Chapter 1: Inheritance of God Emperors (All 3 parts)

Somewhere in the endless cosmos, the void stretched endlessly in every direction, swallowing the faint light of distant stars. In that silent darkness, a lone man floated, blood dripping from his torn body. His pale skin was marred by countless cuts, and his shredded clothes fluttered weakly around him. Behind his head, a massive Dharma chakra of red and gold rotated slowly, forged from metallic ki and burning like a miniature sun. A ribbon of red ki hovered around his waist, circling him like an obedient serpent. His long white hair drifted behind him, swaying with the faint, nonexistent breeze of the void. Even with his breathing uneven and his hands trembling around his spear, his eyes burned with defiance. He refused to bend.

Across from him floated a demon. Humanoid in shape, yet radiating an oppressive violence that distorted the very space around him. His skin was pale and soaked in blood, though it was impossible to tell whether it belonged to him or his enemy. His own Dharma chakra burned behind his head, a swirling crimson sun, while his violet ki ribbon twisted around him like wild lightning. Red hair flared above him, defying gravity, glowing with demonic energy. In his hand, he held a sword engraved with ancient runes that pulsed with forbidden power.

They stared at each other—two beings who had already fought past the limits of life. Both were at the edge of their death.

The demon grinned despite the blood spilling from his lips. “Persistent little human. Even at the edge of death, you still dare to glare at me like that?”

The man wiped blood from his mouth and tightened his grip on his spear. “You speak too much. Save your breath. You’ll need it when you’re crawling in the abyss.”

The demon laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally in the empty void. “You won’t survive another exchange. Your body is already cracking.”

“Come break it, then,” the man said quietly.

They vanished at the same instant.

A moment later, their weapons collided with a thunderous explosion that shattered the void like brittle glass. Cracks spread across space, glowing faintly before bursting into fragments. Every exchange of blows created shockwaves powerful enough to vaporise drifting meteors and compress starlight into dust.

The man swept his spear in a blazing arc. The demon countered with a vertical slash that ripped open a long tear in the void. Each time their weapons met, stars flickered and died.

“Fall!” the demon roared, pouring all his strength into a downward strike.

“Not today,” the man growled, deflecting the blade with a violent twist of his spear that sent the demon spiralling backwards.

The demon steadied himself and immediately formed hand seals at terrifying speed. A titanic formation appeared above him, a runic circle stretching thousands of kilometres, glowing with crimson light that drowned out starlight. The man narrowed his eyes and began forming the same seals. An identical golden-red formation formed above him.

The demon snarled. “Still copying me, human?!”

“Yours looked defective,” the man replied calmly.

At the same moment, both spoke the same words:

“The Heavenly Moon Fall.”

Two massive moons materialised above them, each thousands of kilometers wide, glowing with destructive celestial ki. They were hurled forward, colliding at lightspeed.

The moment they touched—

BOOOOOM!

The explosion tore open massive spatial fissures that spread like cracks in the universe. The shockwaves vaporised everything nearby and bent space around them. Moon fragments and molten debris scattered like flaming stars.

The demon immediately formed a second seal. Another moon appeared and came crashing down at incredible speed.

“Try blocking this one, human!”

The man’s eyes sharpened. He infused his spear with all remaining ki, making it blaze white. With one perfect strike, he split the incoming moon into two clean halves. Lava spewed from the severed core, spraying into the void like fiery oceans. Without wasting a breath, the man shot through the gap, spear thrusting toward the demon.

Their weapons collided again, their movements carving through the drifting moon debris. Each clash created sparks that glowed brighter than supernovas.

Then the man’s spear finally landed a decisive strike, slamming into the demon’s chest and sending him flying. The demon lost balance and began falling toward a nearby planet. He broke through the atmosphere like a meteor, leaving a trail of flames behind him.

He crashed into the planet’s surface, creating a crater so deep it pierced layers of the planet’s crust.

The man descended, his body aching with every movement. He landed at the crater’s edge, breathing heavily.

But the demon was not inside.

A faint fluctuation appeared behind him.

The demon emerged in a blur, grabbing the man’s leg. “Got you.”

He swung the man violently and threw him into a massive mountain. The entire structure burst apart on impact, collapsing into dust and debris. The man coughed blood, his vision blurring, but he stood again, refusing to fall.

The demon hovered in front of him, panting heavily. “Why do you keep standing? Just die already!”

“Because you’re annoying,” the man said, raising his hand.

Ki gathered around his arm, forming a swirling storm of red and gold.

“Annihilation Palm.”

A massive palm of energy, hundreds of kilometres tall, manifested above him.

The demon scowled and raised his own hand. “Heaven-Destroying Palm!”

A colossal violet palm formed above him in response.

Both palms fell.

The collision tore the planet apart. The ground split open all the way to the core, unleashing torrents of molten lava that shot upward like burning geysers. Lava rained around them, but neither flinched.

As the fiery eruption cleared, both shot toward each other again.

But just before they struck, a strange ripple distorted the space behind the man.

A spatial rift opened. Another one opened behind the demon. The man’s instincts screamed danger, but he turned too late.

A figure stepped from the rift behind him—a tall man with long black hair, wielding a broad sword. At the same moment, a demon with golden hair and black horns emerged behind the red-haired demon.

Both swung their broad swords in perfect synchronisation.

The blades pierced through the man’s and the demon’s chests, emerging from the front of their bodies. Blood splattered across the shattered ground.

The intruders dragged the blades downward, slicing their bodies open with cold precision.

The white-haired man gasped, looking down at the blade in disbelief. “…So… this is how I die?”

The demon beside him trembled, horrified. “T–this can’t be… betrayal…?”

Their attackers withdrew the blades without emotion. With their final strength, both the man and the demon opened a spatial rift—an unstable gateway to somewhere unknown.

Their physical bodies collapsed. But their souls flew into the rift, vanishing into the unknown.

 

…

The demon and the mysterious man appeared without warning, emerging from a swirling distortion in the broken void. Their arrival was silent, but the space around them trembled as if recognising their terrible presence. Below them, two shattered figures—one white-haired man and one red-haired demon—floated helplessly, their bodies cracked, torn, and drained after the brutal battle that had devastated the area.

Without hesitation, the two newcomers thrust their swords into the chests of the white-haired man and red-haired demon. The moment the blades pierced flesh, faint wisps of soul energy scattered into the void like sparks drifting into darkness. The two dying warriors, who moments earlier had shaken the void with their power, could do nothing but allow their broken souls to flee.

The demon bent down, grabbing the limp body of the red-haired demon. He stored it in a spatial ring with a flick of his wrist. Blood still seeped from several wounds on the corpse, staining the demon’s fingers.

“They ran with their souls,” he said, his voice deep and rough. He reached again and stored the white-haired man’s body as well. “Even in this condition, they managed to escape.”

The mysterious man looked around the shattered void. The traces of the battle were everywhere—thousands of kilometres of fractured space, floating debris of shattered moons, and the lingering pressure of near-godly ki. He remained expressionless as he observed the remnants.

“Let them run,” the man said calmly. “We obtained what we needed. Their souls may have survived, but they are completely broken. They cannot repair themselves now.” His eyes gleamed coldly. “They will die anyway.”

The demon nodded in agreement. There was no need to chase after crippled souls; the void itself would devour them in time. Their mission was complete. Without speaking further, the two figures opened separate spatial rifts. The rifts expanded into black, swirling entrances, humming with unstable energy. They stepped through, vanishing from the ruined battlefield as the rifts closed behind them.

Silence returned to the void.

But two broken souls fled into the unknown.

—

 

[500 YEARS LATER]

 

Its mountains speared the clouds with austere indifference, their snow-capped crowns glinting like ancient diadems. Rivers, silver and serpentine, carved their patient signatures across sweeping plains, nourishing kingdoms that glittered like scattered jewels under the sun. Cities rose behind fortified walls, markets roared with commerce, and banners of rival empires snapped in disciplined wind. Five centuries had passed since the cataclysmic clash between Avrah, the white-haired sovereign, and Dashirsur, the red-haired demon. Time, meticulous and unsentimental, had erased nearly every scar of that divine war, leaving only myths whispered in temple halls and dismissed as embellished folklore.

 

Kraunca was divided with deliberate symmetry—north, south, east, west, and the central heartland. Of these, the southern region stood unrivalled in prosperity. Known across the continent as the Land of Empires, it housed three colossal powers: the Chul Empire in the east, the Mati Empire at the centre and the Shambh Empire in the west. Each empire was buttressed by intricate networks of factions—noble houses, merchant guilds, cultivation factions, and military orders—woven into a delicate yet competitive equilibrium. Merchants traded artifacts rumoured to enhance prana, and warriors trained relentlessly, driven by the unyielding doctrine that strength dictated survival.

While the eastern, central, and western expanses were governed by humanity, the northern frontier belonged wholly to demons. Towering citadels of obsidian and flame marked their dominion. Though no great war had erupted in centuries, the silence between the two races was not peace but restraint—an unspoken acknowledgement that the next spark could ignite catastrophe.

In Kraunca, power was the axis upon which existence turned. Individuals cultivated prana through disciplined practice, seeking to shatter mortal limitations. The southern cultivation system recognised five principal realms, each subdivided into nine ascending stars. Advancement was both spiritual and martial, beginning with Chakra Opening and rising through Practitioner Warrior, Master Warrior, Grandmaster Warrior, and finally the elusive Spirit Warrior. The fifth realm remained a near-impossible summit—so arduous that few dared even to envision it. Yet in a land where ambition rivalled the mountains, there were always those willing to try.

…

 

Trapura, jewel of the Mati Empire, moved with the restless rhythm of a city that refused to sleep. The streets pulsed with colour and sound—merchants extolling the miraculous benefits of herbs that could allegedly cure anything short of laziness, talisman vendors swearing their charms were “genuine ancient artifacts” despite having been carved that very morning, and blacksmiths hammering steel with the solemnity of poets composing war ballads.

Young cultivators occupied open courtyards, their sparring matches equal parts discipline and dramatic overreaction, as if each clash of fists might be recorded in the annals of history. Guards patrolled in measured strides, hands resting on weapon hilts, maintaining order with the patience of men who had seen far too many “accidental” duels erupt over wounded pride.

Through this orchestrated chaos walked a sixteen-year-old boy, weaving efficiently through the crowd with the ease of someone accustomed to both markets and conflict. He held a modest package of medicinal herbs close to his chest—not because it was fragile, but because in Trapura even herbs could become political assets.

His red and black garments fluttered faintly in the breeze. The colours were sharp and deliberate, matching the intensity of his black hair and keen, dark eyes. Eklavya Rudra, young master of the Rudra Clan, carried himself with controlled composure—the sort cultivated not merely through training, but through surviving family expectations.

The towering gates of the Rudra Clan mansion stood only a short distance ahead, their engraved sigils gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. Just as he approached, the gates opened with deliberate ceremony.

Emerging from within was another youth of similar age, clad in luxurious green robes embroidered with gold thread thick enough to suggest either wealth or insecurity. Two armoured guards flanked him, their expressions stiff and dutiful.

Vihaan Marwah, young master of the Marwah Clan, wore arrogance as comfortably as his silk attire. His gaze locked onto Eklavya, and a smirk curved across his lips—a smile that suggested he had either accomplished something significant or was simply delighted to be insufferable.

“Oh? If it isn’t the young master of the Rudra Clan,” Vihaan called, his voice light with mockery as he stopped squarely in Eklavya’s path. His eyes drifted to the herb package. “Running errands now? I just finished speaking with your clan leader. It was a fascinating discussion. Did you know… half of the Rudra market belongs to us now?”

He laughed, a sharp, theatrical sound clearly rehearsed for maximum irritation.

Eklavya’s gaze hardened, though his posture remained composed. “I don’t concern myself with stolen markets,” he replied evenly. “If not for underhanded methods, my brother would not have lost last week’s duel. Young master of the Marwah Clan—Vihaan Marwah.”

For a fleeting moment, Vihaan’s smile faltered—just enough to betray that the barb had struck true. Then his arrogance returned, polished and bright. “A victory is a victory, Eklavya Rudra. The outcome is what history remembers. Not method.”

Eklavya allowed himself a faint, cold smirk. “Yeah, history won’t remember the method but remembers who cheated.”

A subtle tension thickened the air between them, like the stillness before lightning splits the sky. Vihaan stepped closer, lowering his voice. “We’ll settle this properly soon.” His tone carried promise—and threat—in equal measure.

Then, with a dismissive flick of his sleeve, he turned and strode away, his guards following in obedient silence.

Eklavya watched him go, expression unreadable. The herbs in his hand felt lighter than the weight of the insult hanging in the air. In Trapura, markets could be stolen, pride could be wounded, and victories could be purchased—but strength, true strength, had to be earned.

 

And Eklavya had no intention of letting that lesson be forgotten.

…

Eklavya exhaled quietly and headed straight into the clan mansion. When he reached the main hall, he saw his father sitting on the clan leader’s chair, his hand on his forehead, looking exhausted. His father was a Warrior as well, usually proud and strong—but today, he seemed worn down.

“Father,” Eklavya said, stepping closer. “What happened?”

His father looked at him but didn’t answer immediately. “Go and practice.”

Eklavya frowned. “I already know what happened. I met Vihaan outside.”

“What can we do now?” his father sighed. “Your older brother acted impulsively and made that bet. We can’t back out of it. Go practice. I will handle this matter.”

Eklavya didn’t argue. He stepped out of the hall just as all six elders of the Rudra Clan walked past him and entered the meeting hall. He glanced back briefly before heading toward his room.

Inside his room, he sat on his bed, closed his eyes, and began cultivating. Ki flowed through his chakras channel in slow, warm streams. His breathing deepened, and his presence grew calm.

But after a few minutes, he felt something shift in the air. A faint ripple. A strange vibration.

Before he could react, a spatial rift tore open beneath him. The floor disappeared. He dropped downward with a scream echoing through the distorted space.

…

[IN A SECRET REALM]

Far beyond the boundaries of Kraunca—beyond its empires, its demon-ruled north, and even the fabric of its sky—there existed a realm unrecorded in any scripture and unmarked by any star. It was a domain of silence and aftermath. Endless plains of bone stretched to a horizon that never seemed to arrive: white, grey, and weathered remains of beasts large enough to eclipse cities, humans who once dreamed of immortality, demons whose names had dissolved into dust, and creatures so ancient that even memory had refused to preserve them. Hills of skeletons rose like grotesque monuments to extinction. The air was dense, saturated with lingering soul energy and the stale gravity of forgotten wars. If death had a treasury, this was it.

Suspended above this ossuary ocean were two fading figures—transparent, frayed at the edges, their forms trembling like candle flames in a draft. The soul of a white-haired man radiated a restrained brilliance, while beside him hovered the spectral outline of a red-haired demon, his presence darker yet equally diminished. Five centuries had eroded them; time had gnawed even at divinity.

“It has been five hundred years,” the white-haired soul murmured, voice reverberating strangely across the skeletal expanse. “Five centuries of waiting… searching for a successor.”

The demon glanced sideways. “At least we found one,” he replied dryly. There was no triumph in his tone—only relief sharpened by inevitability.

With a precise gesture of his spectral fingers, the demon tore open a rift. Space folded obediently. Moments later, Eklavya Rudra tumbled out of the distortion, landing unceremoniously atop a mound of bones. The impact sent skulls rolling in every direction—an audience that stared far too intently for comfort.

He scrambled upright, breath ragged, eyes darting wildly. Bones. Mountains of them. The scent of ancient decay coiled into his lungs. “Wh… where am I?” he whispered hoarsely. “Is this hell? I barely argued with anyone today!”

His gaze lifted.

Two translucent figures hovered before him.

His reaction was immediate and entirely dignified for a future cultivator of destiny. “A-Ahhhh! G-ghosts!”

The white-haired soul ignored the outburst and addressed his companion. “Is this the one you selected?”

“There were no alternatives,” the demon replied flatly.

Eklavya forced himself to stand straighter, though his knees expressed clear objections. “Who are you? Why bring me here?”

“We lack the luxury of gradual explanation,” the white-haired figure said. “You were not chosen for talent. You were chosen because you are newly forged—untainted by ancient karmic entanglements.”

Before confusion could form into questions, both souls raised their hands. An immense pressure surged forward, invading Eklavya’s sea of consciousness. Knowledge—techniques, fragmented memories, cultivation principles beyond mortal comprehension—flooded into him. His mind convulsed under the torrent. Pain lanced through every nerve as though his skull might fracture under invisible force.

When it ceased, he collapsed to his knees, gasping.

The demon extended a spectral token, solidifying it as it reached Eklavya’s trembling hands. “One year from now, this realm will reopen. Use this. Claim what you can.”

“Why give me this?” Eklavya demanded weakly. “Nothing in this world is free.”

A faint smile touched the demon’s fading features. “You owe us two lives.”

“Two—what?”

“First,” the demon said, voice sharpening, “you will kill Demon God King Mahasura.”

The white-haired soul continued seamlessly, “Second, you will kill God King Avas.”

Eklavya stared, incredulous. “You’re sending me to die!”

“You will not face them now,” the demon replied. “Presently, you are less than an insect before them.”

“You carry our inheritances,” the white-haired man added calmly. “Our sealed soul power rests within you. As you ascend realms, the seal will gradually release. But know this—because you bear demonic essence, a second soul will awaken inside you. It will not be kind. You must master it.”

Silence followed. Overwhelming, absurd, catastrophic silence.

Eklavya swallowed. “At least tell me your names.”

The demon’s posture straightened, pride flickering through his fading aura. “I am Demon God Emperor Dashirsur.”

The white-haired soul inclined his head. “And I am God Emperor Avrah.”

A portal flared beneath Eklavya before another protest could escape him. Gravity reclaimed him without ceremony. He fell.

Moments later, he crashed onto the floor of his room in the Rudra Clan mansion. The rift snapped shut above him as though nothing had occurred.

Back in the secret realm, the forms of Demon God Emperor Dashirsur and God Emperor Avrah dimmed. Their outlines fractured into drifting motes of light. Without sound, without spectacle, the remnants of two ancient emperors dissolved into the endless field of bones.