Chapter Eleven — The Call That Shakes the Heavens
The Planetary Gathering Center lay at the very heart of the world.
It was a vast, open expanse of living green—perfectly level ground stretching endlessly in every direction. The emerald field alone spanned thousands of kilometers, so immense that the horizon itself seemed to drown within it. No matter how many beings gathered here, the land never felt crowded. It was a place designed for power—space crafted to host legends without restraint.
Far to the north, standing at the edge of this colossal plain, rose the Elder Hall.
It was not massive in size, yet its presence dominated the landscape utterly.
Every inch of the structure was etched with intricate designs—patterns so precise and alive that the hall felt less like a building and more like a living entity. A soft, radiant glow shimmered across its surface, as if ancient energy flowed beneath its walls. Against the endless green of the plains, it stood as a beacon—timeless, immovable, divine.
Just gazing upon it stirred reverence.
I found myself momentarily lost, imagining the interior—halls shaped not by hands, but by will. Chambers sculpted by Elder Gods of the highest order, infused with authority accumulated across countless eras. This was no mere meeting place.
It was sacred ground.
Here, all clan leaders of the planet convened to decide matters that shaped destinies. It was also the official reception hall for rulers from other worlds—fully equipped for diplomacy, residence, and even prolonged interplanetary stays.
Two hundred meters behind the Elder Hall stood the Clan Head Residence.
Though slightly inferior in status, it was no less breathtaking.
The structure carried a refined elegance—commanding respect without demanding it. My brother and I had visited this place countless times when meeting our grandfather, yet it never failed to leave an impression.
From the outside, the residence rose only five stories high, its circular design modest and controlled. But within—and beneath—it revealed its true scale.
More than a hundred underground levels extended deep into the planet's crust.
Those depths housed immense libraries, ancient archives, sealed vaults, and restricted chambers where relics, forbidden techniques, and truths dangerous enough to reshape history were preserved.
It was not a residence.
It was a fortress of knowledge.
Directly before the Elder Hall, exactly one hundred meters away, stood a raised podium.
Its height was modest, yet perfectly calculated—elevated just enough to command a clear view of the entire gathering field. Around it stretched a vast open area capable of accommodating over five hundred individuals with ease. This space served as the focal point for declarations, ceremonies, and decisions that could alter the fate of worlds.
Today, it was filled to its limits.
The endless green field had transformed into a living sea of movement and sound. Voices overlapped endlessly—laughter, debate, reunion. Old comrades embraced after decades apart. Warriors exchanged stories of battle and survival. Families reunited, bloodlines reconnecting under the open sky.
We found friends among the crowd, along with their kin, and spoke as though time itself had paused just for us. Faces long absent returned once more, greeted with warmth and shared memories. In that moment, it was clear—
This gathering was not merely a summons.
It was a convergence of blood, history, and fate.
An hour passed without anyone noticing.
By the time the atmosphere began to still, the morning sun had climbed high into the sky, bathing the plains in golden light.
Then—
A man stepped onto the podium.
His movements were unhurried. Calm. Measured.
Yet with every step he took, the air itself seemed to shift.
This was not the pressure of speed.
It was the weight of authority.
An ancient presence spread outward, rolling across the field like a silent tide. Conversations died mid-sentence. Laughter vanished. Thousands—no, millions—of eyes turned as one, locking onto the figure as he reached the center of the podium.
Then—
ROOOOOOAAAAARRRRR!!!!!!
The deafening roar of a White Tiger tore through the heavens.
A towering pillar of white energy erupted from his body, blasting skyward like a divine beacon. The surrounding air grew sharp, dense, suffocating—as if the world itself had been forced to bow.
For ordinary beings, the pressure alone would have shattered mind and soul.
But those gathered here stood firm.
Even so, silence fell instantly.
Absolute.
The clan leader stood tall, his white aura settling into a steady radiance as his gaze swept across the endless sea of faces.
"Many of you already know who I am," his voice echoed—calm, yet carrying the weight of mountains.
"And for those who do not—know this."
"I am the Clan Leader."
The words did not need emphasis.
They were law.
"I have summoned you all today not for celebration… not for ceremony…"
His eyes sharpened.
"But to speak of a matter that will decide our future."
A pause.
Then—
"The Tournament of Dominance."
A ripple moved through the crowd—controlled, restrained, yet impossible to hide.
"This is not a simple contest," he continued. "It is a tournament on a multiversal scale—a battlefield where every race that has existed since the dawn of time will clash."
"Gods. Beasts. Demons. Forgotten bloodlines."
"All will stand beneath the same sky."
"At its conclusion," he said, voice steady, "the multiverse itself will undergo a redistribution of power."
Silence deepened.
"I do not tell you this to burden you with fear," he continued, his gaze burning brighter.
"I tell you this because I demand your best."
"Because hesitation is death."
"And mediocrity is extinction."
His voice sharpened, cutting through the air.
"You are not weak."
"You are not insignificant."
"You are the next generation—the ones who will either rise… or be erased."
A pulse of energy rippled outward.
"From this moment onward, every treasure we possess will be unsealed."
"Every resource."
"Every relic."
"Every forbidden archive."
"Nothing will be held back."
"All of it will be used to train you."
"To temper you."
"To forge you into the force that will carry our legacy forward."
When the gathering finally ended, excitement burned openly on the faces of the younger generation. Their blood surged at the thought of battle—of clashing with warriors from across the multiverse, of testing their limits against legends.
The elders, however, wore expressions far more complex.
Fear.
Resolve.
Grim understanding.
They saw the truth clearly.
This tournament was not merely a test of strength.
It was a declaration.
A display of dominance.
An unspoken threat—proof that certain factions could strike, conquer, and enslave at any moment.
The young saw opportunity.
The old saw slaughter.
One generation dreamed of glory.
The other prepared for survival.
Because the Breach with Neraphyx was drawing near.
Balance would soon be tested.
And when the realms collide—
Only the strong would remain.
The Breach — When the Realms Collide — was no longer distant.
It was coming.