” the old man repeated calmly. ”He isn’t the Lord of the Universe.”

Luther scoffed. ”At least you still have some sense left.”

But before he could continue, Eryndor’s tone shifted.

”He’s meant for more than that.”

Luther froze.

Eryndor turned toward him, eyes burning crimson. ”That boy carries a bloodline older than ours. Older than any god we’ve ever cursed or worshipped. You felt it too, didn’t you? That pressure in your chest when he changed, when you were fighting him? That’s primordial inheritance.”

Luther frowned. ”Primordial? That’s a myth. The ancients who walked before light—creatures who devoured stars and bound gods in chains? They’re dead. How? How could something so powerful die and be killed? By something even stronger?” He scoffed.

Eryndor’s voice cut through him. ”They were. But blood remembers. Power remembers. And whatever flows through that boy’s veins—it’s theirs.”

Luther stepped back slightly. ”What are you saying?”

Eryndor rested both hands on his cane and looked toward the sealed chamber below. ”I’m saying, my dear great-grandson... the prophecy wasn’t about a ruler of the universe. It was about the return of what ruled before the universe. He isn’t destined to be a Lord.”

He paused. His next words fell like a verdict.

”He’s destined to become the Emperor of all living kinds. The heir to the bloodline that enslaved gods and made eternity kneel.”

Eryndor turned away, his voice low. ”Pray he never remembers what he is.”