Abyssal Sovereign: The Demon's Dominion-Chapter 291 - 290: The winner; challenge

Silence filled the Federation as everyone awaited the result. Gasps echoed across the hall, followed by nervous gulps yet no one dared to speak. Every eye was fixed on the sky, waiting for an answer.

Finally, the blinding white screen stabilized. As the smoke cleared, the aftermath of the battle was revealed.

There, at the center of the explosion, two beings floated in the vastness of space.

"An equal…" Darius murmured, his voice trembling in disbelief before his body gave out. His wounds were healing slowly, but consciousness slipped away instantly.

"I won…" Caius whispered, his voice quivering as well, before collapsing into unconsciousness.

All eyes turned to General Drezan.

His judgment at this moment carried unfathomable weight — for it would not only determine the winner, but also decide who would become king. For a brief moment, his authority surpassed even that of a Kingmaker. After all, they existed for this exact purpose — to crown the next ruler.

And now, Drezan's word alone could make either Darius or Caius the new king.

The silence was suffocating.

Every gaze in the Federation — and beyond — fell upon General Drezan. The tension thickened, as even powerhouses from other organizations watched intently. Especially those from the military.

"The people want him. Besides, he won. So crown him. It's time for the military to rise," a voice echoed within Drezan's mind.

His eyes widened in fear and awe. It was the voice of one of the Elder Marshals — a being whose strength few dared to question.

The other major organizations — the Mercenary Guild and the Nightblood Pirates — remained silent.

No one wished to provoke a multi-universal realm powerhouse. Besides, neither of their direct candidates had won; there was no reason to create an unnecessary enemy.

Hearing the marshal's command, Drezan was shaken — but he understood. He had no choice.

He took a deep breath, ready to declare Darius the winner, when suddenly—

"Stop."

The single word echoed like thunder through his soul.

Drezan froze. His mind went blank, his body refusing to move. His very soul trembled.

The hidden powerhouses stirred. One by one, beings of unfathomable strength revealed themselves from the shadows.

A terrifying pressure spread across the void as universal and multi-universal realm entities appeared — some observing in shock, others preparing for confrontation.

Among them stood a new face.

Not just another newly ascended powerhouse — but someone far beyond that. She belonged to one of the most mysterious organizations in existence, second only to the elusive Wild Shade Organization.

An aged man with a long beard stepped forward — a towering figure radiating vitality and power. His marshal's uniform gleamed, symbolizing his rank, position, and allegiance.

"How dare you?" the old marshal demanded, his voice cold and thunderous. Few in the Federation could make him feel fear — and she was not among them. This was the first time in a long time

that he felt such defiance.

"How dare I?" the woman replied calmly. "Of course I dare. He won."

Her voice was like silk laced with power. Though her face was obscured, her presence was undeniable — her plump, well-defined figure outlined by her tight combat suit.

"How so?" the marshal retorted, his tone full of authority. "Both of them fell unconscious at the same time."

"Yes, to the outside world," she answered, her voice steady, her gaze unwavering. "But we saw it clearly. Caius was the last one standing. And know this — the Dreadborne does not abandon its own, nor will we allow injustice to stand."

The marshal's expression darkened. "Who are you to speak so boldly? If I say he won, then he did. Since when does a low-tier multi-universal being have the right to speak to me like this? Or are you simply too confident in your organization?"

"I…" the woman began, stepping closer — and with every step, her aura surged.

The space around her trembled violently as her power climbed — past the middle stage — then higher, until the pressure of a peak multi-universal realm being filled the void.

"I am Linkir, the First Chain," she declared. "Servant of our leader, and his foremost general. I lead the Dreadborne to battle — not through will or negotiation, but through power… through strength, through destruction.

I stand by my comrade, the one who won."

She stopped just inches from the marshal, her energy crushing the space between them.

The marshal's eyes widened in disbelief as the full weight of her aura pressed down on him.

"So… strong…" he thought, his pride collapsing under the pressure.

And he wasn't the only one — even the other multi-universal beings were shaken.

"So tell me, Marshal," Linkir said coldly, her eyes glowing like burning stars. "Will you stand against me? Against the Dreadborne Organization?"

The marshal swallowed hard, unable to speak. The oppressive silence said everything.

The gathered beings were stunned. None had expected the Dreadborne to possess a peak multi-universal being — let alone one serving under an even stronger, unknown leader.

"Fascinating…" murmured one of the spectators, awe in his voice.

Finally, the marshal broke. "N-no… Drezan," he stammered. "Announce Caius as the winner."

In an instant, Linkir vanished — the crushing aura dissipating like mist. The marshal gasped, his pounding heart slowly calming.

"The Dreadborne… truly terrifying," he thought, trembling.

The entire exchange had lasted less than a millisecond. The outside world had noticed nothing.

General Drezan exhaled deeply, gathering himself before speaking.

"The winner… is… the Eldest Prince, Caius," he announced.

For a moment — silence.

Then disbelief rippled through the crowd.

"Eldest Prince Caius defeated the Youngest General, Darius?" The words sounded unreal.

But within seconds, cheers erupted. Roars, cries, and celebrations spread across the Federation.

That day, a new headline shook every corner of the known worlds:

"The Eldest Prince Rises Again — the Crown to Rest Upon His Head in Three Days."

*******

At the Dreadborne Organization…

Deep within the abyssal stronghold, Linkir appeared before the remaining generals of Void.

Their gazes locked onto her—most filled with curiosity, while one burned with silent defiance.

"When did you break through to the peak of Rank 3?" Nyx asked sharply, her tone authoritative and cold, laced with accusation.

Linkir paused, her eyes sweeping across the room. The other generals stood behind Nyx, their expressions aligned with hers, though less hostile. Still, Linkir could tell—Nyx knew something the others didn't.

"So, you want me to say it with my own mouth…" Linkir thought.

"You found them, didn't you?" Linkir asked aloud.

Nyx scoffed in response as several crimson flags materialized above her—then dropped to the floor one after another with a heavy thud.

The room fell silent.

The other generals' eyes widened. They knew exactly what those flags were.

Soul Collectors.

Each one was a relic of Void's demon army—flags that harvested the souls of the fallen. Normally, they glowed a deep, living crimson, and the more souls they consumed, the darker they became.

But now… these flags were dull, dry, and lifeless—completely drained.

That could only mean one thing: every soul within them had been taken.

Even more terrifying, all of the Soul Collectors including the one with the army in this multi universe and the ones left behind in the Abyss, dozens of them—were now gathered here, empty.

"You took them all?" Nyx's voice cracked like thunder. "How dare you? Did you even ask our master first?"

Her aura burst outward, shaking the chamber as her dark wings flared. She glared at Linkir with pure rage.

Linkir's expression darkened.

"And what if I did?" she asked quietly.

Nyx froze.

"Void left me in charge of this multiverse—to manage it, to destroy it," Linkir continued, her voice steady and cold. "Low-level Rank 3s like most of you can't handle that burden. So I did what I had to do. Desperate times call for desperate measures."

Her footsteps echoed as she approached the dark throne—the one Void once sat upon.

Without hesitation, she turned, looked every one of them in the eyes… and sat down.

Gasps rippled through the hall.

"I am the leader of the Dreadborne Organization now," Linkir declared, her tone absolute. "You will listen to me."

The generals bowed their heads, acknowledging her dominance—everyone except Nyx.

"How dare you—" Nyx started, but Linkir's eyes flashed, silencing her instantly.

"You're only against this because Void didn't choose you," Linkir said, her words sharp as blades. "You never had access to these flags, and you never will. You were once an angel—pure, radiant, obedient. But that's over. Now you're a fallen angel… a demon under Void's command."

She rose slightly from the throne, her aura pressing down on the entire chamber.

"You obey him—and those above you. Unlike Heaven, our punishments aren't light. The next time you question me like this… you'll have to reconstruct your body."

Her voice was so cold it froze the air itself.

Alayot, one of Void's generals, felt a chill crawl down his spine—just like the others.

The message was clear.

Linkir would kill Nyx without hesitation.

Linkir rested her face on her palm, gazing down at the five generals who stood before her in silence.

"Continue with the plan," she ordered.

Nyx's head hung low, her teeth clenched, fury and humiliation twisting her expression as she bowed.

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