The invitations, each a sliver of Ao Xian's undeniable will, were not delivered by messengers or conveyed by spiritual birds. They simply appeared. Across a vast cluster of realities, from the dust-choked lower realms to the pristine border worlds and even the forgotten minor heavens of the upper realms, a single, elegant decree of golden light materialized from thin air. It was not a request. It was a summons, a statement of fact that a 'Myriad Realms Banquet' would be held in one month's time, and their attendance was expected.
The reaction was instantaneous and chaotic.
In the Heavenly Sword Sect of the Azure Dragon Realm, a powerful lower realm, Sect Master Jian Wushuang was in the middle of a profound meditation. He was a man who seemed to be carved from jade, his features sharp and his posture as straight as the divine sword that was never more than an arm's length away. The golden invitation appeared before him, its gentle, warm light a stark contrast to the sharp, killing intent that filled his chamber. His first instinct was to destroy this intrusion with a single, focused slash of his sword will. But the moment his will touched the invitation, it was not repelled; it was simply... absorbed. The invitation was an object of absolute authority, and his famed sword will, which could sunder mountains, was as harmless to it as a summer breeze.
Jian Wushuang's hand, which had been steady for three hundred years, trembled. He reached out and touched the decree. A single, simple message flowed into his mind, along with a set of spatial coordinates that made his soul ache with their profound complexity.
"The Myriad Realms Banquet... to discuss the destiny of the realms..." he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Who... what power in the heavens could issue such a decree?" His mind, which was usually as clear and focused as his blade, was now a sea of turmoil. This was not a challenge. It was a command from a being so powerful that he could not even begin to comprehend its scale. He stood up, his jade-like face pale. "Inform the Grand Elders," he commanded to the empty room, his voice echoing with a newfound urgency. "Cancel all patrols. Seal the sect's mountain gates. No one is to leave. We must prepare. We are facing a variable that could overturn the heavens themselves."
In the blood-soaked throne room of the Ashen Devil Empire in the Nether-Fire Realm, the Demonic Emperor, a hulking brute of a man with skin like cracked obsidian and horns that curled like a ram's, was in the middle of feasting on the soul of a captured enemy. The golden invitation appeared above his throne, its sacred, orderly light causing the chaotic demonic energy in the room to recoil.
"Insolence!" he roared, slamming his fist on his throne of bone. He unleashed a torrent of pure, demonic flame at the invitation, a fire hot enough to melt spiritual treasures. The flame washed over the golden decree, parting around it as if it were a rock in a river, leaving it completely untouched.
The Demonic Emperor froze, his brutal, arrogant expression replaced by one of stunned disbelief, which quickly curdled into a primal, instinctual fear. He, a being who had clawed his way to the top of a demonic empire through sheer, unrelenting violence, was afraid. He dismissed his guards and attendants with a wave of his hand, his mind racing. This was not a power he could fight. This was a power he had to obey. "My formal robes," he bellowed, his voice lacking its usual arrogance. "The ones woven from the sinews of the Star-Devouring Serpent! And bring me the tribute list! I will not attend this... banquet... empty-handed."
Even in the lesser heavens of the upper realms, the summons caused a stir. In the Floating Cloud Palace, a minor celestial power, Lord Feng Mian, a being who had achieved a low level of immortality, was enjoying a cup of divine tea. When the invitation appeared, he initially scoffed. "A banquet for lower realm ants? Who would be so bold as to summon a lord of the heavens to such a gathering?" He casually reached out to crush the decree with his divine will.
The moment his will touched the invitation, he was thrown from his throne as if struck by a primordial beast. He landed in a heap on the floor, his divine blood trickling from his lips, his eyes wide with terror. The decree hadn't attacked him; it had simply... existed. Its authority was so absolute that his own divine will had shattered upon contact. "Forgive my ignorance, exalted one!" he stammered to the empty air, bowing frantically to the gently floating invitation. "This humble one will attend! I will attend!"
Righteous masters, demonic tyrants, ancient monsters, and minor gods—all were united in a single, shared experience of awe and terror. Some were enraged, some were terrified, but all understood one thing: the summons could not be ignored. To refuse was to invite a calamity far worse than any war.
The hidden factions, the remnants of the Immortal Alliance and the Abyssal Court, were thrown into a state of utter chaos. Their plans, which had been meticulously laid over millennia, relied on secrecy, on moving in the shadows while the heavens were blinded by the rising Nether-Tide. This banquet was a proverbial sun, a brilliant, blinding light that threatened to expose their every move.
In a pocket dimension woven from shadows and deceit, the leaders of the Abyssal Court convened. Their leader, a being known only as the 'Void Sovereign,' a creature whose form was a vortex of pure darkness, radiated a palpable fury. "Who dares?" its voice echoed, a chorus of a thousand dying whispers. "Who dares interfere with our great undertaking? Our pawns in the lower and upper realms are in disarray! This 'banquet' is a direct challenge to our authority!"
"We must send a representative," another member, a woman with the lower body of a spider, hissed. "We must know the identity of this new player. We must see if he is an enemy to be destroyed, or a potential ally to be corrupted."
Back in the celestial city, Ao Xian observed the ripples of his actions on a thousand different celestial mirrors, a faint, satisfied smile on his face.
"They are all so... flustered," Hu Mei'er commented, giggling as she watched the great and powerful Demonic Emperor scramble to find his most formal robes. "They do not know whether to prepare for a war or a feast."
"Let them wonder," Ao Xian said, his tone calm. "Their uncertainty is a useful tool. The initiative is now ours."
General Ying, who had been observing the proceedings with a professional, analytical eye, gave a rare nod of approval. "A brilliant strategic move, Young Lord. You have consolidated all potential threats into a single, observable location. But the banquet itself will be a battlefield of wits and wills. Each of these leaders is a dragon in their own pond. When gathered, their conflicting ambitions will create a storm."
"I am counting on it," Ao Xian replied. "Let them posture. Let them form their little alliances and whisper their little threats. I want to see their hands. I want to know who the pawns are, and who the true players are." He turned his gaze from the mirrors, a new, more active light in his eyes.
He stood up, his simple robes shimmering with a faint, ethereal light. "The guests will be arriving in a month. We have a party to prepare."