CHAPTER 427: THE END OF SULBIAN GALAXY

Without flourish, without even the need for stance, Asher lifted the weapon and waved it once.

The void screamed.

The calamity beast froze mid-lunge. Its colossal body seemed to resist for an instant—but then reality itself complied with Asher’s motion. A perfect seam split down the center, from the crown of its head to the last joint of its tail.

And then, like a star cleaved in two, it fell apart.

Not just flesh was severed. Its essence—its soul core, the very anchor that made it a calamity—was cleanly divided, snuffed out before it could even realize death had claimed it. Both halves drifted past Asher’s still-sitting form, dissolving into ash-like motes that scattered into the eternal void.

Asher exhaled slowly, lowering the scythe, his gaze following the fading remnants. "So fragile," he murmured. "And yet feared as if it were a god."

Behind him, far in the distance, King Sulbian’s fleeing figure had already vanished into Sulbian. He hadn’t seen the strike—he hadn’t dared to look back. But Asher sat there still, calm as eternity, the last echoes of his scythe’s law rippling through the galaxy’s edge.

The calamity beast’s sundered halves drifted apart, its blood and essence scattering through the void like molten stars. Asher’s scythe dissolved into motes of red light, and with a simple wave of his hand, all that chaos condensed. The shattered flesh, the split soul, even the broken core—everything shrank into a single small bead, glowing like a fragment of eternity. That bead pulsed once in his palm, alive with destructive will.

It was the Essence Core, forcibly created by Asher. Not a natural treasure, but one refined by his own power, and made to serve his designs. With it, he could feed his own calamity beast, hastening its rise until it stood shoulder to shoulder with monsters of this level. He closed his hand over the bead, tucking it away as though it were nothing more than a trinket.

His gaze shifted outward. Past the wreckage of the slain beast, the Sulbian Galaxy spun faintly, a vast cluster of lights on the edge of Volarisa’s cosmic curtain. He narrowed his eyes. "That’s next."

But before he moved, the fleeing king reappeared. The Sulbian Emperor stumbled into the threshold of Volarisa’s galaxy, face drained, soul quivering. When he saw Asher rising from his cross-legged position, he froze, shoulders sinking. His lips trembled before he forced words through clenched teeth.

"If I had any choice... I would not be here," the king rasped. His once-proud crown hung cracked, his robes torn from the chase. "You must understand—I had to act. If it was not your galaxy, it would have been mine."

Behind him, the corpse of the calamity beast still bled into eternity, its shredded aura suppressing every ounce of his courage. The Emperor shuddered as he spat out his final plea:

"Kill me if you must. But... spare my people. Spare the Sulbian Galaxy. I only did what was necessary."

His voice cracked, torn between desperation and defiance.

Asher stood still, his eyes cold and measuring. Then, without word or gesture, the Emperor’s body convulsed. His veins split open from within. His blood turned against him, spearing through his chest like crimson thorns. He gasped, eyes wide, and in a heartbeat his life ended—not by Asher’s hand directly, but by his own corrupted blood, enslaved under Asher’s dominion.

The lifeless body floated in the void. Asher reached forward, catching the corpse as though it were simply another piece of war spoils. He stared at it for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"I didn’t want to do it," he muttered, almost idly. "But punishment is order."

Then, with the Emperor’s fall sealing his claim, Asher turned his gaze upon the Sulbian Galaxy.

Already, the bonds of rule shifted. The crownless empire, stripped of its king, now bent toward him. Threads of authority, invisible yet binding, wrapped around his throne. The Sulbian line was broken; the galaxy’s destiny rewritten.

Asher extended his hand. Slowly, inexorably, the galaxy bent its will, and he seated it upon his cosmic throne.

Asher sat upon the blackened throne, the Throne of Ten Stellar Galaxies, its vast constellation-like engravings glowing faintly with each pulse of power he fed into it. But this time... it shifted. The runes rearranged themselves, the sigils expanding outward, bending to accommodate something greater.

The Sulbian Galaxy, bound and trembling under his dominion, was being pulled into the throne’s architecture. The stars themselves shivered as if resisting, but the Throne was absolute—its essence was to claim, to enslave, to bind. With a resonant hum, the eleventh seal ignited, and the Sulbian bloodline that had ruled for millennia screamed through the void as their sovereignty was stripped away.

"Now..." Asher whispered, his eyes glowing with that faint crimson glint, "...your empire is mine."

The void itself seemed to ripple at his declaration.

Yet as the Sulbian Galaxy was absorbed, the Throne itself shifted into something more dreadful. A halo of black-red light surrounded him, like a miniature cosmos being forged at his back. The galaxies bound into it weren’t just decorations—they were living, beating hearts of dominion, chained together by his will. And now, with the Sulbian seal binding itself into place, the Throne of Ten Stellar Galaxies was no longer ten. It was eleven.

The galaxy itself felt the decision. The Sulbian worlds resisted at first, millions of cultivators and soul-warriors screaming in defiance, but their rebellion was meaningless—their very fate had been shackled to Asher’s throne. The moment the throne’s sigil branded their skies, every star bent, every empire kneeled.

Asher leaned back lazily, his voice like the toll of a final bell.

"If it cannot rise with me, it will die. Serve the throne, or perish. There is no third path."

The galaxy yielded.

And then his gaze turned slowly, almost reluctantly, back toward Volarisa. His own galaxy. The one he had fought for, bled for, and left unclaimed—out of respect, perhaps, or out of an old sentiment. But now? Now he sat at the seat of eleven galaxies. Now he bore calamity beasts as his hounds, and the throne pulsed with hunger.

"What if another calamity beast descends while I’m gone?" Asher muttered, his voice carrying through the infinite dark. "Who will protect Volarisa then? Who will shield it from a predator... if not me?"

The throne pulsed with agreement, as if demanding the answer itself.