Knowledge and information about Zeraphyx were not things Nyxaroth lacked.
As one of the oldest beings still alive, he possessed a wealth of knowledge—myths, bloodline records, forgotten wars, forbidden truths, and the hidden distribution of power across Zeraphyx.
There were very few things in existence capable of surprising him.
Very few things capable of making him uneasy.
Yet today—
He felt both.
Far above the Shadowdimension Realm—
Beyond layers of darkness.
Beyond domain walls.
Beyond the boundary separating the Realm from the outside heavens—
A tribulation was gathering.
A terrifying one.
Far greater than the one that descended when Velzahar fought the young white tiger.
Lightning gathered.
Heavenly pressure condensed.
The skies trembled.
Nyxaroth stared upward.
His purple eyes reflected countless bolts of divine destruction.
And with that sight—
Old memories resurfaced.
Painful ones.
Ancient ones.
Memories buried beneath thousands of years.
That day.
That accursed day.
The day the heavens descended to erase him.
The day even he had nearly died.
The day he learned that even monsters could feel fear.
Even now—
Remembering it made his expression darken.
Slowly, his gaze lowered.
Toward the white tiger below.
Velzahar.
A bitter smile formed on his face.
"Calm down, heavens."
His voice was low.
Yet it carried.
Cold.
Ancient.
Unshaken.
"I cannot kill him even if I wished to."
Lightning answered with violent thunder.
The heavens refused to calm.
Nyxaroth's smile widened faintly.
"And besides…"
Purple light flashed within his eyes.
"I am not petty enough to strike another for the sins of someone else."
His gaze remained fixed on the battlefield.
Watching.
Silent.
The heavens rumbled louder.
As if refusing to leave.
As if waiting.
Waiting for an opportunity.
Waiting for weakness.
Nyxaroth understood.
The heavens wanted Velzahar dead.
But unlike before—
They no longer possessed confidence.
Because even the heavens had realized something.
This white tiger…
Was dangerous.
Extremely dangerous.
Then—
Velzahar moved.
Lightning Authority surged violently.
Every strand of power condensed.
Every trace of force sharpened.
Everything fused into one final strike.
Then—
BOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!
The Realm shook.
Violently.
The final explosion illuminated everything.
Darkness disappeared.
Shadows scattered.
Tribulation clouds shattered.
The heavens split open.
Authority collapsed.
Space cracked like broken glass.
Reality trembled.
Then—
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Even the winds stopped.
Everything froze.
Then—
Far above the shattered heavens—
Something awakened.
Ancient.
Forgotten.
Timeless.
A consciousness.
Not mortal.
Not divine.
Not beast.
The Realm itself.
Its awareness spread.
Its gaze descended.
Falling upon the white-furred figure standing amidst destruction.
Lightning crackled around him.
Blue radiance danced across his body.
Unyielding.
Proud.
Unbroken.
And in that instant—
The Realm understood.
Too late.
It had made a catastrophic mistake.
It had not challenged talent.
It had not challenged genius.
It had not challenged a prodigy.
No.
It had challenged something far more terrifying.
An anomaly.
A being beyond ordinary law.
Something that should never have existed.
Something even the Realm itself could not fully comprehend.
For the first time in ages—
The Realm hesitated.
Then—
It retreated.
---
Far below—
Velzahar stood amidst ruin.
Still in Beast Lightning Form III.
Storm Deity Ascension.
His aura was unstable.
Violent.
Yet terrifyingly controlled.
Nyxaroth observed him quietly.
Then—
His eyes narrowed.
He sensed movement.
Seven shadows.
Moving through darkness.
Silent.
Perfect.
They crossed space in seconds.
Appearing around Velzahar from seven directions.
Nyxaroth remained silent.
Watching.
The seven had arrived.
The true guardians of the Shadowdimension Realm.
Each one—
An Elder God.
Each one—
Ancient monsters.
Velzahar's body tensed instantly.
Lightning crackled.
Instinct screamed.
He prepared for battle.
Nyxaroth watched.
Then—
Something unexpected happened.
The seven did not attack.
Instead—
They slowly raised their hands.
A gesture.
Ancient.
Formal.
Respectful.
Then—
They bowed.
Even Nyxaroth's eyes sharpened.
Interesting.
The shadows dispersed.
Revealing black panther humanoid figures cloaked in darkness.
Purple eyes.
Calm expressions.
Silent pressure.
The one standing at the front stepped forward.
Head lowered.
Then he spoke.
"Greetings, Young Sovereign."
Velzahar said nothing.
Only observed.
The leader bowed deeper.
"We apologize for the Realm's disrespect."
His voice was calm.
Measured.
Ancient.
"We ask forgiveness."
Nyxaroth's gaze sharpened further.
He knew these seven.
Very well.
They bowed to no one.
Not easily.
Not even to gods.
Yet now—
They bowed to Velzahar.
That alone was telling.
Then the leader spoke again.
"We have waited a very long time."
Silence followed.
The six behind him stood motionless.
Then—
The leader's voice deepened.
"We know of the Pure Ones."
Velzahar's aura sharpened.
The leader remained calm.
Nyxaroth remained silent.
His expression unreadable.
The leader continued.
"We know of false ones."
"We know of incomplete ones."
"We know of artificial ones."
Then—
A pause.
His next words carried weight.
"And we know of true ones."
Silence.
Heavy.
Oppressive.
The leader lifted his head slightly.
His purple eyes locked onto Velzahar.
"Our kind has witnessed many Pure Ones."
Nyxaroth's eyes narrowed faintly.
That was true.
He himself had hunted them.
Killed them.
Erased them.
Some were powerful.
Some were dangerous.
But none…
None had ever felt like this.
The leader's gaze intensified.
Then he spoke.
"You…"
A pause.
"…are different."
Velzahar remained silent.
But the atmosphere changed.
The six behind the leader bowed lower.
Complete respect.
Complete acknowledgment.
The leader followed.
Lowering his head.
And then—
He spoke the words that froze the battlefield.
"The Realm recognizes only one Pure One."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Then—
His voice descended like thunder.
"And that…"
He bowed fully.
"…is you."