The entire Void had been stirred into motion by the approach of the World-Ending Feast.
It was more than just a gathering—it was a convergence of power drawn from countless worlds devoured by the Void over eons. Every time the Feast was held, Void Overlords emerged from it sated, their essence replenished.
But even those beneath them—Void Lords, Void Marshals—had a chance at transcendence. There had been a precedent: a lowly Void Marshal, fortunate enough to participate, had once evolved into a Void Lord through the energies of the Feast alone
The benefits for existing Void Lords were even more significant. Power among them was not equal—some Void Lords could annihilate others with a thought. Ascending meant survival.
Among these apex predators was one whose name invoked instinctual dread: Delku, the Omen-Hybrid.
Loyal servant of the Empress of Deathly Stillness, he had served her for over a billion years. And among his many depraved habits, one stood out—he fed on other Void Lords.
A colossal starship carved its way through the deepest reaches of the Void. The vessel was vast beyond comprehension—its hull stretched dozens of kilometers, resembling some monstrous entity born from the Abyss itself.
The air around it shimmered with an oppressive aura of deathly stillness, suffocating and cold.
This was the Imperial Palanquin of the First Sovereign Court.
Within its abyssal interior stood Delku, robed in black, his hood shadowing a grotesque, multi-eyed visage. Beneath his feet writhed three distinct shadows, each exuding a presence that twisted space itself.
Delku’s power lay in the creation of Omen Seeds—manifestations of catastrophe. When planted within a world, these seeds would drown it in calamity: plagues, earthquakes, infernos, tidal waves… entire realms had perished under his touch.
How many civilizations had he snuffed out in silence?
Within the First Court, few dared oppose him. His name alone invoked silence and submission. It was Delku, after all, who often ran the Court’s affairs during the Empress’s slumber. In many ways, he was the Court’s de facto Grand Administrator.
This voyage was no different. As preparations for the World-Ending Feast commenced, Delku naturally assumed the mantle of commander.
“Lord Delku!” The elite gathered within the vessel greeted him with deep reverence as he appeared. The expressions on their faces were solemn, wary.
“Time to destination?” Delku’s voice was dry and calm, like brittle parchment dragged across bone.
“We estimate three days, my lord,” a Void Marshal replied with perfect posture and lowered head.
Delku gave a nod, then added with faint lethality in his tone, “The young prince has only just returned to the Void. This Feast shall be a time of great growth for him. Wipe out anything ahead of the palanquin. I don’t want his rest disturbed.”
His pitch-black eyes flickered with a cruel glint. “If anyone dares disrupt him… they will face my Shadow Prison.”
The words alone sent tremors down the spines of the gathered Marshals. The Shadow Prison was Delku’s infamous signature—a realm of eternal torment where time twisted, pain magnified, and screams never ended.
More than one Void Marshal had been broken inside it. For Delku, it was not only a weapon—it was his hobby.
Just then, a new presence entered the chamber. A soft, yet unmissable voice echoed: “Lord Delku.”
He turned, his gaze settling on the figure that had appeared behind him. It was Arwyn, the Witch of Calamity.
“Arwyn…” Delku’s lips twitched slightly—a smile, or something like it. It was a grotesque thing, as if his very face had forgotten how to curve in such a way. After all, it had been countless years since Delku had smiled at anyone.
Despite holding the same rank, Arwyn’s status within the Court had never been high. Her power, while respectable, paled in comparison to his. If he wished, Delku could crush her with a flick of his finger.
In the past, she had always spoken to him with the utmost deference—and he had barely acknowledged her existence.
But now… things were different.
She was now Prince Qin Xian’s personal attendant.
Word had it the prince was pleased with her. And in the First Court, that meant everything. Even someone like Delku now considered her with weight.
“Lord Delku,” Arwyn said with her usual gentle, modest smile. “His Highness requests your presence.”
Delku’s eyes flashed. For the briefest moment, his thoughts stilled. Then, without hesitation, he nodded and followed.
In mere moments, Delku arrived before the prince’s private dimension—a personal space embedded within the palace ship, anchored across multiple sub-realities.
He paused at the entrance.
Delku had lived through uncountable epochs. He had feasted on gods, consumed realms, and survived wars that shattered dimensions.
But now, standing before this door, he felt something he hadn’t in eons.
A sliver of nervousness.
Because the being behind that door… was someone who could decide everything about his fate.
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