Chapter 147: Chapter 141: Bonds
There was a moment of absolute, pin-drop silence. Time itself seemed to still. And then, all at once, the newly transformed Neo-Nephilims erupted into frenzied motion. Roars of exhilaration echoed through the air, power flaring around them like wildfires as the raw energy of their transformation surged uncontrollably. The ground trembled slightly beneath their feet as some unleashed bursts of unintentional energy, testing the boundaries of their new forms.
Cass and Damon, still standing on the periphery, didn’t move. They simply stared—at Zeke.
It wasn’t the chaos that held them still. It was Zeke’s quiet smile.
They had always known Zeke had done something drastic back in Murim. That he had, through whatever means necessary, secured his place and influence. But neither of them had imagined the scale of it. To manipulate not just a handful, but an entire world’s ideology? To indoctrinate and uplift people into a new species that worshipped him, in both awe and reverence? It was mind-boggling.
Zeke, for his part, seemed unfazed by their silent judgment. His expression remained calm, pleased even. All his efforts—the planning, the manipulation, the sacrifices—they hadn’t been in vain. Murim had been a trial, but it was a successful one. He had shaped it to serve a greater cause. And that cause was now barreling forward at full momentum.
But celebration would come later. There were still matters to attend to. Urgent ones.
Turning to his two oldest friends, he said, "Cass, Damon—coordinate with Grandpa and Uncle Dean. We need to manage the Awakenings across the territories. Make sure nothing goes wrong."
Cass, still processing everything, tilted his head and asked, "What about you? Where are you going?"
Zeke exhaled, his gaze distant for a moment. "I need to meet some old... friends."
Damon and Cass exchanged a brief glance, but neither pressed further. They could sense the weight behind those words, the ghosts he had yet to face. Without a word, they both nodded. A portal shimmered open beside them, a swirling gateway leading to Dimension Zero. Together, they stepped through and vanished.
Left alone, Zeke closed his eyes briefly and sent out a series of mental pulses—messages carried through the psychic web that bound Aurevion’s leaders. Within moments, his wings flared open, and he ascended into the sky, heading toward the Palace.
The Palace of Aurevion wasn’t merely a structure—it was a testament to ambition. It towered above the clouds like a monument carved out of myth. He had designed it himself, brick by brick, using ancient magics, lost technologies, and sheer will. It was meant to serve as both a residence and a symbol. The central hub of Aurevion’s new world order.
He had to admit—he’d gone a little overboard.
Towering spires shimmered in iridescent hues. Floating gardens rotated gently in the air, fueled by the very essence of the Celestial bodies of Aurevion. The halls were wide enough for dragons to pass through, and enchanted frescoes shifted across walls, depicting the unfolding history of their kind. There were training chambers, war rooms, sanctuaries, libraries, and courts—all seamlessly blended into one palatial realm.
But of all its wonders, none were as grand as the Throne Room.
As Zeke entered the vast hall, the immense doors creaked open with reverence. The air felt heavier here, almost sacred. Two thrones stood at the far end of the room, elevated on a platform of shimmering obsidian and bone. Not ordinary thrones—these were symbols, relics of power that pulsed with ancient authority.
One was the Lotus Throne—a seat crafted from twisted metal, fossilized blood, and ancient bones, arranged in the shape of a blooming lotus. A paradox of peace and violence. The other was the Iron Throne, far more brutal in appearance, forged entirely from blood-soaked weapons: swords, axes, spears, all melted and merged into a jagged, ominous crown of war.
These weren’t just seats of rule. They were echoes of the past and declarations of the future. The seats of the Neo-Nephilim Primogenitors.
Zeke approached the Lotus Throne and sat down, his figure instantly framed by its dark grandeur. He waited, fingers steepled before him.
Soon, the heavy silence was broken as a group of Neo-Nephilims entered the chamber. Zeke’s lips curled into a genuine smile—something he rarely showed during his time in Murim. There, he had worn the mask of cold authority, detached and unapproachable. But here, in Aurevion, among those he trusted... he could afford to be himself.
Especially when he saw him.
Zeke stood, walking forward to greet one of the newcomers—a large, broad-shouldered Neo-Nephilim who towered above most others in the room. Without hesitation, Zeke extended an arm. The boy smiled and accepted the gesture, pulling Zeke into a strong bro hug.
"You really weren’t kidding, huh?" the boy said with a laugh. "You’re actually a kid."
Zeke smirked. "What, regretting your decision now?"
"Not even a little," the boy replied warmly. "It’s good to meet the real you. Finally."
Zeke pulled away and raised a brow. "So? How does it feel? Becoming so weak after being one of the strongest?"
The boy chuckled, the deep rumble of his voice filling the room. "You know what I told you back then. It was a necessary sacrifice. My strength for potential. I may be weaker now... but I’m young again. I’ve got time."
The two shared a light laugh, and for a moment, the tension melted away.
The large boy was none other than Mammoth Head—a legendary figure, a powerhouse in his time, now reborn. Surrounding him were others who had made the same choice: past Heavenly Demons who had survived, Demon Monarchs from forgotten realms, Spirit Beast Clan Leaders who once commanded entire species, and among them—Woong, Bum, and Woo.
And then... her.
Standing slightly apart from the others, almost as though unsure of her place, was a woman Zeke recognized instantly. His mother.
Or rather, the person who was supposed to be.
He felt a strange tightness in his chest, an unfamiliar discomfort he wasn’t entirely ready to confront. Of all the challenges he had prepared for—this wasn’t one of them. He didn’t know how to treat her. Didn’t know if he wanted to.
Not yet.
Instead, he turned back to the others, pushing those thoughts aside. There was work to be done. Bonds to be reforged. Wars to prepare for.
