Chapter 133: The Shattered Tribunal

The fractured light of twin suns scattered across the horizon, casting long, bleeding shadows over the sprawling capital of the Celestial Sovereignty. Yet, the city itself was a brittle shell — a fortress stretched thin, its walls scarred by endless skirmishes that had begun as whispers but now roared like storms.

Zhao Lianxu stood atop the ancient tower that overlooked the capital's heart, his eyes sharp and unyielding as they pierced through the chaos beneath. His long dark hair whipped around his face in the rising wind, strands tangled like the many paths his life had taken. The flame of the Multiuniverse Destructive Body flickered faintly beneath his skin, a hidden fire powering his calm resolve.

Beside him, Yue Qingshuang watched with equal intensity, the silver sheen of her armor catching the last rays of the sun. Her gaze was unwavering, but her hands betrayed a quiet tension — fingers flexing and releasing, as if readying for a fight yet mindful of the fragile peace that might shatter with a single word.

"The Timeless Tribunal moves faster than we anticipated," Zhao murmured, voice low and heavy. "Their reach now extends into the very fabric of the Celestial Sovereignty."

Yue's eyes narrowed. "My spies in the Outer Realms report that they've already purged entire sects loyal to us. It's not just a political purge. It's a cleansing."

Zhao's jaw tightened. "They fear what I represent. Not just power, but balance. The legacy of the fractured timelines threatens their order."

A sudden gust sent a swirl of dust and cherry blossoms tumbling through the air, the delicate petals contrasting with the ominous tension that gripped the city.

"Father…" Zhao said, his voice breaking slightly as he named the man leading the Tribunal. "I never thought I'd face him like this. Not as an adversary."

Yue's hand found his, a silent anchor amidst the storm. "You are no longer the boy who looked up to him. You are the emperor who commands worlds."

The moment was shattered by the harsh clang of a bell from the city's war hall. A herald's call.

Zhao and Yue exchanged a glance before descending the tower with fluid grace, their movements practiced but urgent.

Inside the war hall, generals and ministers crowded around massive maps that shifted and shimmered — projections of battlefields stretching across the multiverse. The air was thick with smoke and urgency; voices overlapped in frantic coordination.

Zhao approached the center, where a council table glowed faintly beneath his fingertips.

"Report," he commanded, voice cutting through the noise.

A young officer stepped forward, her expression grim. "Sovereign Zhao, the Tribunal has deployed their elite enforcers—The Chrono Sentinels—into the Outer Realms. They are extracting key figures, including sect leaders and spiritual masters, to the Tribunal's citadel for trial."

Yue clenched her fists. "Their trials are mere formalities. The real sentence is death or exile into the Void."

Zhao's eyes darkened. "We must strike before they consolidate their power."

One of the elder generals, scarred from countless wars, spoke up. "Sovereign, our forces are stretched thin. The multiverse is fracturing at the seams. If we act rashly, we risk losing everything."

Zhao's gaze swept the room, landing finally on Yue.

"We will not lose," he said steadily. "But we will need to unravel the Tribunal's grip from within."

Later that evening, Zhao and Yue retreated to the sanctum of the Five Elemental Flame—a chamber deep beneath the capital, carved from obsidian and illuminated by the eternal flame they had claimed in the temple beyond the Ashen Veil.

Zhao's mind churned. He flexed his fingers, feeling the pulse of the Flame Without Source coursing through his veins. The power that had once been a curse was now his greatest weapon—and his heaviest burden.

"I need answers," Zhao said. "About the Tribunal, about Father's motivations. If we are to win, I must understand him—not just as my father, but as a man who commands judgment over infinite timelines."

Yue sat beside him, her voice soft but resolute. "I can help. There are hidden archives in the Spirit Realm, forbidden knowledge lost to all but the most dedicated scholars. Secrets about the Tribunal's origin and their founder's true nature."

Zhao nodded. "Then we must act quickly. The longer they hold the multiverse in fear, the harder it will be to undo."

Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden pulse—an alert from Zhao's spatial awareness. The room flickered with shadows as an emissary from the Tribunal stepped through a shimmering portal, the air thick with silent menace.

The man who emerged was a tall figure clad in armor black as voidstone, with eyes glowing pale blue—eyes that reflected the cold logic of eternal judgment.

"Sovereign Zhao," the emissary said, voice calm but charged with unspoken threat. "The Tribunal invites you to the Citadel of Eternity. A summit to discuss the fate of the multiverse."

Zhao's heart hammered. This was no invitation but a challenge—a trap wrapped in diplomacy.

"Tell them I accept," Zhao said, eyes blazing with defiance. "But warn them: I do not come as a supplicant."

The emissary inclined his head and vanished as silently as he had come.

Days later, Zhao and Yue boarded their warship—a vessel capable of folding space itself, crafted from starforged steel and ancient magic.

As the ship sliced through the rift toward the Citadel of Eternity, Zhao pondered the inevitable confrontation ahead. The Timeless Tribunal was not merely an enemy; it was the embodiment of cosmic order, relentless and unyielding.

But Zhao was something new: a storm born of chaos and balance, wielding a power forged in broken timelines.

He was ready.

The Citadel of Eternity rose before them, a colossal structure suspended in a nexus between countless realities. Its spires shimmered with crystalline light that bent time itself — each step toward its gates felt like wading through the currents of fate.

Inside, the Tribunal's council awaited — robed figures seated on thrones carved from starlight and shadow. At their center sat Zhao's father, Prime Minister Zhao Anzhi, his features weathered by eons yet sharpened by cold resolve.

The moment Zhao entered, the air thickened with silent judgment.

"Son," Zhao Anzhi spoke, voice echoing through the hall, "you stand accused of defying the sacred order. Your attempts to rewrite destiny threaten the stability of all realms."

Zhao met his father's gaze without flinching. "I do not seek to defy, but to restore balance lost to your tyranny."

The Tribunal murmured, the sound like shifting sands.

"Balance?" An elder judge scoffed. "You wield chaos, born of fractured timelines and forbidden bloodlines. You are the storm that unravels the weave of existence."

Yue stepped forward. "Order without mercy breeds stagnation. The multiverse requires evolution, not blind obedience to ancient laws."

The debate escalated into a tempest of words and power, echoes of which rippled across dimensions.

Then, unexpectedly, Zhao Anzhi revealed the Tribunal's true plan: a cosmic reset to erase all timelines that did not conform to their vision — including Zhao Lianxu's very existence.

The chamber erupted in chaos.

Zhao's heart shattered, not just by the threat but by the cold fact that his father was willing to annihilate countless lives for order.

"I will not allow this," Zhao declared, his voice a thunderclap that shook the citadel.

Drawing upon his Multiuniverse Destructive Body and the Flame Without Source, Zhao unleashed a torrent of power that fractured the very foundations of the Tribunal's sanctum.

The battle had begun.

The clash was cataclysmic — energy rending space, time fracturing like glass around them. Each strike bore the weight of millennia, each parry a dance between creation and destruction.

Yue fought by Zhao's side, her blade singing with the fury of a thousand stars.

Amidst the chaos, Zhao glimpsed a moment of hesitation in his father's eyes — a flicker of the man who once loved him beyond all else.

And in that sliver of time, Zhao made a choice: to fight not just with power, but with the hope that even the darkest hearts can be reached.