After the cry – One billion universes remaining

He had been chosen at his birth. The universe had spoken to him.

It had told him that he would be its protector and that it was his responsibility to defend its inhabitants against what it called "external threats."

He had grown since then, enhancing his mastery of laws, improving his hand-to-hand combat skills, developing new tactics to always be able to surprise invaders.

Thus, he had become stronger and stronger, rejecting any possibility of an intrusion by blocking the doors leading to his universe. He had improved his powers to such an extent that he was one of the titans on the same level as Gaël, fearing only their own kind.

But he had learned very quickly that everything in this world has a price and that he would have to pay it sooner or later. His was the inability to pass on his title. He then hibernated for what seemed like eternities, waking up only to repair the barriers on the various doors or to place them if new ones appeared.

It was then 4:48 AM on his planet, and he woke up in his bedroom. Around him was all the luxury the universe could offer: gold-filigree embellishments adorned the vaulted ceilings, reflecting the soft ambient light emanating from countless, gently floating orbs of luminescence. Exquisite paintings, depicting the history and grandeur of his universe, hung on the walls, each frame carved from the rarest, petrified star-wood. Majestic statues of cosmic entities stood sentinel around the room, meticulously sculpted from radiant crystal that pulsed with life.

His massive bed, carved from the trunk of an ancient cosmic tree, was swathed in luxuriously soft sheets woven from the gossamer threads of celestial silkworms. The floor beneath him was of polished obsidian, warmed to a comforting temperature and inlaid with intricate patterns of iridescent stardust. A grand viewing portal revealed a breathtaking vista of swirling galaxies, nebulae, and constellations that added to the opulence of the room.

As for himself, he was a sight to behold. He was tall, easily over six feet, and his form was a study of solid, masculine elegance. His skin was a burnished bronze, smooth and gleaming under the soft light. The muscles of his body were well defined. His face was sharp, with high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a strong, square jawline. His short hair was as dark as the void, shimmering with an uncanny luminescence.

In stark contrast were his eyes. They were the color of distant galaxies, a hypnotic blend of purples and blues, deep and filled with wisdom, betraying the eons he had witnessed. Resting on his bare chest was a constellation of intricate markings, tattooed in silver, gleaming faintly as they pulsed in sync with the rhythm of his universe.

But today, he had not woken up of his own accord or because of one of these barriers he needed to repair. 

No.

He furrowed his brows. He knew his imagination couldn't play tricks on him.

The universe was trembling.

After so much time serving it, he had learned that it wasn't conscious per se but thought in terms of instinct. Its choice of making him its protector an eternity ago was a perfect example.

It took him several long seconds to remember what these tremors corresponded to as he had not felt them himself in a long time.

'Fear,' he murmured, looking out through the glass of his spacious room.

'No, it's not frightened. It's terrified,' he murmured, feeling the room's air suddenly drop.

He was one of the most powerful Monarchs, but despite all his victories, a touch of apprehension appeared in his eyes. None of his barriers had been altered, no new gates had appeared, but he could feel it. Someone was approaching. 

And although he should have felt adrenaline rushing through his veins, his blood seemed to freeze instead. His instinct, honed over such a long time, sounded the alarm. His hairs stood on end. His pupils dilated. His heart rate increased. 

The impact was imminent and he would have to fight to save his life and his universe. Gripping his most faithful sword, the one that had accompanied him from the beginning, he stood up. The silence was oppressive. The universe had become quiet, and so had his instinct. There was nothing left but his heart, pounding faster and faster in his chest. 

Thump.

Thump thump.

Thump thump thump. 

And then the moment of impact came. Time seemed to stop for an instant and he prepared to die. He had at least hoped that his demise would come during an epic and tense battle, but it seemed that his wish would not be fulfilled.

But the next moment, nothing. Cold sweat ran down his back, his gaze was drawn to his desk as if magnetized by the object that had appeared there. It was a letter, addressed to him given the name on the envelope. He stepped forward, picked it up, and opened it.

"Mr. Asmond,

You are invited to join 'Promise'. If you wish to know more about it, you may ask me by following the instructions on the back of this letter.

Sincerely,

The Director"

Asmond was now extremely calm. It was clear that the messenger could have easily ended his existence. But what then was 'Promise'? Who were these beings? To get answers he knew he would have to leave his universe, something impossible for him without its permission.

He now spoke aloud: "What should I do?" Throughout his life, even in situations that seemed hopeless, the universe had never responded or even helped him. 

But Asmond heard it again.

"Join them. It's already too late anyway."

Permission in hand, he teleported to the gate indicated in the letter. It stood there, imposing and proud before him. He had tried to destroy it but quickly realized that the solidity of the structure was beyond understanding.

He had never left his universe, but despite his apprehension, he did not stop and crossed it.

Like him, across the universes, different Monarchs, chosen or not, were answering the call and converging on the coordinates they had been provided.