THE CRONOVERSE: MEETING OF ALL
The air thrummed with the weight of stars as the gathered luminaries of existence stood in the Hall of the cronoverse, a coliseum carved from the bones of dead galaxies and lit by the pulsating hearts of newborn stars. The floor shimmered with the echoes of a thousand civilizations, and the vaulted ceiling stretched into the void, where constellations rearranged themselves in reverence. At its center, upon a throne forged from the first light of creation, sat King Krelious. His presence was a gravitational force—eyes like smoldering supernovar, a crown woven from the threads of time itself, and a voice that resonated through the marrow of reality.
KRELIOUS rose, his cloak of cosmic dust billowing as silence fell like a guillotine.
"I want to thank you all for coming," he began, the words vibrating through dimensions. "I am happy to see that we have decided to leave our grudges behind—ashes of old wars scattered into the abyss. Today, we unite under one banner, one purpose: a rule of prosperity, where the verses shall thrive as one under my hand."
The crowd erupted. The applause was not mere sound but a seismic wave—a chorus of clapping hands, clashing swords, and roaring supernovas. The very fabric of the Cronoverse trembled in agreement.
Then, from the ranks of the assembled, strode Nealon, her armor etched with the sigils of forgotten pantheons. She ascended the dais, her voice a blade of certainty slicing through the lingering doubts of the multiverse.
"Now is the time," she declared, "for us to cast aside the shadows of division. No more shall the verses bleed for petty dominion. No more shall the weak be crushed under the heels of tyrants. Under King Krelious, we swear an era of peace—not the peace of graves, but of gardens. A peace that grows, that endures."
A murmur of awe rippled through the hall. The gods of the Quantum Realms nodded; the Titans of the Void crossed their arms in solemn approval.
Zielan, the Herald of Oaths, stepped forward next, his form flickering between mortal flesh and celestial fire. "So we call upon every one of you," he intoned, "to pledge your oaths—not with hollow words, but with the weight of your eternal souls. Swear loyalty to King Krelious, and let the cosmos bear witness."
Akermos, the Arbiter of Allegiance, raised a hand, and the hall's light dimmed save for a single beam illuminating the path to the throne. "Come forth," he commanded, "the High Gods of the Universe. Lead by Gaal, the the high god of the universe ."
And so they came. Gaal, whose beard was woven from comet tails and whose eyes held the patience of collapsing stars, led the procession. The High Gods knelt as one, their knees cracking the marble of reality itself.
"We pledge," Gaal spoke, his voice the rumble of tectonic plates, "to uphold the laws of the Crown. Our might, our wisdom, our very essence—yours to command, King Krelious."
Akermos smiled, a crescent moon of satisfaction. "Excellent. Now, let the Multiverse's Supreme Beings step forward. Let Sarel, the Arc God, speak for the multiverse."
All eyes turned as Sarel descended. His golden armor burned with the light of a hundred suns, his dark hair a river of night spilling over his shoulders. Four white wings, each feather a frozen lightning bolt, spread behind him as he knelt. His blue eyes—purer than the heart of a neutron star—locked onto Krelious.
"My King," Sarel vowed, "we promise upon the blood of our ancestors and the fire of our souls to obey your laws. Our loyalty is unbreakable, our service unending. The Royal Family shall reign eternal in our hearts."
The hall shuddered. The oath was not just spoken; it was etched into the walls of time.
Akermos, his voice now a thunderclap, turned to the final assembly. "Now, let the Starverse Chief Gods answer. Let Hendi, the Sovereign of Celestial Flames, pledge the allegiance of the starverse."
And as Hendi rose, the very stars leaned closer to listen...
Hendi, the Overseer of the Starverse, strode forward with deliberate steps, his robes shimmering like the distant galaxies he governed. His gaze, unyielding and cold, locked onto the figure seated upon the throne—Krelious, the self-proclaimed King of Realms.
"I will not swear my oaths and loyalty to one who claims himself as king," Hendi declared, his voice echoing through the vast chamber like a storm gathering on the horizon. "Especially one who is not fit to bear the title."
Akermos, the Wrath Incarnate, surged forward, his crimson armor clashing violently against the silence. "You little bastard!" he roared, his voice a thunderclap of fury. "You dare mock our king in our presence?" His hand twitched toward the hilt of his blade, the air around him crackling with barely restrained violence.
But before the hall could erupt into chaos, Krelious raised a single hand. His presence alone was enough to still the storm. "Stand down, Akermos," he commanded, his voice calm yet laced with an undercurrent of absolute authority. "The rest of you as well."
Hendi laughed—a sound both mocking and resigned. "I know you can easily destroy me, Ruler," he admitted, his tone dripping with defiance. "But that will not make me change my mind. The title of king, that throne—it belongs to us, the Gods. Not to you, not to any mortal who dares to sit upon it."
From the shadows emerged Makus of the Void Race, his form shifting like liquid darkness. "Huh?" he sneered, his voice a distorted whisper. "What the hell are you talking about? The throne clearly belongs to us. Yes, the Rulers have sat upon it for millions—no, billions—of years. But that doesn't change the fact that we were here first. We are the Third Beings of Creation. It is our birthright to rule!"
Akermos's rage flared anew. "I will not stand by and watch you all insult the king!" he bellowed, his aura igniting like a supernova. "Now, you all must die!"
Yet before he could unleash his wrath, the entire hall trembled. A crushing wave of energy erupted from Krelious, so immense that even the mightiest of beings were forced to their knees. The very fabric of reality groaned under the weight of his power.
"Shut your mouths, you little creatures," Krelious intoned, his voice now a blade of ice. Instantly, silence reigned.
Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Krelious rose from his throne. His eyes burned with a cold fire as he surveyed the assembly. "If you all so desperately want my throne," he said, his words dripping with challenge, "then by all means, come and claim it. If you possess the strength. If you possess the will."
The hall remained deathly still. Not a breath, not a whisper—only the oppressive weight of Krelious's challenge hanging in the air like an executioner's axe.
After what felt like an eternity, Akermos exhaled sharply and stepped back toward the throne. His fury had not abated, but even he knew better than to defy Krelious's command. "Hendi," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Overseer of the Starverse. Come. Pledge your loyalty."
Bound by Krelious's overwhelming energy, Hendi had no choice but to step forward. His body moved against his will, his defiance stifled by the sheer force of the king's power. As he opened his mouth to speak the oaths—
Footsteps.
Slow, deliberate, echoing through the hall like the tolling of a funeral bell.
A figure emerged from the shadows, clad in robes woven from the fabric of forgotten time. With a single gesture, they halted Hendi mid-speech, freezing the moment in place.
The assembly turned as one, their gazes locking onto the intruder—the one who dared interrupt the will of Krelious.
NEXT CHAPTER ✓
ACT 18: ECLIPSE OF THE GODS.