Rebirth of the Nameless Immortal God

Maybe this was why he hadn't noticed the odd atmosphere. It already wasn't much different to what he had been dealing with his whole life to begin with.

"I've treated you with more respect than you deserve, but to think I was raising a dog willing to bite its owner." Patriarch Raven sneered with disdain. "What did they promise you? A corner to piss in?"

Pjisel was so shell shocked that he couldn't speak a word. But the blood seeping through his recently dressed wounds told the entire story. His body was trembling endlessly.

"The only reason I haven't let you bleed to death is because I want you to personally witness your plans fail. You'll rot for the rest of your life in a dark cell.

"You don't know because you've never been qualified to know, but our Raven Clan could have taken the whole of our Alliance's territory for ourselves long ago! Those four pitiful Clans, even combined, are no match for us. Spend the rest of your time reflecting on your failure of an existence."

Pjisel suddenly chuckled. His rage boiled over to the point where he couldn't even feel anger any longer. He felt his body relax completely.

Entrusted? He had been entrusted with the southern cluster?

No. He had taken it. His strength and talent, his perseverance and work ethic, were all so great that he pushed through the lack of resources, the lack of care, the lack of love… In the end, he became one of the youngest Overlords of their Raven Clan, all under the hateful watch of his father.

Respect? When had he ever been respected?

His earliest memories were of his father feeding his fragile mother from a stainless-steel dog bowl. The sound of clanging metal hitting the damp, muddied floors of their 'room' still rocked him to sleep at night.

He locked them in a cage where he had to watch his mother die of malnutrition after giving up her share of food one too many times. He used his mother like a tool for relief, even allowing the only boy he truly as a son to do so as well… as though she was something worse than an animal. If it wasn't because he somehow gained a human form without ever having stepped into the celestial realm, he may have never left that cage in his lifetime…

But now his willpower had been boiled down to something he was handed. His years of hardship were summarized as benevolence. And after risking his life to bring news of enemies, he was being branded as a traitor.

As Pjisel was thrust into the depths of the Raven Clan's dungeon, he met his father's eyes one last time.

"Make sure you keep me in here."

His voice was as cold as ice, almost forcing his father's steps to freeze in the air.

"Don't be softhearted, don't allow me to leave these walls… Or else I'll rip you apart with my own hands."

**

Battles in the depths of space had a level of planning and forethought necessary that battles on land couldn't compare to. One might think that the atmosphere itself would lend to more disorganized and chaotic battles, but while that might be true, that didn't also lend to the idea that scheming and tactics didn't matter.

The reason was simple. In the depths of space, there was no energy to pull from.

Dyon knew from the very beginning that he was at a severe disadvantage. Though saints reached the minimum threshold necessary to survive without an atmosphere to sustain them, it was exactly that, a minimum threshold.

However, this disadvantage also gave Dyon an advantage: he knew that the moment his enemies realized he was using their own people against them, they would definitely choose to come out and meet him precisely because of this disadvantage.

The Raven Clan believed that they were getting out in front of the problem and stifling Dyon, when the reality was that they were doing exactly what Dyon wanted.

How could Dyon, after so many months of compiling information, not know the importance Pjisel held to the southern cluster? How then would he allow a mere celestial to escape under his nose?

Not only did Dyon know of Pjisel's existence, his depth of information went so far as detailing the strain between him and his father.

Dyon knew that if he allowed Pjisel to escape, he would go to warn those of Raven City. Obviously, when Pjisel did so, he would mention the kind of enemy they were dealing with. By doing so, the Raven Clan, who had already been primed after Dyon conquered their Supreme Universe to believe there was a traitor amongst them, fell head long into Dyon's trap.

Believing that they had an understanding of the enemy, the Raven Clan would know that the vast majority of Dyon's army were saints. And because they saw that Pjisel escaped, they would think that Dyon didn't have the ability to circumvent the protections on their teleportation formations, although he obviously did.

As a result, they would think that Dyon would have no choice but to cross their universe by foot and suffer the disadvantage of having several weak Saints under his wings, all the while, being completely in the dark about the fact Dyon wanted them to think this way.

They had not a single clue that they were walking into a battlefield Dyon had personally prepared. Their arrogance and overly confident self belief led them to giving up the greatest advantage they had: an at home playing field.

**

It wasn't long before had streaked across the universe. Though they could have teleported to the southern cluster through various other means, moving billions of warriors like this was far too expensive. It had to be said that Dyon was spoiled by having planet grade arrays powered by origin crystals.

They didn't believe they needed to rush. With a depth of 2 billion warriors strong, they took their time, not allowing their fighters to wear themselves thin.