First Intergalactic Emperor: Starting With The Ancient Goddess

Luther’s silence didn’t last long. The disbelief that had frozen him twisted back into contempt—old, pure contempt. His eyes narrowed, the faint red glow behind them deepening until they burned like molten glass.

”Thirty percent,” he muttered to himself. ”Let’s see if you’re real, or just another trick.”

The air snapped.

Xavier barely had time to register the movement before Luther disappeared. The next thing he knew, a fist was coming for his face. He tilted his head—barely—and the strike grazed his cheek, shredding through the stone behind him. The wall exploded, the shockwave throwing dust and rubble into the courtyard.

Luther’s second punch came without warning, aimed straight for Xavier’s ribs. Xavier crossed his arms and blocked it, and the impact sent a shock through both. The ground cracked under their feet, spiderwebs of destruction spreading across the training yard.

The sound that followed wasn’t thunder—it was force meeting force.

Luther’s aura burst outward, a red-black flare that bent the light around him. He stepped forward and struck again, his fists like blades. Xavier caught one with his hand, then twisted, letting his body move on instinct. His leg came up and kicked Luther across the jaw.

Luther barely moved an inch.

But the kick had connected.

For the first time, Luther actually felt it. He turned his head slowly, cracking his neck once, eyes narrowing.

”You... hit me,” he said, voice low with surprise.

Xavier grinned, fangs flashing. ”Told you. I’m not the same human anymore.”

Luther’s aura surged again, heavier this time. The sheer pressure made the broken stones around them hover slightly, trembling in the air. ”You think copying what you don’t understand makes you one of us?” His tone was filled with venom. ”You think power is just muscle and blood?”

He vanished again. Xavier reacted on instinct—telekinesis flaring like a pulse. The Serpent’s Fang flew back into his hand mid-spin and reshaped itself into its whip form. He slashed behind him—and caught Luther’s forearm in mid-swing.

The runes on the whip flared bright red. Sparks flew.

Luther looked at the weapon, then at Xavier. ”So the fang chose you,” he said quietly. ”Interesting. It only answers to killers.”

”Then we understand each other,” Xavier replied, and yanked hard.

Luther let himself be pulled forward. For the first time, he smiled—cold, feral, proud. ”Fine,” he said. ”Let’s test your claim.”

He raised his palm.

The air shattered like glass.

The wave of energy that erupted from Luther’s hand hit Xavier square in the chest. The ground split in two, dust flying upward like a geyser. Xavier flew backward, through a wall, through another—until he crashed into the far end of the courtyard.

But when the smoke cleared—he was still standing. Bruised, burned, but standing. His crimson eyes locked back on Luther, his fangs bared in defiance.

He spat blood, smiled, and said, ”That all you got at thirty percent?”

For the first time in centuries, Luther had found a strong opponent that made him laugh. ”You really are insane,” he said. ”No wonder she fell for you.”

Luther’s faint smile vanished, replaced by that cold, regal emptiness that only the old ones wore—something carved into them by centuries of blood and war. The red in his eyes deepened to near-black as his aura thickened, wrapping the courtyard in a crushing gravity.

Then, his voice came. ”Let’s end this farce.”

He blurred out of sight.

Xavier’s instincts screamed, and he barely twisted his arm in time to block a strike that came from nowhere. The impact shattered the flagstones beneath his feet. Luther didn’t stop. His form split into afterimages, every move layered, precise, relentless.

Xavier’s body moved faster than thought, his mind syncing with the serpent blade like a second nervous system. The weapon coiled, slashed, reformed—sword, chain, whip—its movements bending through the space Luther moved in. Sparks and embers tore through the air as their powers collided.

But this time Luther wasn’t holding back. His aura pulsed in violent bursts—each one shaped, sharpened, refined by centuries of control. The ground beneath him was fracturing, but not a single motion wasted. He moved with purpose, not rage.

Xavier lunged forward and swung his blade downward. Luther caught it with his bare hand again—but now his skin was coated in faint, dark sigils that burned on contact. The sword hissed and Luther pushed, throwing Xavier backward with one hand.

”Impressive,” Luther said, stepping forward, his voice carrying over the crackling air. ”Your body adapted faster than I expected. A newborn vampire carrying that kind of raw power... terrifying, truly. But you know what comes next, don’t you?”

Xavier wiped the blood from his mouth. ”You losing?”

Luther’s smirk returned—this time, genuine. ”You think this strength will last? You think it’s a gift? No... it’s a curse. Your blood is still human beneath that shell. When the awakening ends, every bone, every nerve will remember what you were—and then it’ll tear you apart from the inside. The pain alone will make you beg for death.”

Xavier said nothing, his expression hard.

Luther took a slow step forward, his aura spreading wider until it swallowed the courtyard’s edges. ”You have power,” he continued, ”but no experience. You’ve never lived long enough to learn that strength means nothing without control. I’ve lived through ages of monsters who thought raw power made them gods. And I’ve buried every single one of them.”

He raised his hand. The crimson light from his eyes flowed into his palm and then extended outward—a spear of pure blood energy, hissing and vibrating in the air. Luther’s bloodline magic.

He threw it.

Xavier raised his arm, catching the blow with the Serpent’s Fang—but the energy burst apart on impact, sending shockwaves that flattened everything nearby. The walls cracked, dust turned to mist, and statues toppled around them.

The explosion cleared, and both figures stood at the center of the destruction—Luther, calm and regal; Xavier, breathing heavily, half his shirt burned away, eyes blazing like twin stars.

Then Xavier moved—instantly. He vanished and reappeared in front of Luther, blade already swinging. The Serpent’s Fang cut the air with a shriek, and Luther caught it again, but this time Xavier pushed through with telekinesis. The impact threw Luther back across the yard, smashing him into a column.

The structure collapsed.

Luther walked out of the rubble, brushing dust from his shoulder, with a faint trickle of blood running down his cheek. He wiped it with his thumb and looked at the blood. ”It’s been centuries since anyone made me bleed,” he said quietly. ”I almost forgot what it looked like.”

”I know that will heal in a minute or two and that it won’t leave you a scar. But that was for slapping Reva and leaving a scar on her face. That’s what I was here for. And I am going to make you bleed.”