I Can Assimilate Everything

Golden words shimmered across the skies like etched light carved into the firmament, their message a beacon for any who still clung to the fragile weave of destiny.

[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.]

They flared with sacred prominence across every land that held life.

And everywhere, golden auroras surged forth in ribbons that stretched across the skies.

In a distant sky far above the floating sea of broken dreams and the drifting bones of dead stars, a lone vessel stirred.

It was not a ship in the traditional sense, but a vast floating landmass. One mile in length, teeming with forests of stardust-petaled flowers and rivers of white flame.

The Vessel of Adrastia.

And atop it, the Monkey King sat.

Sun.

One leg draped lazily over the other, his golden fur catching the light as his staff, embedded beside him in the platform, hummed faintly.

His eyes, ancient and gleaming with somber amusement- watched the message dance across the skies.

"Destiny," he whispered, a chuckle carried on the wind. He leaned back, hands supporting him as he let his gaze linger. "You were just fumbling through the concept yesterday. Yet now... you call upon the whole Plane?"

The staff beside him trembled, releasing a harmonic buzz.

"Yeah, yeah," Sun muttered. He reached out, patting it with seriousness "He moves fast. I know."

He rose slowly, the weight of eons clinging to his movements before vanishing in the vibrancy of his stride. Looking out over the Vessel, he shouted to no one and everyone, "Can you still hear me?! I'm on board! Let's see if we can make history for this broken little Plane."

HUUM!

In response, the very ground answered.

Waves of white flame erupted from every inch of the Vessel.

Sun stood at the heart of it, arms outstretched as the fire wrapped around him in spiraling rings. They swirled through his fur, caressed his form, and infused his very being. And then…

WAP!

The Vessel of Adrastia folded space.

Land, flame, sky, and king vanished.

Barely a few seconds passed.

And they reappeared, high above the shimmering Adrastia Continent.

…!

Sun stared at it with eyes wide.

Two thousand miles of floating earth wrapped in glimmering purple-gold waterfalls that gushed into the sky instead of downwards. Above it, a serene radiant sea shimmered with impossible blues, like a mirror reflecting forgotten dreams.

Sun blinked.

"Well," he murmured. "Even in Ancient Times, no single continent wat that massive..."

…!

A golden-haired figure appeared near him, radiant and regal.

Achilles. Or at least, his Primordial Avatar.

The golden-haired version nodded once, his eyes calm. "Good of you to join us. Come on."

"Mmm…" Sun nodded with bright eyes as he followed!

And so a Mythological Ancient entered the folds of Adrastia, led by a King.

The King!

Yet even then, the true form of the Adrastia Emperor King rested far away.

Within the Sea of Thalassara, surrounded by quiet.

Achilles slept.

Not because of fatigue, but by choice.

His head rested in Rose's lap, her fingers trailing gently through his dark hair. Her touch was tender and loving. The ocean light reflected in her eyes, casting them in hues of viridian and starlight.

Around them, Cataclysmic Star Weapons floated in silent orbits, each pulsing with restrained might.

He was not seeking rest. He was seeking something else entirely.

Lineage Memory VI.

It activated in silence. His breathing slowed. His consciousness slipped, and the sea around him faded…

Replaced by a dream.

A wonder.

A memory!

—

Across records of Existence.

Space.

A battlefield among the stars.

No soil, no earth. Only the torn remains of shattered moons and collapsed stars. Comets wept trails of flame across a graveyard of giants.

Crimson gold blood drifted in thick rivers through the void.

Corpses, countless, floated amid the ruins.

Colossal bodies, some scaled, others feathered, some armored in plates that shimmered with primordial runes. Every one of them had bled, and every one of them had died.

From the fragments of broken titans, a mountain had formed. A throne of death forged from the remnants of the mighty.

All of these bodies mixed with remnants of stars and rivers of blood as theh truly built up a mountain!

And at its summit, he sat.

The being was broad-shouldered and immense.

Scars carved his skin like sacred tattoos. His chest rose and fell with calm, but his very presence churned the nebulae nearby. His muscles were etched in gold and dusk, and in his hand, he held no weapon- because none were needed.

He turned his head slowly.

And Achilles stood there.

An echo of himself.

A vision drawn from blood and memory.

The man atop the mountain looked at him- up and down, as if assessing whether Achilles was worthy of the air he breathed.

His voice came low. Rasped. But it did not lack force.

"Come here, boy."

The words were not immensly loud. They did not need to be.

They reverberated across the star-wrought graveyard, carving lines of authority through every atom of light.

Achilles stepped forward without any fear or hesitation.

Because that voice, it carried the weight of the Adrastia Emperor King!

Of Lineage.

Blood.

Kinship.

Legacy!

Achilles continued looking around as he went towards another generation of an Adrastia Emperor King.

Shattered moons drifted like forgotten memories across the starlit expanse, their craters bleeding rivulets of crimson-gold light.

Suns had died here. Entire systems broken, collapsed, devoured. In their wake, debris spun endlessly around corpses that bled like stars.

They stacked across the void in grotesque reverence- a mountain of radiant death. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Mythic beings twisted in their last moments, their forms locked in agony. Wings spread wide. Claws fractured. Horns cracked. All of them shone with the unmistakable signature of celestial might, yet they lay cold, discarded.

An Adrastia Emperor King…had done all of this!

The question was…why?!