Chapter 909: I can find you anywhere in the universe
The moment Nebolex uttered the words "Fallen Primordial God", the eyes of every Devil in the throne room widened—shock, awe, and raw greed burning in their gazes.
Gods were mighty beings, worshiped by mortals as untouchable paragons capable of wonders beyond comprehension. To most, they seemed eternal and invincible. Yet the truth—known to the powerful who stood here—was more sobering. A God was simply a lifeform who had chosen the Path of Faith, using the belief of their subjects to forge a Divine Kingdom, a plane orbiting the world where their devotees live.
Their lifespans were vast, their power great, but in the eyes of Lords and higher beings, they were not invincible. A single Lord could destroy a God, and even a Superior Legend could cripple a divine realm by slaughtering its believers, severing the flow of faith that sustained it.
But a Primordial God—that was something else entirely.
They were not merely rulers of divine domains, but entities who had fused themselves with the Laws of existence, becoming living embodiments of cosmic forces. Their homes were dimensions beyond even the Higher Dimensions, planes untouchable to most life. They were rare, aloof, and all but removed from the universe’s common struggles. Faith was useful to them, a tool to raise their people higher, but it was not sustenance. Unlike ordinary gods, their existence was not chained to worship.
There were records of Primordial Gods vanishing, retreating into silence, never to return. But never—never—had there been mention of one dying and leaving a corpse behind. That was unprecedented. And the weight of that impossibility hung in the chamber like a storm, deepening the shock etched across every Devil’s face.
Nebolex allowed them a moment to absorb this revelation before his voice thundered again.
"Your mission is simple. Enter the Sacred Realm. Find the corpse of the Fallen Primordial God. Bring it to me." His countless eyes gleamed crimson. "Whichever of you succeeds will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams. I will make you my right hand as I ascend, climbing higher and higher through the sectors—until I reach the heart of the Third Realm."
The promise hit like a spark in dry tinder. A position at the side of Nebolex, one of the top Devil Lords of the Third Layer, was a dream so intoxicating it could drive any Devil into madness.
But sharp, cunning lights flickered in the eyes of many gathered. Why deliver such a prize to Nebolex? The corpse of a Primordial God—surely its worth eclipsed anything the Lord could offer. If they could seize it for themselves, if they could harness its power... their rise would be swifter than any promise.
Nebolex, ancient and perceptive, saw through their thoughts as though they were etched on their flesh. His jagged maw curled into a terrible smile.
"Before you march," he said, "I will implant a seal into your hearts, your brains, and your very souls. Through it, I will be able to locate you wherever you are. And when the time comes, I will summon you back to me."
The Devils twitched. Some flinched. The meaning was clear. This was no simple tracker. Such a seal would brand them at the core of their existence. It could not be erased. It would allow Nebolex not just to find them, but to exert absolute control if he so wished.
Normally, no Devil—especially not Lords and Superior Legends—would ever submit to such treatment. To surrender control over their soul was unthinkable. But as their gazes met Nebolex’s, they understood the truth. They had already heard too much. There was no leaving this throne room alive without the seal. Accept it, or become food for the Spider Lord.
Resignation, bitter and cold, settled across their expressions.
Nebolex’s wicked smile widened. His claws rose, black and dripping with infernal ichor, as he turned to the two Devil Lords seated closest at his left and right.
"Step forward," he commanded.
The pair obeyed without hesitation. They stood before him, their immense forms dwarfing mountains, but even they seemed small before Nebolex’s grotesque bulk. His talons reached forward, stabbing into their foreheads with surgical precision. Dark light spread through their bodies, etching pain across their faces, but neither resisted. The infernal energy coursed through their hearts, their brains, their Soul Dimensions, leaving burning imprints of power that flared across their skin before fading into nothing.
"Next," Nebolex growled.
The branded Lords withdrew, making room for the next group: the Superior Legends. One by one, they stepped forward. One by one, they were pierced, marked, and bound.
At last, it was Vlad and his companions’ turn.
Many eyes turned to them. The others all knew their story—the upstarts who had inherited Zialath’s responsibilities not by pact or favor, but by killing her and seizing her place. They had been given none of her rewards, only her burdens. Surely now, the weight of Nebolex’s claw would crush them.
But they moved forward without hesitation, silent, disciplined, and cold.
Nebolex’s smile twisted into amusement. He saw their silence as submission, their acceptance of inferiority. His talons descended.
The infernal energy poured into them—heart, brain, Soul Dimension. Vlad and the True Depravitas remained utterly still, but their minds sharpened. They feared not the pain, but the risk: that Nebolex might glimpse too deeply, might notice the uniqueness of their essence, the secrets they carried. Yet the Spider Lord was too full of himself. To him, all others were insects. He did not probe, did not inspect. So long as his seals burned bright within them, he was satisfied.
With a single wave of his massive hand, he dismissed them.
"Now," Nebolex said, his countless eyes glimmering, "I can find you anywhere in the universe. And when I so choose, I can bring you to me in an instant. So be assured—everything will proceed as planned."
His smile widened, jagged teeth glowing like molten blades.
But his assurance brought no comfort. The Devils frowned, some openly, some hidden behind forced stillness.