I Can Assimilate Everything

O Destiny!

The Last Adrastia Emperor King called out to a grand Assimilation within him!

Golden light shimmered across the skies of the Adrastia Continent, threads of it drifting like molten stardust across space.

It began from the center, from a single being whose eyes burned like suns forged beneath oceans of time. Achilles Adrastia Maxwell stood still, his breath steady, his gaze fixed into a domain of authority few could sense, let alone see. The sea of Thalassara shimmered below him, casting upward rippling reflections of cascading violet-gold waterfalls that fell endlessly from the floating continent's edge.

He exhaled slowly.

"Organic Planar Regulation…Destiny!" he murmured.

A pulse echoed outward, not merely through sound, but through intent. A soft golden resonance poured from his body like a blooming sun. Not explosive. Not destructive. It simply was. A hum of inevitability as his connection to the Regulation of Destiny formed and deepened.

His body felt the strain.

Destiny was not gentle.

To peer into it, to shape it, required something more than power. It required surrender. It demanded purpose. Clarity.

He reached further into its qualities and abilities.

Fatebound Authority.

Threads of Inevitability.

Destiny Perception.

His Imperial Crown of Adrastia burned brightly. His Imperial Sun pulsed with unfathomable glory!

The weight of what he invoked pressed against his spine, coiled into his ribs, crawled behind his eyes. And still, he stepped forward into it. He could feel the web stretching out across this Plane of Existence. Billions of strands.

Each one a life.

He felt the heartbeat of a child in the outskirts of the rising Adrastia Capital. He felt the dying breath of an Ancient Beast in the farthest edges of the Cenotaph Wild Lands.

He felt plants. He felt beasts. He felt Ancients. Humans. Life itself.

Every living thing held Destiny.

Even the Ancient Ones who did not think so, even they held thin strands of Destiny!

And controlling all of this…was tasking.

The surge of power demanded tribute. His sea of authority, recently expanded by the terrifying bloom of Gamma Radiation, met the call.

He did not falter.

"O Destiny," he whispered again.

The winds across the sea of Thalassara stilled. The waterfalls no longer roared. A hush spread.

Silence spread.

Above him, the skies bloomed.

It began as a whisper of gold. Then came waves of it, like auroras painted by glory. Ethereal, brilliant, threaded with truths beyond understanding. Light stretched across the heavens, streaking outward from the Adrastia Continent like veins of fire.

Across the Cenotaph Wild Lands, great Beasts looked up. In the jungles and the icy plains. In caverns deep below the earth. They saw golden brilliance. They felt it.

All…across the Cenotaph Wild Lands!

In the Pride of Aeonthar, the Myrrnith Throne looked with widening eyes, her blue hair catching threads of golden light. Her human guards were silent. Even the winds stilled, as if the world itself paused.

The auroras of goldeb destiny above above them that just manifested twisted.

And then, words formed.

[Outsiders threaten the livelihoods of many both inside and outside this Plane of Existence. To Humans. To Ancients. The Adrastia Continent provides sanctuary and protection to fight against what is already here and what is coming. Follow the grandeur of gold, and you will find that sanctuary.]

HUUM!

…!

Shock passed like a wave across the land.

Near the peak of the Royal Panthera Lions' great ceremonial plateau, Elder Rothschild was surrounded by many Ancients and Humans, including the Myrrnith Throne and the Crown Prince.

A ceremony had been ongoing, the flames of incense still rising as words of ancient remembrance were being said for the honored dead. Now, all heads turned to the sky.

Rothschild's massive body shimmered under the golden light. He stood in his lion form- a creature of grace and terrifying presence. His fur held multicolored strands like woven gems, his five pairs of wings furling and shifting gently, nine tails swaying with ancestral pride.

His voice, when it came, was quiet.

"While we dreamt of recovering power lost in the Long Slumber, someone rose through the thing we all seek and claimed it as his own."

The Myrrnith Throne said nothing, her eyes like deep sapphire pools watching the letters etched into the heavens.

The Crown Prince's face was stone.

"Elder," he said carefully, voice edged with iron. "What level of power does it take to alter Planar Destiny this way?"

Rothschild did not immediately answer. His tails stilled.

"I do not know," he finally said, voice like thunder wrapped in sorrow. "And that…is not a good thing to not know..."

…!

They all stood still then, the weight of unspoken truths thick in the air. The golden auroras did not dim. They pulsed gently and remained in the skies!

After a long silence, Rothschild exhaled. "We must go to this…Adrastia Continent. Whatever we intended before... it matters little now. If this Achilles can wield Destiny so freely, then he may be one of the major forces that can stand against what's coming. Especially if the Primordial Light of Darkness has been killed…and an Outsider has taken his place. That is the only possibility…the only possibility…"

…!

The Crown Prince closed his fists.

He had fought that man.

He remembered.

And yet...

Was there any room left for pride?!

Across the rest of the Cenotaph Wild Lands, from the Peaks of Aeonthar to the ruins scattered through the northern ranges of the Mythical Dragons, similar golden lights danced.

They filled the skies of the Nine Supreme Forces. They curled above the Mythological Ancients. They poured into the slums and palaces of Human Colony Dynasties.

Everywhere, the same message.

[Outsiders threaten the livelihoods of many both inside and outside this Plane of Existence. To Humans. To Ancients. The Adrastia Continent provides sanctuary and protection to fight against what is already here and what is coming. Follow the grandeur of gold, and you will find that sanctuary.]

Back within the depths of the Adrastia Continent, surrounded by glowing forge runes and endless shimmering starlight, Achilles remained still.

Golden light bloomed from his skin. His eyes were closed. His mind stretched across the weavings of destiny.

Behind him, Rose sat on a starlit bench, hands clasped, her gaze soft but watchful. The world was shifting.

And the King who carried its weight stood tall, his voice never raised, but his will thundered louder than any army.

The Ninth Adrastia Emperor King had spoken.

And Destiny itself listened!