My Taming System Makes Me Overpowered

The descent from the cliffside alcove was bathed in the pale, sickly hues of a dying dawn. Thin bands of washed-out gold and bruised violet stretched across the horizon, casting long, uncertain shadows that clung to every rock face and narrow ledge. The light itself felt reluctant, as though the sun had risen only out of obligation and would rather have stayed buried beneath the rim of the world.

The spatial rifts that had previously churned across the skyline of the Uncharted Lands were beginning to quiet down, smoothing out like water after a storm. What had once been jagged tears of violet and black energy now settled into faint, shimmering scars that faded with each passing minute. The destruction of the Archon Overseers and the removal of the Primordial Lotus had fundamentally altered the region’s mana pressure, leaving the air strangely still, crisp, and cold. Every breath carried a clean, almost sterile sharpness that stung the lungs and made the skin tighten along the arms. The usual low hum of ambient power that had once saturated these mountains was gone, replaced by a hollow quiet that made the silence feel deliberate.

Vince walked at the head of the group, his long coat snapping gently in the mountain breeze. The heavy fabric, still marked with the faint scorch patterns of recent battle, billowed and settled with each measured step. Behind him, Vetra and Elena maintained a strict, polite five-foot buffer, their boots finding careful purchase on the uneven stone path that wound downward toward the distant lowlands.

”He seems... remarkably composed today,” Elena whispered under her breath, her ink-brush hovering over her crystal slate as she stepped over a jagged stone outcrop. The brush tip trembled slightly each time the slate registered a new reading, yet her voice stayed soft and clinical. ”The erratic vocalization has ceased entirely. Perhaps the morning air helped stabilize his internal mana channels?”

”Don’t lower your guard yet,” Vetra murmured back, her amber eyes scanning the surrounding crags while her hand rested lightly near her dagger sheaths. The dragon-kin’s posture remained coiled, every muscle ready to spring. ”Yesterday he was yelling at a blank stone wall about a ’Princess Barnaby.’ I’m keeping my distance until we’re at least ten miles past the border.”

Vince let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He could hear every single word. The mountain wind carried their voices to him with perfect clarity, each syllable sharp against the otherwise empty air. He kept his gaze fixed forward, refusing to glance back, though the corner of his mouth twitched once in something that was not quite a smile.

Oh don’t look so sour, Vince, Princess Barnaby’s voice chimed in his head, bright and teasing as ever.

She was floating backwards right in front of him, her translucent silk dress fluttering lazily through the mountain air. The fabric caught the pale dawn light and turned it into soft, shifting patterns that never quite touched the ground. She had a long blade of petrified grass tucked between her lips, her hands folded comfortably behind her head, the picture of careless ease.

You brought this on yourself when you gave a supreme deity the name of a farm animal, she sniffed, turning her head away with a dramatic pout. If tou had named me ’The Star-Sovereign’ they’d think you were an enigmatic genius. Instead they think you belong in a padded cell.𝘧𝓇ℯℴ𝓂

”I’m not changing it,” Vince thought back, a faint smirk twitching at his lips. ”You’re Barnaby now. Accept your destiny .”

Barnaby opened her mouth to shoot back a sharp retort, but suddenly, her golden eyes flickered. The lazy, playful air about her vanished in an instant. Her posture straightened mid-flight, and the blade of grass slipped from her lips, dissolving into specks of light before it hit the ground. The change was so abrupt that the very temperature around Vince seemed to drop by several degrees.

Vince felt the shift instantly. The invisible Goddess wasn’t floating backward anymore. She spun around, hovering two feet off the dirt path, staring intently toward the distant lowlands marking the border of the Uncharted Lands. Every line of her translucent form had gone rigid, the usual soft glow of her presence sharpening into something colder and far older.

”Barnaby?” Vince asked internally, his tone dropping its sarcastic edge. ”What is it?”

Barnaby didn’t answer right away. Her eyes narrowed into sharp, dangerous slits, her star-spun hair floating around her head as if reacting to an invisible static charge. She slowly raised one hand, tilting her head as though listening to a frequency echoing through the fabric of the dimensional layer itself. The silence that followed stretched longer than it should have.

The upper sky... she whispered softly, her voice losing every trace of its teasing warmth. The threads are stretching.

”What threads?” Vince muttered aloud.

”Vince?” Elena called out nervously from behind, instantly halting her steps and clutching her slate to her chest. The crystal surface flickered with rapid, unreadable glyphs as her fingers tightened around its edges. ”Are... are you talking to the mountain wind, or is ’Barnaby’ back?”

”Shh,” Vetra hissed, dropping into a low, panther-like crouch as her claws extended slightly. The soft scrape of those claws against stone was the only sound for a heartbeat. ”Look at the sky.”

The pale morning light filtering through the clouds was changing. It wasn’t darkening, nor was it turning into the crimson alarm-red of the Archon arrays. It was turning stark, blindingly white. The shift began at the farthest edge of the horizon and crawled inward with unnatural speed, draining color from everything it touched.

It started as a faint, unnatural paleness over the horizon—a dead, bleached shade that washed the color right out of the trees, stone, and clouds below. The gentle mountain wind died instantly. Not a single pebble rolled down the cliffs; not a single blade of grass moved. The entire valley fell into a silence so profound it felt as though the world itself had been put on mute. Even the distant cry of a high-altitude bird cut off mid-note, leaving only the sound of three people breathing and the soft creak of leather and metal.

They’re fast, Barnaby murmured, floating up beside Vince’s shoulder. Her face was completely cold, her plush lips pressed into a tight line as she glared at the sky. The old fools at the Obelisk... they actually unsealed one.

”An Archon?” Vince asked quietly, his eyes scanning the bleaching horizon. The white light had already reached the nearest ridges, turning black stone to the color of bone and stripping the last traces of green from the sparse mountain vegetation.

Worse, Barnaby said, her golden eyes flashing with ancient, bitter recognition. A leash-holder. A Sanction.

Before Elena or Vetra could even ask what was happening, the air twenty paces in front of Vince made a sound like tearing parchment. The noise was dry and final, the kind of sound that belonged to old books being ripped apart rather than to open sky and stone.

Space didn’t shatter; it folded in on itself like a piece of paper being creased by an invisible, giant hand. The stark white light from the sky condensed into a single, vertical line of absolute, blinding pressure that slammed straight into the earth. The line held for less than a second, yet the weight of it pressed down on every living thing within sight.

BOOM!

There was no explosive shockwave, no flying dirt or shattered stone. Instead, the stone where the white light touched simply ceased to exist, leaving behind a perfectly smooth, circular crater of pure nothingness. The edges of the crater were so clean they looked polished, as though the material had been erased rather than destroyed. A thin ring of residual white light still clung to the rim for a moment before fading.

As the light faded, a solitary figure stood at the border threshold. Wrapped in heavy, silent chains of celestial iron, wearing a plain, featureless porcelain mask, the Celestial Executioner stepped out of the folded space. The chains did not rattle; they simply hung, each link radiating a quiet, absolute authority that made the surrounding air feel denser with every step the figure took. The air around him hummed with an absolute, suffocating authority that felt like a mountain descending directly onto the earth.

Elena’s spectacles cracked instantly down the center from the raw ambient pressure. A fine spiderweb of fractures raced across both lenses, and a thin trickle of blood slipped from one nostril before she could wipe it away. Vetra gasped, her dragon-kin scales flaring red hot as her knees buckled under a weight that felt heavier than the deepest subterranean abysses. The heat rising from her skin warped the air in visible waves, yet even that heat seemed small against the crushing presence that had arrived.

The Executioner did not look at the women. His featureless mask turned slowly, locking two thin, vertical slits of crimson light directly onto Vince.