Chapter 138: The Narakava Princess (2)

The grand meeting room of the Narakava Clan was a cavernous hall carved from the heart of Nara’s central spire—a space that pulsed with the raw, unbridled essence of war and bloodlust.

Walls of living obsidian veined with glowing crimson runes shifted subtly, as if breathing, etched with murals of ancient battles where Asuras tore apart foes and universes alike.

The air was thick with the metallic tang of fresh blood and the acrid scent of scorched essence, the floor a mosaic of polished bone from fallen enemies, inlaid with gold from plundered realms.

Massive thrones of adamantine and dragon-scale ringed a central dais, each occupied by figures of ethereal beauty and psychotic intensity—skin flawless, eyes burning with madness, smiles that promised exquisite violence.

At the head sat the Patriarch and Matriarch—titans whose auras warped reality, making the hall feel like a pressure cooker of impending slaughter. The younger brother, Kaelor Nara, lounged on his throne with a lazy grin, fingers drumming on an armrest made from the spine of a slain Void Emperor.

Sandra and Shia entered through doors of forged Asura bone that parted with a low, groaning rumble, their stern gazes cutting through the room like blades. The family’s eyes locked on them instantly—shock rippling across their perfect faces like cracks in marble.

The Patriarch—tall, broad-shouldered, with hair like flowing black flames and eyes of pure void—rose first, his Cosmic Overlord presence shaking the hall like a suppressed earthquake.

"Sandra...."

The Matriarch—elegant and deadly, white hair streaked with blood-red, curvy form clad in armor of living shadow—leaned forward, psychotic smile widening.

"Our crown princess returns. And at the Peak of the Cosmic Overlord rank no less. Haha, like Mother, like Daughter!"

Kaelor, the younger brother, was muscular, with wild black hair and pure black eyes. He laughed, the sound sharp and unsettling, like breaking bones.

"Sister! I thought you were gone for good, that those miserable humans had taken your head—ha! As if they could ever kill one of us for good!"

The elders—four Asura uncles and aunts, each with beauty that could lure gods to slaughter, auras pulsing with war-madness—nodded, eyes gleaming with bloodthirst.

One uncle, scarred but handsome, slammed a fist on his throne.

"Haha, the peak of your power is restored, Good. Now, revenge. That Arch Eternal Human Clan—their Nara-killers—must bleed. The Universe.... worlds, galaxies... will burn for what they did to you."

An aunt, curvy and feral, licked her lips. "Yes... war. Blood. Let’s paint their realms red."

Sandra nodded, her pure black eyes with white dots steady. "Yes, Revenge comes. But first... introductions."

She gestured to Shia beside her.

"My daughter, Shia Narakava."

Shock rippled—eyebrows arching, smiles turning curious.

The Patriarch’s void eyes narrowed. "Daughter?"

Shia stepped forward, black hair swaying, tattoo below her eye glowing faintly, her pure black eyes with white dots mirroring Sandra’s—monster in form, beauty and madness entwined. She bowed slightly, voice steady but laced with the clan’s psychotic edge.

"Honored to meet the Narakava Main Clan."

The Matriarch laughed—a beautiful, chilling sound. "Can’t you feel it? She’s... Asura through and through. I feel the madness in her blood."

Kaelor grinned wide. "Niece! Welcome. As long as you’re strong, who cares about the details? Weakness is the only sin."

The elders murmured agreement, no disdain—Asuras valued battle over purity, as long as power flowed.

Sandra continued. "And she’s not my only child. There’s Aster—my son, possibly dead... or who knows. Ash—my youngest son And Nia—my daughter, fierce as flame."

Shock deepened—the family leaning forward, auras humming with interest.

The Patriarch’s eyes widened. "More progeny?"

An elder uncle slammed his fist again, laughing madly. "Ha! Sandra, spreading the bloodline like seeds in war! As long as they’re not weak, bring them home—we’ll forge them in battle!"

The Matriarch nodded, psychotic gleam in her eyes. "Yes... if they’re strong, they’re Asura. No weakness tolerated."

Sandra smiled faintly. "Then help me find them. I request a special team to search the Venia Galaxy. I have old items of each—soul tracking will work."

She produced three relics: Aster’s ritual dagger, Ash’s old stele fragment, Nia’s flame-touched pendant—each humming with faint essence from Elaris. She had no real lead... but since she had appeared in the Venia Galaxy, then why not start there?

The Patriarch took them, void eyes scanning. "Done. Fifty warriors—Cosmic Overlords all. They’ll scour Venia. Bring the children home... or their heads if they’re weak."

The elders cheered—bloodthirsty laughs echoing like thunder.

The clan stirred.

Revenge, family, war.

----

A few days had passed, and Ash found himself being guided through the labyrinthine depths of the Vossmere Consortium Auction House to a private VIP room.

The corridors were a masterpiece of opulent neutrality—walls of translucent gold crystal veined with mana flows that shifted colors like breathing auroras, floors of polished obsidian that reflected every step in perfect clarity.

Guards in discreet robes nodded as he passed, their Ninth Calamity auras restrained but watchful. The air carried scents of rare incense and distant wealth—hints of starlight herbs, void-spices, and the faint metallic tang of priceless relics stored nearby.

His guide was a beautiful woman—Elara Vossmere, granddaughter of Archie and Layla, about 400 years old yet appearing in her mid-twenties, Peak Stellar Sovereign rank radiating like a gentle but unyielding dawn.

And Oddly or.... ironic enough she was an Eternal Adaptor, her race’s signature traits evident: skin that shifted subtly between pearl-white and soft gold depending on light, hair a flowing cascade of liquid silver that adapted its length and style mid-stride (now long and elegant, brushing her waist), eyes a mesmerizing swirl of adaptive hues—currently soft violet with flecks of starlight.

Her form was lithe yet curvaceous, robes of flowing adaptive silk that morphed to accentuate her figure without effort—practical yet alluring, the fabric shimmering as if alive.

She walked beside him, professional smile warm but curious.

"You’ve caused quite the stir, Mr. Ash," Elara said, voice melodic with a hint of playfulness. "Grandfather and Grandmother rarely take personal interest in sellers. Your items... they’re extraordinary."

Ash’s masked face tilted toward her, voice teasing. "Flattery already? And here I thought Vossmeres were all business."

Elara laughed softly, silver hair shifting shorter for a moment before lengthening again. "Business with a touch of pleasure. It keeps things interesting."

They reached the VIP room—a lavish chamber of shadow-silk cushions, holographic displays floating mid-air, a central table of polished obsidian, walls showing live previews of ongoing auctions in muted glows.

The doors sealed behind them with a soft hum.

Ash reached up and pulled off his mask in one smooth motion. White hair spilled loose, framing eyes of two colors. His face was stunning—phoenix-like features both subtle and striking, pale alabaster skin with a faint glow, an otherworldly charm that seemed to draw the light toward him.

Elara’s breath caught, adaptive eyes widening as her hair instinctively lengthened in flustered waves, cheeks tinting soft rose.

Ash smiled—slow, teasing, fangs glinting.

"Better without the mask, don’t you think?" he said, stepping closer, voice low and warm. "Though I have to say... you’re far more stunning up close, Elara Vossmere. That hair of yours—does it always react when someone catches your interest?"