The Extra's Rise - Chapter 1087
1087: The Crown of Seven 1087: The Crown of Seven The simulation blurred again.
The passage of time was aggressive, skipping decades of conquest and consolidation.
When the world stabilized, I wasn’t looking at a battlefield.
I was standing in the Sanctum of Sins, the geometric center of the Demon Capital.
It was a throne room, but it looked more like the bridge of a galaxy-class starship combined with a cathedral.
Massive pillars of dark alloy stretched up to a ceiling that was a holographic projection of the galaxy.
The floor was polished obsidian, reflecting the faces of the six beings kneeling upon it.
They were the Demon Lords.
The absolute rulers of their respective factions.
Beings of Divine Rank who commanded star systems.
The Lord of Wrath, a new successor after Moloch’s line failed.
The Lord of Gluttony, a massive, gelatinous entity housed in a containment suit.
The Lord of Greed.
The Lord of Sloth.
The Lord of Envy.
The Lord of Pride.
They were all battered.
They were all bowing.
Only one remained standing.
At the top of the dais, standing before the Empty Throne, was Lysantra, the Demon Lord of Lust.
She was breathtaking-a creature of perfect symmetry and terrifying presence.
She didn’t wear armor; she wore a gown woven from hard-light filaments that shifted color with her mood.
Her horns were elegant curves of white gold.
She was the strongest of the Seven.
Her faction controlled the Empire’s economy, its culture, and its population.
“You cannot sit there, Usurper,” Lysantra said, her voice sounding like a choir of violins.
It wasn’t a shout; it was a psychic frequency that vibrated in the pleasure centers of the brain.
“The Throne of the Overlord has been empty for ten thousand years.
It rejects all who are not…
complete.” Standing at the base of the stairs was Tenebria.
She didn’t look like a scavenger anymore.
She wore a long coat of matte-black nanoweave, simple and unadorned.
She carried no weapons.
She didn’t need them.
Six distinct Authorities swirled around her like orbiting moons-Red for Wrath, Orange for Gluttony, Gold for Greed, Blue for Sloth, Green for Envy, Violet for Pride.
She took a step up.
“It rejects you because you are slaves,” Tenebria said.
Her voice was flat, bored.
“You are defined by a single Gift.
You are one-sevenths of a god.” She took another step.
The pressure in the room spiked.
The kneeling Lords flinched, their heads pressed lower to the floor.
“I am not a slice,” Tenebria said.
“I am the whole pie.” Lysantra’s eyes narrowed.
The seductive grace vanished, replaced by the cold calculation of a predator.
“I am Lysantra,” she hissed.
“I hold the Authority of Connection.
I can sever the neural pathways of your brain.
I can make your own heart fall in love with stopping.” She raised her hand.
Pink Miasma flooded the room.
Divine Authority of Lust: Sensory Overload.
It wasn’t a physical attack.
It was a data-dump of pure sensation.
She overloaded the nervous system of every being in the room.
The kneeling Lords screamed, clutching their heads as they were paralyzed by infinite pleasure and infinite pain simultaneously.
Tenebria didn’t scream.
She didn’t even blink.
Her eyes shifted to Violet (Pride).
‘I do not accept this input.’ The psychic wave washed over her and vanished.
She filtered it out like spam mail.
Tenebria took another step.
She was halfway up the stairs.
“Connection?” Tenebria asked.
“That is your power?
To bind things?” Her eyes shifted to Gold (Greed).
“I want that.” She reached out.
She didn’t touch Lysantra.
She touched the concept of the attack.
Authority of Greed: Hostile Takeover.
The pink Miasma froze.
It turned grey.
Then, it reversed.
Lysantra gasped, clutching her chest.
The connection she had established snapped back on her.
She fell to her knees, overwhelmed by the sensory feedback of her own technique.
“You…
you stole the control…” Lysantra wheezed, looking up with wide, terrified eyes.
“You have six…
how can you manage the complexity?
The mental load alone should turn you into a vegetable!” Tenebria reached the top of the dais.
She stood over the final Lord.
“You process the Gifts with your soul,” Tenebria said, looking down at her.
“I process them with my Will.” She reached down and grabbed Lysantra by her white-gold horns.
Lysantra tried to fight, tried to summon her guards, but the Authority of Sloth radiated from Tenebria, freezing the air in the room.
No sound could travel.
No help could come.
“Submit,” Tenebria ordered.
It wasn’t a request.
She used the Authority of Wrath to amplify the command into a sonic boom that cracked the floor.
Lysantra trembled.
She looked at the woman standing above her-a woman who held the power to destroy the galaxy six times over.
She looked at the empty eyes that held no specific nature, only an endless, terrifying adaptability.
Lysantra broke.
She bowed her head.
“I…
submit,” she whispered.
“My Gift is yours, Overlord.” She didn’t die.
Tenebria didn’t rip her heart out.
Instead, Tenebria placed a hand on Lysantra’s forehead.
A stream of Pink light-the Essence of Lust-flowed from Lysantra into Tenebria.
She didn’t take it all.
She took the Crown.
She took the supremacy.
She left Lysantra alive, but demoted.
Lysantra was no longer a Lord; she was a vassal.
Tenebria absorbed the final light.
HUM.
The room shook.
The planet shook.
The seven colors swirling around Tenebria didn’t mix into brown or gray.
They accelerated.
They spun faster and faster until they blurred into a single, terrifying shade.
Black.
Pure, absolute, light-absorbing Black.
The Authority of Sin.
Tenebria turned around.
She didn’t look tired.
She looked…
full.
For the first time in her life, the hunger in her eyes was gone, replaced by a serenity that was infinitely more dangerous.
She sat on the Throne.
The Miasma of the entire planet-no, the entire Empire-shifted.
Every conduit, every reactor, every demon soul in the galaxy felt the change.
The Throne was occupied.
The Seven Lords (and their successors) knelt in unison.
“All hail the Overlord,” Lysantra whispered, her voice trembling.
“All hail Tenebria.” Tenebria rested her chin on her hand.
She looked out the massive view-port of the throne room, past the kneeling Lords, into the star-field.
“We have pacified the Abyss,” she said.
Her voice was projected to every screen in the city.
“We have conquered the fringe worlds.
We have united the Seven Families.” She pointed a finger at a specific cluster of stars.
A realm that was technically outside the Empire’s borders.
A realm of magic, biology, and ancient, arrogant power.
The Dragon Realm.
“They call themselves the Strongest,” Tenebria said softly.
“They claim their scales are impervious to Miasma.
They claim their magic is superior to our Authorities.” She stood up.
The Black aura around her flared, eating the light in the room.
“Prepare the fleet,” Tenebria commanded.
“We are going to hunt lizards.”