The Prophecy

At the edge of the cosmos, in a realm so vibrant it could be called paradise, a towering throne floated amidst the clouds, overlooking the world like the seat of a god. Upon it sat a woman radiating an overwhelming aura, her beauty lethal, her presence divine. A radiant white crown gleamed atop her head, her jet-black hair cascading over her eyes, veiling them in mystery. Her white gown clung to her curves, failing to conceal the alluring contours of her body or the proud peaks of her breasts. Anyone who beheld her would swear she was a goddess—the very embodiment of beauty.

In that moment, her voice, soft yet resonant, echoed across the entire world. "He has returned," she murmured. "My lord."

In a realm of molten lava and searing magma, where sunlight never pierced the gloom, demons and beasts coexisted in a place that could only be called the underworld. Within a crimson palace, its walls pulsing with dread, a demoness lounged on her throne, her posture provocative, accentuating every curve. Her lips were sinfully enticing, her massive breasts barely contained, with dark wings and curling horns crowning her regal form. As she raised her head, the hall's occupants trembled.

"The time has come to rise from this abyss," she said, her smile seductive enough to ensnare any living soul.

In another world, a woman strode with purpose, a spear slung across her back, her expression stern. Golden armor hugged her body, revealing tantalizing glimpses of bare skin, while luminous white wings shimmered behind her. A retinue of angelic women trailed her, their own white wings gleaming, their faces radiant with devotion, as if she were their commander. To any onlooker, they were angels incarnate. Suddenly, the leader froze, her aura flaring so fiercely that her followers collapsed to their knees.

"This power," she whispered, her voice tight. "Has that bastard returned?"

In a harmonious world where all races—humans, demi-humans, dwarves, elves, demons, and beasts—lived in peace, devoid of conflict, an imperial palace stood at its heart. Upon twin thrones sat a couple: a man of immense build, his face scarred, exuding a ferocious aura, with horns atop his head and dragon scales glinting on his arm. Beside him, a woman of his kind reclined, her sculpted body athletic yet alluring, her massive breasts and crimson horns drawing the eye, dragon scales accentuating her arms and chest.

A deafening roar shook the world, forcing every soul to their knees. Even the king and queen struggled to withstand its force. As the dragon's roar faded, the king met his wife's gaze, sweat beading on his brow, her face pale with fear.

"The Ancestor has awakened," she said, her voice trembling. "The prophecy is fulfilled," the king added, his hand shaking. "A billion years ago, he said he'd rise when his master returned."

Their realization struck like a blow, threatening to overwhelm them. Not just them—every being aware of the prophecy quaked in terror. In that moment, every world understood: the era of peace was over, and all must prepare for the cataclysm to come.

Meanwhile, Ronnie trudged toward home, leaving Kitty asleep at the inn with a note promising to meet when needed. After a night away, he knew his family would be frantic. Anxiety gnawed at him—what excuse could he offer? Lost in thought, he reached for the door, only to be engulfed by a forceful embrace, his face buried in his mother Elena's ample chest. "My dear, where have you been?" she cried, her voice thick with worry. "You had me so scared!"

Elena wasn't alone. His sisters, Erza and Hela, stood nearby, their faces feigning indifference, but their eyes betrayed their concern over his absence. Before he could speak, Erza grabbed his ear.

"What, you're out carousing all night now?" she snapped. Her tone was harsh, but Ronnie knew she hadn't slept, torn between searching for him and staying with their mother and younger sister.

"Yeah, Erza, punish him!" Hela chimed in, her voice sharp, though her worry for her big brother was clear.

"It hurts!" Ronnie yelped, nearly tearing up from Erza's grip. "Please, let go!"

"Let go? I'll show you what happens when you stay out all night, you idiot!" Erza growled, yanking him into a headlock, his face pressed against her chest. The struggle continued, Hela laughing at the spectacle, while Elena's smile radiated relief, as if a weight had lifted from her shoulders. But then, her eyes widened.

"Ronnie… you've changed?" Her voice was soft but carried, catching everyone's attention.

"Huh?" Erza froze, releasing Ronnie as she processed her mother's words.

Ronnie stood tall, his shoulders broad, his presence unmistakably different from the boy they'd known. His family stared, stunned.

"When did you start training?" Hela asked.

"Are you even my brother?" Erza added.

"My son, what happened to you?"

They circled him, inspecting his transformed physique—undeniably improved, though subtly so. Erza noticed a new handsomeness, a magnetic aura that drew her in, tempting her to step closer. Hela felt it too, an unfamiliar attraction to her brother, whose good looks were known but never stirred her until now. Elena, too, was struck, recalling when her husband brought home a seven-year-old Ronnie. She'd raised him as her own, loving him as fiercely as her daughters, and now he stood before her, grown in ways she hadn't noticed.

"I've awakened," Ronnie said calmly, his aura rising, a quiet majesty emanating from him.

His family's eyes widened.

"What did you say?" Erza stammered.

"Impossible!" Hela cried.

"He's lying!"

"Have you lost your mind?"

"He means he woke up from sleep,"

they babbled, bombarding him with questions. They'd always seen him as a failure, incapable of awakening, and couldn't fathom believing him now.

"Is it true, my son?" Elena asked, her smile warm, her eyes shining with trust.

"Yes, Mom," Ronnie replied softly.

Tears streamed down Elena's cheeks as she pulled him into a tighter embrace. "Wait… is this real?" Erza gasped. "No way," Hela muttered. They exchanged shocked glances, knowing Ronnie was twenty—past the age of awakening. The idea that he might be the first in history to awaken so late left them reeling.