The coronation chamber had been cleared of all but the most essential personnel. Where hours before thousands of Anunnaki nobility, my subjects, had gathered to witness my ascension, now only Nergal and Ereshkigal remained, along with a handful of technicians operating the dimensional surveillance equipment.

  I sat upon the Black Throne—still warm from the ceremony that had been so abruptly interrupted—feeling its ancient power integrate with my own. The living metal of the seat had already begun reshaping itself to my form, acknowledging me as Supreme Ruler in my parents’ absence.

  Their ‘absence.’ Such a diplomatic way to phrase murder.

  "Report," I commanded, my voice echoing in the vast emptiness of the hall.

  A technician—one of our most skilled clairvoyants—stepped forward, her luminous eyes rightfully downcast in deference. "Supreme Ruler Enzu, my Lord, we have triangulated the dimensional signature of the the half-breeds. They materialized on Earth, in the region designated as Leyline 3, Zone 6, Sector 9."

  "The site of the event," Ereshkigal noted, her perfect features tightening almost imperceptibly. The only current outward sign of her rage at her daughter's betrayal.

  "Precisely," I confirmed. "Where the Prince and Princess met their end. Where our parents—" I paused, still unable to fully process the reality, "—were killed."

  The memory of the emergency council session replayed in my mind. The shock as our monitoring systems detected the impossible—our parents' signatures extinguishing nearly simultaneously. The chaotic aftermath as power structures a million years in the making suddenly destabilized. And beneath it all, the unspoken fear: if one lesser being could accomplish such a feat, what might others be capable of?

  "The trajectories cannot be coincidental," Nergal observed, his massive frame prowling the perimeter of the throne dais like a caged predator. "First the Solar Sovereign and the Light Bearer uncover forbidden knowledge. Then they die opposing us. Now our own kin flee to the exact location?"

  "Ophelia was always a disappointment. Her betrayal is unsurprising." Ereshkigal exhaled coldly.

  I raised a hand, silencing them both. Siblings we might be, but ancient rivalries would not serve us now.

  "Regardless of whose progeny bears the greater blame, we face the same threat." I turned to the lead technician. "Establish a direct clairvoyant link to Sector 9. I want to see exactly what our wayward daughters are doing."

  "Supreme Ruler," the technician began hesitantly, "establishing direct observation of that sector may be... problematic."

  "Explain."

  "Historical data indicates unusually strong dimensional barriers in that region. The last time we attempted direct clairvoyance there was during the incident with the previous wielder of Durandal. Our observers experienced severe psychic backlash from an unknown source…"

  I could create more obedient servants from my own excrement than these dawdling pissants, I thought to myself. I leaned forward, the throne adjusting beneath me. "Do you defy me?"

  "No, Supreme Ruler," she replied quickly, bowing lower. "I merely wish to ensure the proper protective protocols are in place. For all our safety."

  "Proceed with all necessary precautions," I said, settling back. "But proceed."

  The technicians moved with practiced efficiency, arranging themselves around a central pool of liquid obsidian that bubbled softly in its basin. Their bodies began to glow with faint purple light as they joined hands, channeling their collective consciousness into the pool.

  The obsidian surface rippled, then stilled, becoming a perfect black mirror. Slowly, an image began to form—blurry at first, then gaining definition. Earth's surface, seen from above. Mountains. A forest. The devastation still visible from the Prince's final stand.

  "Magnify," I ordered.

  The image shifted, diving closer to the surface as it sought our targets. For a moment, the view fragmented, static crackling across the obsidian's surface.

  "We’re meeting some resistance," one technician reported, sweat beading on her brow. "Attempting to compensate."

  The image reformed, now showing the interior of what appeared to be a vast underground chamber. Carved from living stone, illuminated by bioluminescent crystals—unmistakably Drow architecture.

  "So," Ereshkigal hissed beside me, "they've sought alliance with the demons. My daughter runs to the very beings whose princess I killed. How poetic."

  I raised a hand for silence, focusing on the scene unfolding in the obsidian mirror.

  Our daughters were speaking with Mar’Dun. But there was another presence in the chamber, partially obscured by shadow.

  "Enhance the peripheral subject," I commanded.

  The image shifted, focusing on the shadowed figure. As its features clarified, I felt an involuntary chill race down my spine and a high-frequency ringing in my ears. Tall, impossibly thin, with skin like ancient parchment stretched over bone. Eyes that had witnessed countless atrocities. Lips that curved in a smile containing no warmth, only predatory anticipation.

  "True Lord Styx," Nergal breathed, for once sounding less than confident.

  Even on Nibiru, even among the Anunnaki, that name carried weight. One of the few Earth beings our kind approached with genuine caution. Not just for his physical or energetic capabilities, though those were considerable, but for something far more dangerous—his knowledge.

  As if sensing his name being called, the figure went still. His head tilted slightly, and those ancient eyes narrowed as he gazed directly at a point in empty space—directly at us.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  "Impossible," one of the technicians whispered. "The clairvoyance is completely occulted. He cannot—"

  The words died in her throat as True Lord Styx smirked—a terrible, knowing expression that carried across several millions of miles. His lips moved, forming words we could not hear, but I saw our daughters reacting with alarm.

  "Activate audio interpolation," I ordered.

  Before the technicians could comply, the obsidian pool began to vibrate. Tiny ripples appeared on its surface, then larger waves, as if something great was emerging from its depths.

  "Containment protocols failing," the lead technician reported, her voice rising in pitch. "Something is pushing back against the clairvoyant link!"

  The liquid obsidian began to rise, defying gravity, forming a column in the center of the basin. The column twisted, reshaping itself into a crude approximation of a humanoid figure.

  "Terminate the connection," Ereshkigal said sharply. "Now!"

  "No," I countermanded, rising from the throne. "Maintain the link. Reinforce the barriers, technicians be damned."

  The technicians silently gulped in unison as they struggled to maintain clairvoyant coherence.

  The obsidian figure continued to form, gaining definition with each passing moment. A face emerged from the featureless head—sunken cheeks, sharp cheekbones, and eyes... eyes like the void of space.

  Then came the raw, unrestrained release of his emanation.

  It manifested first as a subtle darkening of the air around the obsidian figure with shadows gaining substance, substance gaining presence, and then presence emanating intent. The temperature in the coronation chamber plummeted and crystal fixtures cracked from the sudden cold.

  His aura unfurled like wings spreading, filling the space with a malevolence so palpable it could dwarf my father in his lowest mood. I had experienced many forms of power in my long existence—the rigid dominance of my father, the calculated cruelty of my mother, the unrelenting, explosive rage of that cursed Solar Sovereign—but this was different.

  This was pitch black. Blood and bones. A darkness that gave darkness its meaning. The frequency of his emanation formed a piercing, echoing scream of unbearable volume that ripped through our minds without end.

  My body crawled with sudden revulsion, as if my blood transmuted into millions of scattering insects. The sensation penetrated deeper, reaching into my consciousness, bringing with it visions of malefic destruction, rot, and decay. Ashen cities I had never seen, burning under skies filled with smoke. Beings screaming as their flesh and bone dissolved. Countless beings ending not with glory but with whimpers of destitution and despair.

  "What... is this?" Nergal gasped, his massive frame actually staggering backward, with his hands in front of him as if to ward off physical assault.

  Ereshkigal remained more composed, but even she had paled. "It's him," she whispered. "His essence. The untouchable one. Somehow he's projecting through our own clairvoyant link!"

  The obsidian figure was fully formed now, standing in the center of the basin. Its void-like eyes surveyed the chamber, lingering on each of us in turn. When it spoke, the voice seemed to bypass our ears entirely, manifesting directly within our minds.

  "How pitiful a view," it said, the words carrying harmonics that made reality vibrate uncomfortably. “Peering into realms of which you hold no true stake.”

  I stepped forward. "We observe what is rightfully ours. Earth exists under Anunnaki sovereignty."

  The obsidian figure's head tilted, an eerily perfect mimicry of True Lord Styx's earlier movement. "Do you truly believe that, obsequious children of Anu? Or is it simply the comforting fiction you tell yourselves?"

  "We are not children," Ereshkigal hissed, her composure cracking slightly. "We are the great Anunnaki, bearers of the Most High. The architects and maestros of the Symphony, you pathetic conquered bat-spawn!"

  "Architects," the figure repeated, something like amusement coloring the mental voice. "Such grand titles for such limited understanding."

  The emanation intensified, flowing outward from the obsidian figure in waves that continued to carry images, sensations, and emotions—all of them centered around a singular theme: age. Age beyond comprehension. Experience beyond calculation. Knowledge beyond the reach of beings who measured their existence in mere millions of years.

  With sudden, horrifying clarity, I understood what we were experiencing. This was not merely projection of power or intimidation. This was context. This was True Lord Styx allowing us a glimpse—just the barest fraction—of what his soul truly was.

  And in that glimpse, I saw something that sent a chill deeper than any I had known. I saw victory. Not over us as individuals, but over our kind. Victory that carried the weight of the stars and beyond.

  Like he could read my mind, True Lord Styx smirked again.

  "You have meddled in affairs beyond your capacity, fallen ones," the figure continued. "You have taken what was not yours to take. And now, the consequences of that hubris approach."

  The obsidian began to change, flowing upward, reforming. The humanoid shape dissolved, replaced by a mass of writhing shadows that coalesced into the form of countless bats—thousands upon thousands of them, their wings beating in perfect unison, their tiny eyes gleaming with the same void-like emptiness.

  At the center of this swarm, True Lord Styx's face appeared, magnified to titanic proportions. His expression was one of calm certainty.

  "The wheel turns," he intoned. "The embedded patterns shift. What was broken will be mended. What was subjugated will be freed, O’ whimpering children of Anu and Antu. And this time, the Symphony’s conclusion will not be of your composition."

  "Our daughters," I said, forcing authority into my voice. "Return them to us, and perhaps, we can discuss terms."

  The swarm of bats laughed—a sound like bones breaking in perfect rhythm. "Your ‘kin’ have chosen their path. As did ours. As will others in the days to come."

  "Then they will share the same fate," Nergal growled. "Death awaits all who oppo—"

  For the first time, something like genuine emotion crossed the titanic face—a flash of such pure, concentrated hatred that several technicians collapsed convulsing to the floor with blood streaming from all orifices. “Speak ONLY when I allow it, petulant brat!”

  The room nearly froze over.

  "Death," the face repeated, the word carrying echoes of countless witnessed extinctions. "You speak of death to me? I, who was ancient when your kind first breached the peace of Tara? I, who has witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations even your records remain ignorant of?"

  The swarm of bats surged forward, pressing against the boundaries of the clairvoyant link, causing the very air of the coronation chamber to ripple with distortion.

  "I am death, vermin of the fallen ones," the voice continued, each word like a mighty cleave of Durandal against our consciousness. "I have known its embrace and declined its offer more times than your minds can comprehend. Death is not a foe, but my dear kin. And no matter how many times you wipe this world, I will continue to decline its offer until your kind are wiped off the face of this realm!"

  The face moved closer, filling the entire clairvoyant field with those terrible eyes that peaked directly into the depths of my being.

  "And you, Enzu, false king of tyranny, spawn of deceit and treachery, crowned pretender to power you will never understand—I am with Earth. I have always been with Earth. Since before your kind dreamed of conquest. Since before the Fall. And long, long after your discordant Symphony has played its final chord, I will remain. Protecting. Safeguarding. Watching. You are playing checkers in a game of cosmic chess, imp. By the incumbent laws of the multiverse, and by the very nature of the One Infinite Creator, you are destined to lose this game. The Ancient Agreement is void." Styx said, his voice suddenly intimate, as if spoken directly into my ear alone, as if I could feel his icy breath freezing even my frozen soul.

  With those words, the obsidian exploded outward in a shower of liquid darkness that splattered across the coronation chamber. The few technicians who were still conscious wailed, falling backward, their psychic link severed with lethal force.

  I stood frozen, droplets of obsidian burning coldly against my skin, as the echo of his final words reverberated through the chamber, through my mind, and through the foundations of reality as I understood it.

  What have we provoked…