At the edge of existence, where the known universe met the void, the **Celestial Sovereign** stood alone. Before him stretched an abyss untouched by time or order, an emptiness yearning to be shaped. He had conquered mortality, transcended celestial cultivation, and now sought to forge something beyond even the heavens themselves—a **new realm**, an act never before attempted.
His hands moved through the void, gathering the raw, chaotic energy of the cosmos. Space trembled beneath his will, and from nothing, a storm of creation erupted. Waves of celestial light surged outward, weaving themselves into form. Time ignited. Gravity took hold. A realm was born.
The **Second Major Realm** was no mere expansion of the universe; it was a reality unto itself, a plane of existence unlike any other. Its core pulsed with boundless, untamed power—**primordial energy**, raw and unshaped. The Sovereign had done what no being had ever dared: he had forced the cosmos to give birth.
And then, from this newly formed realm, something extraordinary happened.
A planet emerged from the swirling chaos, its surface glowing with the heat of its birth. The storm of creation raged around it, but instead of breaking apart, it solidified, stabilizing where none should have survived.
It was **Mars**.
Life flickered into existence upon its surface. From the very essence of the Second Major Realm, the first Martians arose—beings unlike mortals or celestials, their blood carrying the power of creation itself. They did not descend from gods, nor were they shaped by external forces. They **were** the realm, an extension of its chaotic birth.
The Celestial Sovereign beheld his creation and exhaled, his celestial form dimming. **It was done.**
But something was wrong.
A tremor ran through him, not from the strain of creation but from something **far worse**. A deep, piercing pain spread through his core. He staggered, his vision darkening.
**A betrayal.**
A presence he had not sensed before. A shadow behind him. A whisper in the void.
Too late.
A **blade of celestial energy** plunged into his back, tearing through his divine essence. A cold voice, laced with quiet triumph, spoke in his ear.
*"You reached too far, Sovereign. Did you truly think you were invincible?"*
He gasped, his own power unraveling. His golden blood spilled into the newborn realm, absorbed into the very fabric of the Second Major Realm. A sick realization washed over him—this was **not just exhaustion**. His energy had not simply drained from the effort. It had been **taken**.
His own strength was being used against him, siphoned by unseen hands. His celestial enemies had not merely *waited* for him to falter. They had **engineered his downfall**.
He fell, his vision turning toward the planet below. **Mars.** His greatest creation. His final act.
The Second Major Realm trembled, its stability shaken. Chaos surged through the fabric of reality, as if the realm itself mourned its creator. But even as he felt himself fading, the Sovereign forced one last decree into existence—**an imprint of his will, woven into the new realm itself**.
His voice, weak yet resolute, echoed across the cosmos, embedding itself into Mars, into the Martians, into the very foundation of the realm.
*"You were born of my sacrifice… You will shape your own fate."*
And then, the **Celestial Sovereign was gone**.
His divine form shattered into cosmic dust, his lifeblood becoming part of the chaotic energy he had birthed. His final breath rippled through the realm, sealing its foundation—but not its stability.
Mars, unaware of its origins, flourished in its infancy. But **the cracks had already begun to form**. The Second Major Realm was incomplete, unfinished. And in the halls of the Celestial Realm, those who had orchestrated the Sovereign's death prepared to **claim what he left behind**.
The Second Major Realm would not remain unchallenged.
The war for its future had just begun.