Night arrived.
Yet darkness never ca.
The sky above the Sinclair Domain looked as though reality itself had been wounded.
Golden fractures spread across the heavens.
They were not cracks in clouds.
They were cracks in existence.
Radiant light poured from those impossible wounds, illuminating the world below in a holy glow that sohow felt more terrifying than darkness itself.
Every person trapped within the barrier stared upward.
So prayed.
So cried.
So could only tremble.
None understood what they were witnessing.
Even the strongest nobles present felt insignificant.
Even Godfrey Sinclair.
The Celestial Saint remained kneeling upon shattered stone.
His forehead touched the ground.
His body refused to obey him.
The pressure pouring from Eternia’s body exceeded reason.
Exceeded common sense.
Exceeded everything he had ever known.
And for perhaps the first ti in centuries, Godfrey Sinclair felt genuine fear.
Above him floated the First Dream.
Not Eternia.
Not the silver-haired girl.
The ancient entity that wore her body as a vessel.
Golden ether flowed from one side of the vessel.
Crimson-black ether flowed from the other.
The powers intertwined.
Neither dominating.
Neither yielding.
Perfectly balanced.
Perfectly horrifying.
Then the First Dream spoke.
Its voice cut across the battlefield like a blade drawn across glass.
"Sacred Art."
The atmosphere froze.
Every sound vanished.
Every breath stopped.
Even the wind seed unwilling to move.
"Saint of Heaven."
BOOOOOOOM!
The sky erupted.
Massive halos manifested behind Eternia’s body.
One.
Ten.
A hundred.
A thousand.
Countless golden circles rotated through the heavens.
Each carried enough divine authority to crush ordinary souls.
Then the angels appeared.
Thousands of them.
Beautiful.
Perfect.
Terrifying.
Their armor shone brighter than stars.
Their wings stretched across entire sections of the sky.
Each carried weapons forged from radiant ether.
Yet none smiled.
None showed compassion.
Their faces were completely expressionless.
Like executioners awaiting orders.
Then the First Dream spoke again.
Its voice deepened.
Darkened.
"Executioner of Hell."
The earth answered.
The ground beneath the Sinclair Domain split apart.
Cracks raced across the landscape.
Mountains trembled.
Buildings collapsed.
Ancient foundations shattered.
From beneath the earth erged rivers of crimson ether.
The terrain transford.
Stone beca blackened bone.
Fields beca wastelands.
Dark towers rose from nowhere.
Monstrous silhouettes erged from the shadows.
Countless ghouls climbed upward.
Twisted beings ford from nightmare and mory.
Creatures that should not exist.
Creatures that belonged only in ancient legends.
Above—
Heaven.
Below—
Hell.
Between them—
The ruler of both.
The First Dream.
For the first ti since the battle began, Lucien Valebrook’s smile disappeared.
Not because he was afraid.
Because he finally understood.
This wasn’t rely an enemy.
This wasn’t rely a powerful opponent.
This was a being whose existence touched sothing far older than civilization.
Far older than kingdoms.
Far older than history.
The First Dream slowly looked down at him.
Their eyes t.
And for a brief mont Lucien felt sothing strange.
He felt studied.
Like prey.
Like an insect pinned beneath glass.
The sensation lasted only a second.
Yet it unsettled him.
The First Dream clasped its hands together.
Lucien’s instincts exploded.
Danger.
Extre danger.
The pressure in the air multiplied.
The heavens shook.
Reality groaned.
Then ca the words.
"Divine Art."
Every person within the barrier felt their souls shudder.
Not because they understood the technique.
Because sothing inside them instinctively recognized the authority behind it.
The First Dream ford an ancient seal.
A symbol older than language.
Older than empires.
Older than recorded ti.
Then it spoke.
"Sanctified Sanctuary."
The world broke.
Golden gates appeared beyond the clouds.
They stretched beyond sight.
Beyond distance.
Beyond understanding.
Cathedrals manifested among the stars.
Massive angelic choirs appeared.
Their voices echoed across reality.
Below them descended endless legions of heavenly warriors.
At the sa ti the ground beca a nightmare.
The blackened landscape transford into a kingdom of ruin.
Ancient skeletons rose from forgotten graves.
Dark giants erged from abyssal chasms.
Legions of infernal creatures climbed from the depths.
The battlefield itself beca a domain.
A separate world.
A kingdom ruled entirely by the First Dream.
Lucien stared.
Then laughed.
Not because he found it amusing.
Because he finally understood.
This battle would determine far more than victory or defeat.
The First Dream smiled.
Then pointed.
Thousands of angels descended.
Thousands of infernal creatures surged forward.
The battlefield moved.
Lucien moved first.
Space folded.
The distance between him and the charging army vanished.
His Soul Script activated.
Dinsional Overlord.
One of the most terrifying authorities in existence.
The power to command dinsions themselves.
Distance.
Shape.
Structure.
Direction.
Space.
Reality.
Everything beca a weapon.
A single gesture transford the battlefield.
The charging army suddenly found itself kiloters away.
A second gesture compressed mountains into stones.
A third unfolded entire sections of terrain.
The landscape warped around him.
The First Dream watched.
Interested.
Fascinated.
Then Lucien raised all four arms.
Ether exploded outward.
His body transford.
Muscles expanded.
Additional eyes opened.
Additional arms erged.
Space twisted around him.
Reality struggled to decide how many dinsions his body occupied.
Then he roared.
"Sacred Art."
The Sanctuary shook.
"Conqueror of Dinsion!"
BOOOOOOOM!
The battlefield shattered.
Buildings beca paper-thin.
Pebbles beca towers.
Distances collapsed.
Perspectives twisted.
The world lost stability.
And for the first ti—
The First Dream laughed.
A genuine laugh.
A real laugh.
Not mockery.
Not arrogance.
Excitent.
For countless ages the entity had observed.
Manipulated.
Guided.
Rarely had it fought personally.
Rarely had it found soone worth testing.
Yet now—
Its vessel was weak.
Incomplete.
Far weaker than in previous tilines.
And the opponent before it was strong.
Very strong.
The sensation felt wonderful.
The First Dream slowly descended.
"Interesting."
Lucien imdiately attacked.
Space folded.
He appeared directly before the entity.
His fist moved.
Reality cracked around the strike.
The First Dream raised a hand.
The punch connected.
The shockwave obliterated everything nearby.
Mountains collapsed.
The sky split.
The Sanctuary trembled.
Yet neither moved.
Lucien’s eyes narrowed.
The First Dream smiled.
Then struck back.
The counterattack landed.
Lucien was launched across kiloters of terrain.
The landscape folded around him as he stabilized himself.
The battle truly began.
Lucien attacked again.
The First Dream t him head-on.
Their fists collided.
The resulting shockwave flattened forests.
Lucien shifted dinsions.
The First Dream responded with raw mastery.
No wasted motion.
No wasted ether.
Every movent perfect.
Every strike precise.
The battle accelerated.
Reality began failing around them.
And sowhere deep within its ancient existence—
The First Dream experienced sothing it had not felt in ages beyond counting.
Anticipation.
For the first ti in a very long ti...
The outco interested it.
The battlefield had ceased resembling a battlefield.
It no longer resembled a city.
It no longer resembled a kingdom.
The Sinclair Domain had beco sothing else entirely.
Sothing closer to a nightmare.
Sothing closer to a mory from before creation.
The Sanctuary created by the First Dream stretched across the horizon.
Golden heavens lood above.
Infernal wastelands sprawled below.
Countless angels descended through radiant clouds.
Countless demonic entities erged from rivers of crimson ether.
The entire world seed caught between divinity and damnation.
And at the center of everything stood the First Dream.
No.
Not stood.
Hovered.
Watched.
Judged.
The ancient being observed the battlefield through Eternia’s silver eyes.
Yet those eyes no longer belonged to a child.
They belonged to sothing that rembered civilizations no longer recorded in history.
Sothing that rembered stars that had already died before this universe was born.
The First Dream slowly raised one hand.
Its command spread through the Sanctuary.
Instantly.
Absolutely.
The souls answered.
Thousands upon thousands of souls erged from the crimson wastelands.
Ancient warriors.
Forgotten kings.
Dead saints.
Long-extinct monsters.
Beings harvested from worlds beyond counting.
Each carried fragnts of authority.
Fragnts of mory.
Fragnts of power.
The sight alone caused countless nobles to collapse.
So could not even comprehend what they were seeing.
Others understood too much.
Both reactions led to terror.
"Clear the battlefield."
The command echoed softly.
The army moved.
Imdiately.
The dead surged toward every surviving creature trapped within the barrier.
The Sanctuary ca alive.
And Lucien Valebrook moved.
Space shattered around him.
The Void Monarch crossed kiloters instantly.
The battlefield folded like paper.
The dinsional authority surrounding him erupted outward.
Entire streets twisted.
Buildings changed position.
Collapsed towers suddenly reappeared hundreds of ters away.
Families found themselves relocated behind protective barriers before they even understood what had happened.
Lucien’s four eyes moved constantly.
Calculating.
Predicting.
Managing.
Protecting.
His Soul Script worked continuously.
Dinsional Overlord.
A power capable of commanding space itself.
A power that allowed him to manipulate the shape of reality.
Yet even Lucien understood a dangerous truth.
There were too many.
Far too many.
The First Dream watched everything.
Then smiled.
A small smile.
An amused smile.
The smile of a player observing a difficult ga.
"Still protecting them."
Its voice echoed.
Lucien ignored the comnt.
His four arms moved simultaneously.
Space folded.
Thousands of charging souls vanished into isolated dinsions.
Others beca trapped within spatial prisons.
Several powerful entities found themselves compressed into tiny points no larger than grains of sand.
Yet more kept coming.
Always more.
The First Dream’s collection seed endless.
Because perhaps it was.
The ancient being had existed for a ti that could not be asured.
How many souls had it claid?
How many worlds had fallen before it?
The answer terrified even Lucien.
Then the battlefield exploded.
The First Dream vanished.
Lucien reacted instantly.
Four-dinsional perception warned him a fraction of a second before impact.
He twisted.
The axe missed his neck.
The mountain behind him did not survive.
The entire mountain disappeared beneath the strike.
The resulting shockwave carved a canyon across the Sanctuary.
Lucien retaliated imdiately.
One arm pointed forward.
Space collapsed.
The area surrounding the First Dream compressed violently.
Mountains folded inward.
Air itself beca solid.
Reality attempted to crush the vessel from every direction.
The First Dream simply smiled.
Then punched.
The compressed dinsions shattered.
Like glass.
Lucien felt genuine surprise.
Not fear.
Surprise.
The First Dream shouldn’t possess enough raw power to accomplish that.
Yet it had.
Through perfect execution.
Through impossible mastery.
Every movent contained no wasted ether.
Every attack carried flawless efficiency.
The Sacred Art remained active.
Saint of Heaven and Executioner of Hell.
A technique transforming the vessel into a perfect conduit.
Nothing wasted.
Nothing lost.
Nothing imperfect.
Then the First Dream spread all four arms.
The transformation continued.
The heavenly side radiated golden authority.
Runes illuminated Eternia’s skin.
Ancient symbols flowed across her body.
The infernal side looked entirely different.
Dark armor covered its form.
Jagged claws extended.
Crimson energy leaked from every movent.
The contrast looked impossible.
Yet sohow natural.
As if Heaven and Hell had always belonged together.
The chain lashed outward.
Lucien shifted dinsions.
The chain followed.
Space folded.
Distance changed.
The chain ignored both.
The First Dream laughed.
"Interesting."
The chained weapon struck.
Lucien blocked.
The impact shattered multiple dinsional layers.
A nearby district vanished.
The abyss below expanded further.
Entire sections of land collapsed into darkness.
The Sanctuary groaned.
The battle escalated.
The sword descended.
Golden authority illuminated the battlefield.
Lucien responded.
A building beca a pebble.
The pebble beca a fortress.
The fortress beca a shield.
The sword split everything apart.
The axe followed imdiately.
Lucien compressed distance.
The weapon should have missed.
Instead it struck anyway.
The First Dream had predicted the movent.
The chained mace descended from above.
Lucien barely avoided it.
The impact erased an entire section of terrain.
Neither combatant slowed.
Neither yielded.
The Sanctuary continued breaking.
Reality continued screaming.
And still the battle intensified.
The First Dream felt excitent.
Genuine excitent.
A rare feeling.
An ancient feeling.
It rembered another battle.
A battle before stars existed.
A battle against beings whose nas reality itself had forgotten.
The sensation felt similar.
Perhaps that was why it smiled.
Perhaps that was why it laughed.
Perhaps that was why it wanted more.
Far more.
Then suddenly—
Its attention shifted.
Sothing caught its interest.
A presence.
A familiar presence.
A very familiar presence.
The First Dream stopped attacking.
For only a mont.
Lucien imdiately noticed.
His instincts scread.
Opportunity.
Danger.
Both.
The ancient being slowly turned its head.
Its gaze pierced the battlefield.
Pierced the collapsing districts.
Pierced shattered foundations.
Pierced underground tunnels.
Its vision traveled downward.
Far downward.
Toward the remains of what had once been an underground warehouse.
The battle had destroyed most of the terrain above.
Roads were gone.
Buildings were gone.
Entire districts had collapsed.
What remained exposed was a ruined warehouse now open to the sky.
And standing within that warehouse—
Etherius Draven Sinclair.
The silver-haired boy froze.
A chill ran down his spine.
He did not know why.
He did not understand why.
But every instinct scread.
Sothing had noticed him.
Sothing dangerous.
Sothing ancient.
The Seven Spirit Refined Elixir remained in his grasp.
Dust drifted around him.
The battle above continued.
Yet suddenly the noise seed distant.
Muted.
Insignificant.
Because sowhere far above—
A pair of eyes had locked onto him.
The First Dream stared.
Silence spread across the battlefield.
Even Lucien noticed the change.
The Void Monarch followed the gaze.
His expression darkened imdiately.
Etherius.
The Axis of Gateway.
A variable that should never be near this battlefield.
A variable capable of changing futures.
The First Dream’s smile slowly widened.
The expression carried recognition.
Understanding.
Interest.
Far more interest than it had ever shown Lucien.
And that terrified the hidden Void Monarch.
Because for the first ti since the battle began—
Lucien realized this fight might never have been the true objective.
The First Dream softly spoke.
Its voice carried across the battlefield.
Across the Sanctuary.
Across the broken landscape.
A whisper.
Yet everyone heard it.
"Look who finally entered the board."
Far below, Etherius felt his blood run cold.
The battle continued.
The Sanctuary trembled.
The abyss expanded.
Yet at that mont—
The attention of an ancient entity older than history had settled upon one boy.
And the consequences of that realization had only just begun.
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