Chapter 10: Prisoners Beneath the Realms

Chapter 10: Prisoners Beneath the Realms

Beneath the layers of known existence—underneath cities, oceans, and the folds of forgotten time—they waited.

Some were once gods.

Others, monsters beyond comprehension.

All of them—prisoners.

Sealed away by the last Emperor, their names erased from mortal memory, their legends buried in myth and misdirection. But they had not been alone when they were cast down.

Each had left behind fragments—children born of blood or shadow, loyal cultists, lingering specters, artificial intelligences built in their image. Some called themselves Watchers. Others, Prophets. Others, Investors.

And over countless centuries, they did what parasites do best—they adapted.

One became a banking empire, built on coded language and soul-debt. Every signature a drop of essence. Every transaction, a sacrament.

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Another embedded itself in global media, crafting stories that dulled the masses to magic and myth. They hid the truth in plain sight, turning the memory of their master into fantasy—movies, cartoons, comic books. Until no one would believe when he returned.

One formed a university, training "gifted" individuals, cataloging anomalies, quietly steering scholars toward unlocking the mathematical pattern that formed the prison’s key.

And one became a child, passed from body to body, living lifetimes, always watching. Waiting.

When Philip changed, they all felt it.

A ripple. A pulse. A signal.

And across the twelve connected worlds—and Earth—the hunt began.

In the Arctic, a submarine buried for decades cracked open from the inside. Frost-covered cultists marched silently toward the surface. They had no mouths, but they could still chant:

"He wears the red. The gate shall open."

In America, a powerful CEO paused mid-meeting. Her assistants froze, unsure why she was smiling. Inside her chest, a second heartbeat had returned after centuries of silence. She looked out her skyscraper window.

“He’s awake.”

In a prison floating above the gas world of Zyn’korr, a soul-beast that had been screaming in silence for millennia suddenly stopped. The guards panicked. When they checked its cell, it was gone—only a burning glyph remained:

CROWN SIGHTED. HUNT INITIATED.

Each prisoner had carved a different fate for their remnants. Some sought to free their masters. Others, in defiance or desperation, sought to kill the Emperor before he could open the gates.

And only one thing was certain now every shadow, sect, and secret power that once bowed to the Forgotten Ones had begun the search