They had done it. The cosmic inheritance had been sealed—barely—within the valley’s dimension. No leaks. No breaches. No witnesses.
Taryn sat quietly at the center of the hall, eyes closed, a faint glow still clinging to his form. The air around him had changed. It wasn’t just power—it was legacy. Destiny.
“My lord,” Damion said carefully, approaching.
Taryn opened his eyes.
“It seems I’ve caused a bit of trouble.”
The retainers looked slightly disheveled, sweaty along their brows.
“Only a minor incident,” Damion replied with a polite smile. “The inheritance triggered a celestial phenomenon. We contained it.”
“Good work.”
At that moment, Fenrir materialized—towering and shadow-cloaked. His voice rumbled in refined, archaic diction.
“My lord, urgent matters await. The phenomenon echoed in your physical world. Investigators will soon arrive. I have but one clone remaining—your cosmic energy is running low.”
Taryn blinked, a little surprised.
“You can talk?”
“I speak only when necessary.”
Taryn rose.
“Then I should return.”
Before he could depart, Imp stepped forward, her eyes wide.
“My lord… I never finished giving you the palace tour.”
Taryn placed a gentle hand atop her small, violet head.
“Next time. I look forward to it.”
The other retainers stiffened in place, stunned.
Imp’s eyes sparkled.
“Then I won’t disappoint the lord,” she said with a sweet bow.
Did… she gain his favor already? the others thought, unsettled.
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Ox cleared his throat.
“Before you go, might I ask… what was the inheritance?”
Taryn smirked.
“I was about to tell you… then I remembered how often you kept things from me.”
The smile was subtle. Cold. Regal.
The retainers forced polite reactions, but internally they flinched.
It would appear the lord has cultivated his petty side. How lovely, Imp mused, twirling a lock of hair with a wicked grin.
Ox, silently heartbroken, maintained his usual blank poker face. He had risked his life for those books. He deserved to know… didn’t he?
Sheba, however, smiled beneath her veil. Mystery made a man more alluring.
“I should go,” Taryn said at last.
His form shimmered—then vanished as he withdrew into his physical body.
The throne room fell quiet.
“So,” Ox asked cautiously, “what do you think it was?”
Damion crossed his arms.
“A God Sovereign inheritance. By the phenomenon alone. And from the aura... it’s of the Netherworld.”
Realization dawned.
Ox’s eyes widened.
“Then it’s… the Undead God Sovereign.”
“Indeed,” Damion confirmed.
Ox leaned against a pillar.
“I never imagined I had a God Sovereign scripture in my collection. Fascinating.”
Damion turned to the others.
“Sheba. Imp. You are to guard and guide him directly from this realm.”
Sheba nodded. Through dreams, she could access Taryn’s thoughts—advising him through subconscious whispers. As a succubus bound to his sigil from birth, her soul was tied to his. If he died, so would she.
Imp remained still, the shadows in her eyes hiding her depth.
Her reach was vast. Across worlds, her fanatical cultists spread like hidden roots. She had agents even in Taryn’s plane.
Many years ago, it was Imp who orchestrated the arrival of the Merlin Moon—the only one of its kind among the three suns that lit Taryn’s world. Drawn from a distant realm, its orbit stabilized through unspoken means, the moon served one purpose: to strengthen the dimensional resonance needed for the awakening of a future Sovereign of a Domain.
She had placed operatives—cultists—quietly within the sect and academy. Not to dominate, but to guide. One of them had been a lecturer who subtly altered Taryn’s exams, not to fail him, but to challenge him. To sever his roots from mediocrity. To encourage a detachment from the mundane that would prepare him for greater things.
It was not manipulation born of cruelty. It was reverence. The kind of reverence reserved for something sacred yet unfinished.
She had watched him for years. Not to control him—but to ensure that when the time came, he would be ready. Not perfect. But close.
Still… one variable had strayed from her foresight.
Xara.
Imp had never considered her a true threat. Loyal. Emotional. Fragile. She was supposed to be a footnote—an emotional tether that would be severed in time.
But Xara had changed everything.
Her interference—the choice to follow Taryn, to save him with her own life force, to imprint her sigil onto his heart—had altered his destiny in ways even Imp could not predict.
It was because of her that Taryn’s heart became undead. That time itself stilled within his chest. And it was her sigil that destabilized his human composition just enough—tilting his physique toward the chaotic.
That shift had made him eligible to receive the Undead God Sovereign’s inheritance.
A result that worked in Imp’s favor.
Though the process was violent—and the risks many—Taryn was now more than she ever dared hope for.
I should thank her, Imp thought.
Not out of affection. And certainly not out of respect.
But because, unknowingly, Xara had helped craft the Sovereign Imp desired—one touched by death, bound by chaos, and shaped to rise beyond the heavens.
For now, she would protect Taryn. Advise him. Guide his steps toward Sovereignty.
But if he ever learned just how much of his fate had been sculpted by her hand…
—then even she, the first devil of Gehonom, might not escape his judgment.