I Own the Multiverse's General Store!

The sky above the Multiverse began to crack.

Not in the way stars flickered or storms gathered—but as if the very laws of reality were beginning to strain, unable to contain the convergence that now loomed. The five Pillars orbited Lucius like a living halo, each one pulsing to its own rhythm. With the shard of the Throne embedded in his chest and the memory of the Dead King still weighing heavy on his shoulders, Lucius walked out of the trial not as a man, but something more.

Walter, Alexia, Lilith, and Luna waited at the edge of the gateway, their expressions sharpened with readiness.

Walter spoke first. "The Throne lies beyond the Core. And between us and it… stands her."

The air around them grew colder.

Luna crossed her arms, her usual smirk faded. "She's known we were coming. The Empress Eternal won't wait anymore."

Lucius nodded. "Let her come."

But Walter shook his head. "She won't come to us. She'll draw us into her world—the Core. The heart of all existence. A place shaped by her will. Her history. Her rules."

Alexia stepped forward, eyes glowing faintly. "That means everything we've done—every Pillar we've earned—will be tested there. We won't fight with power alone. We'll fight against her memory of the world."

Lucius turned toward the others, locking eyes with each one.

"This won't be like the battles before. This will be personal."

He reached out his hand.

The Key of Judgment flared in response.

A pathway opened, a long corridor carved through twisting cosmic matter. At its end, a gate stood tall and endless, cast from the bones of dead realms. A throne was etched upon its center, sealed with three symbols—Power, Betrayal, Eternity.

As they stepped through, reality melted around them.

The Core was not a battlefield.

It was a dreamscape, shaped by centuries of the Empress Eternal's rule. Endless fields of glass reflected moments of her ascent, frozen images of her betrayal. Temples floated through golden skies, guarded by legions of false kings—souls she had twisted into knights.

Lucius and his companions moved through them slowly.

Each moment forward made the air heavier. Memories struck at them from all sides—visions of what might've been, of futures where Lucius had failed, futures where the Empress ruled unopposed.

In one mirror, Lilith was broken and chained, her fire extinguished.

In another, Alexia was a weapon, mindless and cruel.

Luna's image showed her draped in silk at the Empress's feet—seduced, but hollow.

Lucius gritted his teeth. "This is her truth. Not ours."

Walter raised his staff. "Then we overwrite it."

They reached the outer walls of the Throne Bastion after hours of traversing the fractured landscape. The walls were made not of stone but of old promises—ghostly texts, failed oaths, and lost alliances hardened into fortifications. Echoes of ancient kings drifted in the air like prayers never answered.

They weren't alone.

Standing before the gate were the Empress's Heralds—seven figures wreathed in shadow, their bodies sewn together from the memories of fallen champions. Each bore a crest from a world long destroyed, and each emanated an aura of sorrowful purpose.

One stepped forward, a tall woman with silver braids and hollow eyes.

"You have come too far," she said. "She gave you every chance to turn back."

"She never gave anyone a choice," Alexia growled.

Lilith summoned her flames, wings unfurling behind her. "I've had enough of her illusions."

Lucius raised a hand. "No. Let me speak."

The Herald's expression didn't change. "Speak, then. But know your words are your last."

Lucius stepped closer. "I am not here to kill your queen. I am here to end her reign."

The Herald's mouth twitched. "You think those are different?"

"I do," Lucius said, "because I won't take her place in chains. I'll break the Throne she twisted. I'll make something new."

The air held still.

Then the Heralds attacked.

The battle at the gate erupted in a blur of godfire and sorrow.

Walter held back three of the Heralds with spheres of folding time, rewinding their every motion and locking them in a cycle of frustration. Alexia danced through the melee, her blood-blades carving through illusions and bone alike. Luna became shadow itself, stepping through memories and turning enemies against each other.

Lilith unleashed hell.

Her flames scorched false skies, her roars echoing across dimensions.

Lucius fought the leader—the silver-braided woman. She wielded a spear that shimmered with shattered timelines. Every thrust distorted his place in the Core, scattering his senses across multiple realities.

But Lucius remained focused. He was the convergence of the Pillars. He was the axis of truth.

He parried once—twice—and then caught her spear.

"I know what you are," he said. "You're the last echo of her regret."

She hesitated.

And Lucius struck her with Judgment—not with force, but with clarity.

He showed her who she once was: a warrior who loved justice. A general who defied the Empress before being broken and remade.

She dropped the spear.

And vanished.

The other Heralds, weakened by the weight of their own memories, fell in turn.

The gates groaned open.

Beyond them stood the Throne.

And upon it, cloaked in gold and shadow, the Empress Eternal waited.

***

The gates stood open.

Beyond them, the sky did not exist.

The Throne Chamber was suspended in an abyss where reality collapsed and rebuilt itself with every breath. Stars bloomed and died in silence, rivers of divine energy spiraled endlessly across the void, and fragments of forgotten worlds floated like dust motes in twilight.

And at the center—raised upon a dais forged from stolen crowns—sat the Empress Eternal.

She was radiant.

A beauty that transcended form, draped in silks of shifting light. Her eyes gleamed with the knowledge of countless eons, and her aura wrapped the chamber like a mother's lullaby and a viper's coil all at once.

Lucius stepped through the archway first.

The Pillars hovered at his back, humming.

Behind him came Lilith, eyes narrowed. Alexia moved with the grace of war. Luna walked like she owned the stars, and Walter… he lingered near the rear, silent, haunted.

The Empress did not rise.

"You are bold to come here," she said, her voice echoing through a thousand memories.

"I'm here to end this," Lucius replied.

She tilted her head slightly. "End what, dear King-that-might-be? This throne? This war? Or the cycle that even I could not break?"

Walter stepped forward. "You were supposed to break it. But you chose yourself."

Her eyes flicked toward him.

"I chose reality, old friend. I chose to protect what remained. The King was weak. He believed love was stronger than law. And he died for it."

Alexia bared her fangs. "You betrayed him."

"I saved the Multiverse," the Empress answered. "You're all here because I held the line."

Lucius looked around the chamber. "You held it in your image. Twisting everything into memory. Binding potential in chains of nostalgia. You didn't preserve the Multiverse. You preserved yourself."

The Empress finally stood.

And the chamber shook.

"Then come," she whispered, "and break me if you can."

The battle did not begin with sound or flame.

It began with will.

The Empress stepped forward and raised her hand.

And time froze.

The Core itself stopped breathing. The Pillars shuddered in Lucius's orbit. His allies were locked mid-step—Lilith in flame, Alexia mid-leap, Luna half-shadow.

Only Lucius could move.

"Your final trial is you," the Empress said. "You think you're different. Better. But you will wear this Throne. And you will become me."

She thrust her hand forward.

And Lucius was flung into a mirror.

He landed in a world where he had taken the Throne.

Alone. Cold. Unchanging.

He ruled. And the Multiverse obeyed. But there was no Lilith. No Alexia. No Luna. No Walter. Only silence and submission.

He had won.

And lost everything.

The silence in that future was a knife that twisted through the soul. It was not peace—it was stagnation. The stars did not sing; they whispered in dread. Reality bent to his whim, but it never smiled. He spoke, and a thousand worlds obeyed, yet not a single voice spoke back in love.

"I am not her," he whispered.

But the mirror answered: Not yet.

The reflection shimmered, became the Empress herself, and lunged.

Lucius fought—not with his fists, but his truth. He let go of the vision, shattered the mirror with Judgment, and returned.

The Empress stood where he had left her. Still regal. Still watching.

"I've seen your future," Lucius said. "And I reject it."

"Then you die here."

She moved. Not with speed, but inevitability.

The Throne behind her awakened, and with it, the chains of law and memory. They lashed out, striking Lucius, binding his soul to choices he hadn't made yet. Regrets he hadn't felt yet.

But the Pillars rallied.

Creation shielded him.

Time rewound the bindings.

Chaos unraveled her illusions.

Destruction carved an opening.

And Judgment judged her.

Lucius surged forward, his hand wrapped in truth. He struck—not her body, but her spirit.

The Empress reeled.

She screamed—not in pain, but in recognition.

"You… you carry him," she said.

Lucius blinked. "The Dead King?"

She nodded. Tears shimmered in her eyes. "He… lives in you. His hope. His heart."

The Throne chamber flickered. A tremor ran through the Core.

"Then end this," Lucius said. "Or I will."

For a moment, she faltered. Her strength, her pride, her reign—all cracked.

Then she smiled.

"Prove it."

And they clashed.