The Void stirred.
It was not a sound.
It was not a sight.
It was something deeper, something only a god could feel — the first twitch of existence beneath his fingertips.
The system flickered again inside his mind.
[System Initialization: 2% Complete…]
[Authority Stabilization: 5%… 6%…]
He remained seated upon the Black Throne, unmoving.
Each breath he took was slow, deliberate — and with every exhale, the fabric of nothingness unraveled a little more.
Fragments of light — faint, trembling, terrified — began to flicker in the far distance.
"Creation…" he mused quietly.
"So fragile at first."
He remembered now.
Not the faces.
Not the names.
But the feeling.
A life once lived where he was small.
Where he walked among crowds who could not see the god trapped in flesh and bone.
Where he died — forgotten, meaningless.
That life was over.
This time, he would not be born.
He would be the birth.
The system chimed again:
[Core Abilities Locked: Pending Host Stabilization.]
[Racial Authority Detected: Primordial Otsutsuki.]
[Mandatory Quest: Establish Domain.]
A slow smile crept across his lips.
"A domain," he said aloud, the sound of his voice thickening the newborn space around him.
"A kingdom before a people. A throne before the crown."
The Black Throne pulsed beneath him, acknowledging the command.
He lifted his right hand lazily.
Faint strands of violet-black energy curled from his fingertips, weaving through the nothingness, stitching together the first threads of reality.
Not a full world.
Not yet.
A plane.
A simple foundation — vast, empty, perfect.
A stage upon which destiny would dance.
[World Seed Initiated.]
[Abyssal Throne Plane - 0.001% Constructed.]
The blackness buckled.
What had been endless, empty Void now shuddered and cracked like thin ice, peeling away to reveal something deeper:
an endless horizon of silver mist, a floor of glistening dark stone, a sky with no stars — only potential.
His Throne remained at its center, the only anchor in the storm.
For the first time, He stood.
The movement was simple — but the impact was catastrophic.
The new plane roared to life under his feet, tectonic plates of dreamstuff grinding against one another.
Winds that had never been born howled in terror.
He planted his feet firmly onto the stone, and reality hardened.
The Abyssal Throne Plane was his now.
The first home.
The first kingdom.
Empty.
Silent.
Waiting.
Exactly as it should be.
The system, struggling but determined, delivered another message:
[Warning: Host exceeds stabilization protocols.]
[System Adaptation Required.]
[New Title Unlocked: "God of the First Silence."]
He smirked.
"A title…?"
"How quaint."
Still — it pleased him in a small way.
Symbols mattered.
Names carried weight.
He turned his gaze outward, across the infinite plain he had summoned.
And somewhere — far beyond, barely a whisper at the edge of nonexistence — he felt it:
Other life would come.
Not yet.
Not soon.
But eventually.
Others would crawl toward the warmth he was creating, desperate to bask in the shadow of his Throne.
Some would worship.
Some would rebel.
All would kneel.
Eventually.
He reached up casually — and plucked a single shard of the void from the air, holding it between two fingers like a spark waiting for permission to burn.
"Let there be…" he whispered.
He crushed it.
The Abyssal Throne Plane shook again — and this time, across its surface, tiny pinpricks of light began to flicker.
Stars?
No.
Seeds.
Possibilities.
One day, he would choose to let them bloom into creatures.
Civilizations.
Clans.
But not today.
Today, he was still alone.
And he would savor it.
The silence was his first loyal subject.
And loyalty mattered.
He sat back down upon the Black Throne — now set within a Plane of his own making — and closed his eyes.
Waiting.
Patient.
Inevitable.