My Taming System Makes Me Overpowered

So... they are actually making moves, Princess Barnaby thought, her face entirely devoid of its usual playful warmth as she hovered inches from Vince’s shoulder.

Her golden eyes burned with an ancient, smoldering anger. The cold sensation prickling across her ethereal skin wasn’t a fluke. The moment they stepped out of the subterranean cradle, her primeval instincts had screamed that an Upper Realm eye was scanning the lower rifts. But for the Six Sovereigns to unseal a literal Sanction—to dispatch a Celestial Executioner over a single mortal claiming a fraction of authority—meant one thing.

The old fools at the Obelisk were terrified.

The air itself seemed to thicken around the group as if the very atmosphere of the lower realm had been forced to acknowledge a presence that did not belong. Distant winds that had previously whispered through the cracked stone and sparse vegetation fell silent, replaced by a low, continuous pressure that pressed against every living thing in the vicinity. Dust motes hung motionless in the fading light, frozen mid-drift by the sheer weight of celestial authority. Even the faint residual mana that normally flowed freely through the ground had begun to recoil, retreating into deeper layers of the earth as though fleeing the arrival of something absolute.

”G-Ghh...!”

Behind Vince, a heavy thud echoed against the dirt path. Vetra had been forced down onto one knee, her boots grinding into the stone as she braced her hands against the earth. Her dragon-kin breath came in ragged, burning gasps, wisps of black smoke curling from her lips as her scales flushed crimson under the suffocating weight. Beside her, Elena was flat on her knees, her crystal slate slipping from her trembling fingers as the ambient pressure cracked her spectacles.

The Executioner hadn’t even raised a hand. His mere presence was a localized law—an absolute realm where lower-tier existence was forced to bow.

Vetra’s claws dug deep furrows into the hardened soil as she struggled to keep her head from striking the ground. Every muscle in her powerful frame trembled under the invisible force that sought to crush her into submission. The black smoke escaping her mouth carried the scent of scorched iron and ancient blood, evidence of her body fighting against the decree that demanded she kneel. Elena’s hands shook so violently that the shattered fragments of her spectacles scattered across the path like broken ice. Her lips moved soundlessly, attempting to form a protective formula that refused to take shape under the oppressive field. The crystal slate, once a reliable tool of precise calculation, now lay cracked and inert, its stored knowledge sealed away by the same law that sought to erase Vince’s claim.

Vince stood completely upright. The heavy coat draped over his shoulders snapped violently in the sudden static vacuum, but his spine remained straight, his boots rooted firmly to the earth.

Around him the air continued to distort. Tiny arcs of residual energy sparked and died along the hem of his coat, unable to sustain themselves in the presence of pure celestial decree. The ground beneath his boots showed no cracks, no signs of yielding, as though the earth itself recognized a will that refused to submit. Somewhere behind him, the strained breathing of his companions formed a harsh rhythm against the unnatural silence, yet Vince did not turn. His focus remained locked on the figure ahead, measuring, calculating, and waiting.

The Executioner lifted his right hand. Wrapped around his gauntlet was a pale, glowing parchment that dissolved into a blinding ring of golden runes above his head.

Those runes spun with perfect geometric precision, each symbol a fragment of law older than the lower realms themselves. Light from the circle washed across the bleached dirt path, turning every shadow into sharp, elongated shapes that pointed toward Vince like accusing fingers. The parchment’s dissolution released a faint scent of pure ozone mixed with something far older—stone that had never known weather, ink that had never been allowed to fade. The ring of runes stabilized, hovering in place as if the sky itself had been forced to hold them aloft.

”IN THE NAME OF THE OBELISK OF ABSOLUTE LAW,” a voice boomed—not through the air, but reverberating directly within the marrow of their bones. It was flat, synthetic, and utterly devoid of emotion. ”MORTAL USURPER VINCE. YOU STAND CHARGED WITH THE THEFT OF DIVINE ANCHORS AND THE ILLEGITIMATE CLAIM OF TRANSCENDENCE. ENACTING THE FIRST SANCTION: ERASURE OF AUTHORITY AND EXTRACTION OF THE SOUL.”

The words did not travel. They simply existed inside every listener at once, bypassing ears and language to plant themselves directly into thought. Vetra’s body jerked as the decree pressed harder against her dragon blood. Elena’s head dropped lower, her forehead nearly touching the dirt as the weight of absolute law sought to break what remained of her resistance. Even Barnaby, ethereal and ancient, felt the edges of the proclamation scrape against her golden essence like cold iron.

Vince tilted his head, his golden-purple eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at the plain porcelain mask facing him. A cold, arrogant smirk touched the corner of his lips.

”Erasure?” Vince murmured, adjusting his cuffs with practiced nonchalance. ”You guys really need a new playbook. I’ve already put down an entity that wielded absolute erasure power back home . You’re nothing new.”

The words left his mouth with deliberate calm, each syllable carrying the same measured weight he had used in countless confrontations across different worlds. His fingers finished smoothing the fabric of his cuffs, then settled loosely at his sides. The smirk remained, thin and sharp, a quiet challenge aimed at the blank porcelain surface that refused to show any reaction.

Vince, shut your mouth, Barnaby’s voice cut in—deadpan, sharp, and cold as ice.

Vince’s smirk faltered slightly. He flicked his gaze toward the invisible Goddess.

Don’t compare this thing to some mid-tier human you blew up with a brute-force shockwave, Barnaby warned, her golden aura tightening around his wrist like a vise as she locked his output down to its strict 5% threshold. That mask isn’t using lower-realm mana. He is carrying an absolute decree backed by the collective authority of six celestial seats. If his aura touches your bare soul directly, there won’t be a soul left to repair.

The invisible pressure of her presence coiled tighter, not in anger but in cold necessity. Golden threads of her authority laced themselves around Vince’s core, reinforcing the artificial limit she had imposed the moment the Executioner’s presence registered. She could feel the celestial decree probing for openings, testing the edges of Vince’s existence for any unprotected surface. One mistake, one uncontrolled surge of power, and the Extraction would begin before any of them could react.

Vince’s jaw tightened. The easy confidence in his chest settled into a razor-sharp, focused calm.

He no longer needed the smirk. The situation had moved beyond posturing into something far more precise. Every instinct he possessed, forged across lifetimes of conflict, aligned into a single point of concentration. The Executioner’s presence continued to press against him like a mountain of law, yet Vince’s stance did not shift by so much as a fraction of an inch.

The Celestial Executioner took a single step forward. The heavy celestial chains dragging behind him made a slow, rhythmic CLANG against the bleached dirt path. He raised his left hand, pointing two fingers straight at Vince’s chest.

Each link of the chains struck the ground with deliberate finality, the sound carrying farther than physics should have allowed. Dust rose in perfect concentric rings from the impact points and then hung suspended, unable to settle while the decree remained active. The Executioner’s porcelain mask reflected none of the golden light from the runes above. It remained a smooth, featureless surface that somehow managed to convey absolute certainty. The two extended fingers aligned with Vince’s sternum with mathematical precision, leaving no room for error or deviation.

”DECREE INITIATED,” the Executioner intoned. ”CEASE TO EXIST.”

A beam of pure, color-draining white authority erupted from his fingertips, slicing through the air with zero travel time—aimed directly at Vince’s core.

The white light did not illuminate. It subtracted. Color fled from the path it traveled, leaving only a corridor of absolute absence that raced toward Vince’s chest with the inevitability of a law that had already been written. Behind him, Vetra’s head snapped up despite the crushing pressure, eyes wide with the recognition of something that could not be blocked by ordinary means. Elena’s breath caught in her throat. Barnaby’s golden aura flared once in silent warning, holding Vince’s power locked at the exact threshold she had set. The beam closed the final distance, and the lower realm itself seemed to hold its breath in the instant before contact.