Omega Ascension System[BL]

Chapter 325: _Destroy The Dynasty

Lucian’s POV

*****

’Lucian?’ Elian’s mental voice was fainter but firm. ’Stay with me. What do you see? What’s the dimension showing—’

"I’m back at the Lunarian throne room," Lucian responded too hastily, fists curling and uncurling. "But... But there’s something different."

His father’s voice echoed with laughter from everywhere at once, but he didn’t see him. All his attention was on the empty throne standing above the dais.

Panic and confusion he loathed swelled in his chest. "I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do. Is... Is my fear my father? Becoming him? I—"

’Only you can answer that question, Lucian.’ Elian whispered. ’The manor’s chaotic energies are messing with the bond connection. But I’m still h... Ere...’

As if on some twisted divine timing, Elian’s voice faded away slowly.

Lucian shouted. "Elian?! Elian, are you okay?" For fuck’s sake Amara could’ve placed more traps in that hell-forsaken manor. "I’m coming to get you. Just—"

"So keen on saving another when you should be worried about yourself," Arian spoke again, this time right behind him.

Turning around, it took every ounce of willpower for Lucian not to punch his old man in the face. It wasn’t even Arian. Just a cheap illusion meant to add more pressure.

"Get the fuck away from me." The words came out with venom from Lucian’s lips. "I’m not afraid of you. Neither do I think I’ll ever be anything like you in any timeline."

The late Alpha King’s grin widened. "And you sound so sure about yourself. This dimension doesn’t just reflect random things... It digs deep. Uproots the fears you’ve kept hidden away from everyone else." Slowly, his form shifted into smoke, floating into nothingness, but leaving his voice behind. "And from yourself."

Lucian tried to grab him before he disappeared, but it was futile. Sneering, he spun around, glaring at the throne. "How can I fear something I hid away from myself?" He thundered, celestial sovereign energy rippling through the air. "Do I fear taking over the throne? Do I fear becoming Alpha King? Is that it?"

Silence was the only thing that answered him.

And throughout his outburst, the throne sat there. Empty. Imposing. Surface glinting with the elegance of moonstone and gold.

Elian wasn’t speaking to him again. Either something had happened back in the manor or the chaotic energies had really messed up with the bond’s connection.

Whatever it was, he knew one thing. He needed to get out of here.

"You want to play, Amara?" He asked even though he knew she probably wasn’t listening. Taking the first step on the dais, he snapped his neck. "Then let’s fucking play."

He advanced, each step forward adding this eerie pressure to his chest. Yet he ignored it, teeth gritted and sweat slicking down his forehead.

When he got to the middle of the steps, something shifted in the air around him. A royal robe, one only worn by the Alpha King, appeared on him. Alongside a golden sceptre and a crown that felt heavier than it was supposed to.

Blinking, he stood frozen for a few seconds. He glanced back but the throne room was still the same way. Empty.

Clenching tight on the sceptre, he kept on walking, not pausing for a second until he finally got to the throne. As he sat, however, hands placed on the armrests—

—The throne room before him was no longer empty.

Rows of people, wolves from far and wide, stood from the grand doors to the very foot of the dais. Nobles, commoners, men, women. And standing in front of all of them were faces he’d avoided seeing in reality.

The Eastern Wolves Council.

"The Empire is in shambles because of YOUR rule." Elder Mateo—or the illusion of him—was the first to speak, face sterner than ever. "Your war against Arcadia is costing us tremendously. A war your father and his ancestors avoided for millennia."

Lucian parted his lips to speak but stopped when all the people behind the councillors went into an uproar. Many booed him. Others flung objects his way, from rotten food, rocks amongst others.

"You’re not fit to rule!" Someone spat from the crowd.

"Even Arian was a better fit for the throne!"

"He’ll doom us all!"

Every word, every face, every spiteful glare—they were all illusions. He knew this and felt it to his core.

So why did they sting?

Lucian’s fingers curled tighter around the armrests of the throne, knuckles whitening. His chest felt hollow, like someone had scooped something vital out of him and left an echo behind.

Because some part of him believed them.

The jeers didn’t stop. They multiplied.

"You’re too emotional."

"You rule with sentiment, not sense."

"You let love weaken you."

"You’ll end us."

The throne room warped again, banners darkening from golden to black, their edges fraying like burned paper. The faces in the crowd blurred, stretched, twisted—until they weren’t just nobles and councillors anymore.

They were ghosts.

Dead wolves. Fallen soldiers. Faces he didn’t recognise but somehow knew. Lunarians who had died in futures that hadn’t happened yet—

—or maybe already had.

Lucian’s breath hitched.

"This," Arian’s voice purred smoothly from the side, "is where it begins."

He stood beside the throne now, hands clasped behind his back, expression calm. Too calm.

Lucian turned sharply. "You don’t get to speak."

Arian arched his brow. "Still defiant. That didn’t save you from doubt."

Lucian laughed—low and brittle. "You think this is doubt?"

Arian gestured to the crowd. "You think this isn’t?"

The illusions surged closer. The throne beneath Lucian creaked, its surface cracking faintly beneath his weight.

"You know what your real fear is," Arian continued, circling him slowly. "It’s not becoming me."

Lucian’s jaw clenched.

"It’s failing worse than me."

That landed like a blade between the ribs.

"You fear that you’ll inherit the rot I left behind," Arian said softly. "And accelerate it. That under your reign, the Stormborn line won’t just stain history..."

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "...It will end."

Lucian’s chest tightened painfully.

The throne room shifted again.

This time, the banners fell.

The Stormborn sigil shattered across the floor, splitting into pieces that dissolved into ash. The crown on Lucian’s head felt impossibly heavy now, digging into his skull.

The crowd screamed.

Walls collapsed inward, revealing a city beyond the throne room—Moonhaven and all of Lunaria in flames. Towers crumbling. Moonlight drowned by smoke.

Lucian shot to his feet. "Stop it."

Arian only smiled. "This is what happens when rulers believe they’re different."

Lucian staggered back a step.

’This... this is my fault.’ The thought came unbidden. ’If I rule... if I fail...’

His hands trembled.

And then—

He saw himself. Not crowned or powerful.

Just standing there, watching the city burn. And doing nothing.

Lucian froze.

The noise dulled, fading into a distant hum. He stared at that version of himself—empty-eyed, motionless.

That’s when it hit him.

This wasn’t his fear. This was his surrender.

"I..." His voice cracked. He swallowed hard. "I’m letting this happen."

Arian tilted his head. "At last. Insight."

Lucian shook his head slowly. "No."

The word felt different this time. Firm.

"I’ve been trained for this my entire life," he said, louder now. "I’ve bled for this empire. I’ve fought the Dark Hand—your mess—while you sat on a throne pretending not to see the rot you fed."

Arian’s smile faltered.

Lucian stepped forward, aura beginning to stir steadily.

"I didn’t inherit your cowardice," he continued. "I tore through it. I stood against Amara. Against Garrick. Against you."

The city behind Arian flickered.

"And I didn’t do it alone."

Lucian spread his hands, celestial sovereign energy flowing—not explosively, but purposefully, filling the space with silver light.

"I will rule Lunaria with those I love," he declared. "With transparency. With accountability. With strength that doesn’t hide behind tradition."

Arian’s form began to fracture, but he took a step forward. "You’ll destroy the dynasty," he sneered.

Lucian met his gaze without flinching.

"Then it deserves to be destroyed."

The throne cracked fully beneath him.

His crown shattered.

And the illusion? It screamed.

The entire dimension ruptured outward, collapsing like a dying star.

.

.

Lucian gasped as reality slammed back into place.

A chill hit him, followed by the touch of the stone on his palms.

Amara’s manor.

He got on his feet and staggered forward—immediately colliding with someone warm.

"Elian." Lucian didn’t think. He wrapped his arms around him tightly, pulling him close, breathing him in like oxygen.

Elian froze for half a second before hugging him back just as fiercely. "I knew it," he murmured into Lucian’s shoulder. "I knew you’d pull through."

Lucian let out a shaky breath, resting his forehead against Elian’s. "You did it first," he said softly. "I’m proud of you."

Elian smiled faintly—then glanced past him.

Lucian followed his gaze.

An obsidian door stood at the end of the hall, towering and ancient, its surface carved with runes so old they seemed to crawl when stared at too long.

"That’s the source," Elian said quietly. "The system says the energy sustaining the illusion dimensions is behind it. I tried breaking it, but..." He shook his head. "It won’t budge."

Lucian stepped forward, eyes narrowing as he felt it.

It was dense. Layered. Nearly absolute.

"Almost impenetrable," he muttered, turning to Elian. "Stand back."

Elian hesitated only a second before nodding, retreating a few steps. "Kyren will make it," he said confidently. "I know he will."

Lucian snorted softly. "It’s Kyren. He’d pass Hades itself out of spite." Then he inhaled deeply.

His Alpha aura surged.

Silver light bled out of him, flooding the hall as Lucian raised his hands toward the door.

"Let’s finish this," he growled.