The Abyssal Throne Plane pulsed — slow and rhythmic — like the heartbeat of a universe not yet ready to be born.
He sat upon the Black Throne, silent, watching.
Around him, the world began to take shape.
It was not sudden.
Creation never was.
The silver mist thickened, coiling into rivers that twisted across the dark stone like veins of living moonlight.
Mountains erupted from the abyss — not jagged and brutal, but smooth and terrible, shaped by his silent will.
The sky, once a hollow mirror, blossomed with a thousand dark suns, their light faint and cold — enough to reveal, but never to comfort.
A world of beauty.
A world of power.
A world made for gods.
And he — he alone — was its King.
The system chimed in his mind, stronger now:
[System Stabilization: 5% Complete.]
[Creation Function: Activated.]
[First Life Authorization: Approved.]
He considered.
"First life…"
"It must be worthy."
"A reflection of my will — but never my equal."
He reached into himself — not into flesh or chakra, but into pure concept, into the endless font of authority that no system could quantify.
From his will, he shaped her.
The air before the Throne shimmered, twisted — a single point of silver-gold light spinning faster, faster, until even the Plane bowed toward it.
And then —
She stood.
She was breathtaking.
Hair that fell in silken rivers darker than the void, threaded with soft glimmers of light.
Skin like the first snowfall on an untouched world.
Eyes — oh, her eyes — vast and endless, galaxies collapsing in their depths.
She was beauty made manifest.
Power clothed in grace.
His first child. His first Empress.
She knelt without command, forehead pressed to the obsidian floor, her presence warping the very air with silent reverence.
He rose from the Throne, stepping down.
For a moment, he simply looked at her — not with affection, but with something deeper, something ancient: acknowledgment.
He placed a hand upon her bowed head, his voice echoing through the Plane:
"You are mine — my firstborn of my race, shaped from the marrow of my authority."
"I name you… Seraphis."
The name burned into the Plane itself.
Reality shivered in recognition.
[New Entity Registered: Seraphis.]
[Designation: Empress of the Silent Abyss.]
[Primordial Bloodline: Direct Descendant.]
[Loyalty: Absolute.]
At his silent command, the Plane shifted.
Beside the Black Throne, another throne rose from the stone —
beautiful, silver-flamed, forged of starlight and shadow.
But it did not rise to the same height.
No.
It stood one step lower.
Forever a reminder.
He was the Supreme.
She was the Chosen.
She would stand at his side — closest of all — but never above him, nor ever equal.
And Seraphis, his Empress, understood.
Without hesitation, she rose and took her place upon her throne, head bowed in silent devotion.
The Plane — the stars, the mountains, the rivers — roared in approval, though no sound was heard.
The Outskirts Clan had begun.
An Emperor.
An Empress.
Two thrones.
One world.
And soon, an eternity to conquer.
He sat once more upon the Black Throne, folding his wings behind him, surveying the newborn empire at his feet.
His fingers curled slightly.
"This is only the beginning," he said.
And the void — for the first time — whispered back:
"Yes, my King."