I Can Assimilate Everything

The world trembled around Achilles as he stood, steady as stone, atop the frozen expanse.

Seas of energy poured from him, rivers of violet Evolutius power interwoven with molten gold, crackling and pulsing with every breath he took. The scaffold buried beneath the earth responded with a silent hum, lifting, elevating, as if the land itself bent its knee to his will.

Above, the night sky stretched vast and endless, and against that boundless dark, the ground rose.

A continent.

Fourteen Colony Cities bound together by a lattice of power, drawn up as a single entity.

Once, he had barely been able to lift Neon, a city of modest size compared to this. Later, he had managed to hoist Colony Cities a fraction- perhaps a tenth of what now hovered beneath his control.

But this… this was an entirely different thing.

A landmass nearly a thousand miles across, elevated by his will, buoyed by the ancient might of Runescriptures and the burning essence of his Bloodline.

The Titanwall Dome shimmered into existence, a radiant sphere of pale purple and gold, spreading out like a second sky above the rising continent. Layers of Living Runes pulsed within it, weaving an impenetrable aegis over the clustered cities and the frozen mountains they called home.

Knights of the Glacivane Dynasty, mounted on winged Evolutius Beast Horses, soared up from their perches, their glistening frost armor catching the starlight as they rose higher and higher, staring with wide eyes at the miracle before them.

Three Luminblood Stage Astral Core Ascension Overseers soon joined them, their powerful auras rippling outward, scanning the skies and the colossal dome that now cradled their entire civilization.

Achilles watched it all, his expression calm, regal, as the continent ascended.

Not a city.

Not even a cluster of cities.

A continent.

A new home, severed from the chains of earth and Evolutius Catacombs, free to roam the heavens.

He turned his gaze toward Lancelot, whose silver-blue armor gleamed coldly in the aurora light, his face a canvas of disbelief and awe.

"All the Colony Cities contained here," Achilles said calmly, "will begin their journey toward the Adrastia Dynasty- the Adrastia Continent."

His voice cut cleanly through the frigid air, impossible to ignore.

Lancelot shook his head slowly, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Do you need… anything?" the Glacivane Throne asked, almost lightly. "Resources? Support? To keep an entire continent in the skies like this, surely it takes more than just a thought."

Achilles allowed himself a brief, amused breath.

"No," he said. "The Runescriptures are self-sustaining. What you see now- this flight, will continue without interruption. The structure continuously draws from ambient energies, regenerating itself. Even Luminblood Stage Astral Core Ascension beings would not find it simple to breach."

…!

Lancelot exhaled, a slow, astonished breath that misted the air between them.

In all his years, decades of ruling, centuries of living, he had never seen such a thing.

Autonomous continental flight.

Self-repairing structures.

A moving continent, protected by a living wall of energy.

He shook his head again, slowly, a man witnessing the reshaping of the world before his very eyes.

Achilles glanced skyward briefly, his crimson-gold eyes narrowing.

"By the time this continent reaches the Adrastia Continent," he said, "it will almost be time for the Triarcan Keep."

The words settled like stones into the cold air.

The Triarcan Keep.

Lancelot's expression turned grim, thoughtful.

"That will be its own mess to deal with later," he said quietly, honestly. His gaze sharpened, steady as the glacier. "But for now… thank you."

Just two words.

Simple.

Unadorned.

But between rulers, between kings, the weight of those words was a mountain.

Achilles inclined his head in acknowledgment, the barest dip of the crown, as the first wisps of white flame began to coil at his feet, wrapping his form in quiet, searing brilliance.

Before he vanished, he spoke again, his voice a low, calm promise.

"The Draconic Hybrids will remain. If any emergency arises before tomorrow's end, I will know, and I will return."

He paused.

And then, with the faintest hint of power.

"I welcome you to the Adrastia Dynasty."

White flames erupted in silence, and where Achilles had stood, there was only starlight and the whisper of destiny.

Lancelot stood alone in the frigid winds, watching the blazing continent drift upward, carrying his people into a new chapter of history!

The white flames collapsed inward.

In the next instant, Achilles' Primordial Avatar stepped through the veil of reality, appearing once more above the endless Sea of Thalassara.

The waters below shimmered under the faint starlight, a canvas of deep blues and brilliant silvers, the reefs glowing in myriad colors as if the ocean itself were dreaming.

Golden Primordial Energy coiled around him, an aura of patient, simmering power that did not scream but whispered its dominion. He hovered in silence for a breath, then another.

His crimson-gold eyes gleamed, reflecting the Sea's vastness, and something more.

"Continent," Achilles murmured, the word leaving his lips in a quiet exhale, almost a reverent whisper.

But within that word, a tide of meaning surged.

A Continent, one forged by his will, lifted by his hand. Fourteen Colony Cities. Close to fifty million lives, each a flickering spark of humanity, now adrift between heaven and earth, traveling toward a single destination.

Toward his Adrastia Dynasty.

His gaze deepened, sharpening as he thought further, expanding the pieces of the grand game he played.

The Everburn Aerie Continent.

The Thalassphere Arx.

The Ancient Millennium Acheron Phoenix had returned to her domain, and Princess Atlana to hers. Both aware and under his control as the Draconian Pathogenicity he had left coiled deep within their being now slowly and silently beginning to unfurl.

A slow infection across their continents.

A patient conquest.

No sudden movements. No heavy hand.

Merely inevitability.

Achilles' lips tilted in the faintest of smiles-there was no warmth to it. Only calculation, and the calm certainty of a ruler who knew the scale of what he intended.

He turned his gaze downward, the quiet thrum of power in his veins matching the rolling tides below.

Power.

It was not for conquest alone. It was never for conquest alone.

It was for her.

For Rose.

For the people who had begun to rally under his banner without knowing why, without questioning.

For a Dynasty that would never kneel again…because it held the Adrastia name!

And to protect them, to guard the fragile spark of what he was building, he would need more.

Far more.

Achilles lifted a hand.

Without a word, a ripple of violet and gold surged from his body, forming a vast sigil above the Sea, a spiral of intertwined script and starlight.

|Living Forge Physiology.|

HUUM.

The world responded.

Around him, the air shimmered. An illusory forge blossomed into being, swirling in purple and gold hues, its outline flickering like the reflection of fire on the surface of water. Within it, a hammer formed- an ethereal extension of his will, no less real for its intangible brilliance.

A forge fit for a king.

A forge fit for an Adrastia Emperor.

Achilles regarded it with the same calm, analytical gaze he turned on all things.

He knew.

He knew that what he created tonight would not merely be weapons or armor.

They would be anchors- foundations of strength for what was to come.

The Sea of Thalassara stretched endlessly around him, a sleeping giant of possibilities. Beneath the waters, Millions of Aurelfins glimmered, and the coral reefs whispered of forgotten power.

Above, the starlight weaved patterns in the night sky.

Achilles floated at the center of it all, a still point in the turning world.

He would not rush.

He would not waste motion.

Each strike of his hammer would be measured.

Each weapon, each tool, each artifact, a step further down the path he was charting- toward power, toward dominion, toward safety.

Toward the day when no hand- Ancient One or otherwise- would ever threaten the Adrastia name again.

The hammer rose.

The forge roared to life.

And Achilles Adrastia Maxwell, calm, calculating, regal, prepared to shape his future once more!