CHAPTER 381: CLIMAX OF COSMIC BIRTH

How did it feel to be under pressure? A pressure you couldn’t push away with all your power. The power of absolute authority.

It was heavy, suffocating, crushing, deep...

A god is descending!

Many whispered. They couldn’t even speak well, only whisper. That was the weight of what they were feeling. It was cosmic weight traveling across worlds. Debranlith and its multiple kingdoms, Old Gassendi, everywhere.

This is more terrifying than the birth of the dragon!

Those who knew a hint of what was happening whispered. The birth of a new race. They had lived long enough to tell.

This was the birth of a new race and very powerful one at that.

Ethan has become more terrifying!

Those who knew him could tell just from the presence of authority. Ethan was the cause of the chaotic balance happening.

...

In a crimson void, where white smoke spiraled endlessly like serpents of mist, Trevor sat enthroned upon the colossal remains of a crystal giant. The skeleton’s jagged frame shimmered faintly, each fractured rib and hollowed eye socket burning with ancient echoes of power.

A slow smile carved its way across Trevor’s face, sharp and unnerving. His elongated fangs caught the red gleam of the void, glistening like blades eager to taste blood. Then it came—the searing mark etching itself into his flesh, three interlocking rings that burned with authority and permanence.

Trevor’s breath caught as his body convulsed under the surge. His being bent, shifted, evolved. He felt himself rise, his power spiraling in violent currents as he broke through not one, but two thresholds at once. Every vein, every bone, every thread of his soul sang with new strength.

But alongside that exultation came the weight. It pressed down on him like the judgment of a god—unyielding, merciless, absolute. An authority that could not be denied. His knees buckled beneath its invisible command, and his body obeyed before his mind could resist.

Trevor bowed.

A low, breathless laugh escaped him, swelling into a grin stretched too wide, too wild. His crimson eyes burned feverishly as he whispered, voice trembling with anticipation and madness alike.

"I will be waiting for you, brother... Let’s show the world."

Behind him, the hollow sockets of the crystal skeleton ignited, twin beacons of red fire. The void quaked with resonance as if the ancient bones themselves shared his hunger. The colossal skull seemed to grin with him, its empty eyes glowing with anticipation of what was to come.

...

In Helheim, where obsidian spires clawed at the skies and rivers of fire painted the land in crimson glow, a castle stood—beautiful yet terrible, its walls woven from black crystal and brimstone veins. Inside its grand hall, two figures knelt upon the polished onyx floor, trembling beneath an invisible weight that pressed down like the judgment of eternity itself.

One had skin as dark as the abyss, her crimson hair flowing like molten fire down her back. The other’s skin was pale, radiant in contrast, his long hair shimmering with purplish-pink hues that caught the glow of the burning chandeliers.

Geraldine and Xander.Mother and son.The Paragon of Sins and the Sin of Lust.

Their bodies shook under the crushing presence, their breaths shallow, their hearts near collapse. For Xander, every second was agony; his blood boiled, his muscles trembled, and he felt as if the very marrow of his bones was unraveling.

But Geraldine—Lilith—was different.

Through the suffocating heaviness, she remembered.

The day of ascension.The day when darkness itself gave birth to a race.The day Lucifer seized the abyss and wore it as his crown.

The day she became Lilith, Demon Empress, mother of Sins, eternal Paragon of what the world most feared.

And now, as the weight crushed her anew, she felt him. Not a dream, not an echo—him. His aura, sharp as rebellion, heavy as fate, eternal as fire. Though changed—older, deeper, more absolute—it was unmistakable.

Lucifer. Her master. Her first love. Her eternal half. Her soulmate, beyond death, beyond sin, beyond forever.

Something inside her snapped.

Her horns cracked with an audible shatter.

Xander gasped, horror twisting his features. For demons, the breaking of horns meant one of two things: regression into ruin... or evolution into something beyond.

And his mother... she had already reached the pinnacle. She could not evolve. Unless— unless the impossible was happening. Unless all the Sins were aligning once more.

"Mother?!" His voice cracked with panic, his pink pupils shrinking.

But Geraldine only smiled, serene and radiant, a smile that silenced his breath and froze his blood.

"Do not fear, my little Sin," she whispered, her voice caressing the air like silk laced with thunder. "Your father has spoken to me."

Xander’s heart stopped. His eyes widened.

"You mean... you’re evolving? But—into what? Don’t tell me—" His words tumbled over each other in a frenzy, almost choking him.

Geraldine laughed—low at first, then rising, rich and wild, echoing through the crimson halls like the hymn of a goddess.

"Hahahahaha! At last! Do you feel it, Xander? Do you feel the abyss trembling?!"

Her broken horns shimmered, then melted into streams of scarlet light that reformed above her head—no longer simple horns but a regal crown of infernal majesty, sharp and flawless, gleaming with runes of primordial sin.

Her aura burst outward. Helheim roared

. Volcanoes cracked and erupted, spewing torrents of flame into the blood-red skies. The earth quaked, splitting open in rivers of molten rock. Every demon, from the lowest wretch to the mightiest duke, fell to their knees as her essence flooded their souls.

It was overwhelming, undeniable, absolute. The aura of their beginning and end.

The Demon Empress reborn.

And then—just as suddenly—the crushing weight that had plagued Helheim vanished, as though the heavens themselves had withdrawn their gaze. Only Lilith’s aura remained, wrapping around the Demon Realm like a cloak.

With or without her Sins, with or without Lucifer at her side, she was still Lilith. Eternal. Irrefutable. Empress of Demons.

Xander’s breath shook as he stared at her, half in terror, half in reverence. In that moment, he realized: Helheim no longer trembled because of Lucifer’s shadow. It trembled because Lilith had risen again.

...

In a grand citadel surrounded by sprawling gardens and endless emerald fields, a throne of obsidian and gold loomed high within the central hall. Upon it sat a man carved as if from the bones of ancient power itself, his presence suffocating, his face carved in cold majesty.

His hair, black as midnight, fell in twin braids tipped with molten gold that gleamed like the treasures of a dragon’s hoard. His eyes—deep, reptilian pools of gold—glimmered with both ageless wisdom and ruthless hunger. From his brow curved four regal horns, black and gold-scaled, arcing like crowns forged by creation itself.

He was the Dragon Emperor.He was Fafnir—the First Dragon.

The air quivered with every breath he drew, the weight pressing upon him heavy enough to crush mountains. Yet his body, honed through eons of supremacy, resisted. His golden eyes blazed brighter, and slowly, deliberately, he forced back the unseen oppression clawing at his throne.

His lips curled, and his voice rolled out like thunder cracking across storm-ridden skies.

"Emperor of Anbord..." he murmured, though no soul stood before him. "It seems fate has woven our paths to cross sooner than it should have."

The crushing weight lessened, as though even it acknowledged his defiance.

But the reprieve only stoked his ire.

"I do not know what you have become," his voice deepened, scales of power rippling through every word, "but I know this—your existence threatens me. And threats to the Dragon Emperor..."

His aura exploded, a tidal wave of draconic might surging outward like a living storm. The lush gardens outside withered, stone trembled, and even the winds bent in submission. His tail lashed against the marble floor with a deafening crack, shaking the citadel to its roots.

"...are destined to be erased!"

His roar shattered the air, resonating through the skies of his dominion, echoing to the farthest reaches of dragonkind. It was not just a challenge. It was a declaration—a war edict etched in blood and flame.

For that was who he was, and who he had always been.

Fafnir. The First Dragon. The Dragon Emperor.