My Taboo Harem! - Chapter 456: One Above and Maxton Long Game

Chapter 456: One Above and Maxton Long Game

The void was eternal.

No stars or time neither was light except the kind that should exist — the kind that bled rather than shine, pulsed rather than illuminated, that had been old when the concept of old was still learning to crawl.

Only the slow, deliberate heartbeat of something that had never begun and would never end. A rhythm felt in the marrow of reality itself, in the spaces between atoms, in the silence that existed before silence had a name.

In the centre of that boundless dark floated the Red Door.

It stood alone.

Thirty metres tall.

Its surface was the colour of a wound that had never been allowed to heal: deep, living crimson veined with shifting black sigils that moved like smoke given purpose, forming and unforming constellations that had died before the first galaxy was born.¹

They crawled across the door’s surface in slow, restless patterns — sometimes recognisable as language, sometimes as mathematics, sometimes as something that predated both and made both look like children’s games.

Faint cracks along its edges glowed with a rhythmic, glacial light — the only illumination in all the void — pulsing in perfect time with the slow, amused laughter that rolled out from behind it.

That laughter.

Low. Rich. Warm the way a furnace was warm before you realised you were inside it.

The laughter of something that found existence itself mildly entertaining, the way a bored goddess might find an ant colony fascinating for exactly as long as it took to decide whether to watch it or step on it.

Consort stood before the Red Door.

One hand resting on the hilt of her katana a ritual now — the blade that had severed bloodlines, ended worlds, cut reality open like wrapping paper so she could step through the gaps.

The other hand hung loose at her side.

Her head was bowed in perfect deference, long silver hair cascading over her shoulders like frozen moonlight — her fabric untouched by time or void-winds, pressed and pristine, as though entropy itself knew better than to crease it.

Her posture was flawless.

Yet her fingers tightened imperceptibly on the sword’s grip each time the laughter swelled.

She had been waiting in silence for nearly an hour.

Not because her Mistress was busy. Not because the Red Door required time to acknowledge her presence.

But because One Above enjoyed the silence. Enjoyed knowing that her most lethal weapon — a being who could slice the sky open for the convenience of a shortcut —

Consort spoke.

“Mistress.”

Her voice carried the weight of perfect composure — each syllable measured, placed, delivered with the precision of a woman who had spent millennia learning that the wrong inflection in this void could be interpreted as weakness, and weakness before the Red Door was a luxury that did not exist.

“Something is happening in the Maxton Mansion.”

The laughter dimmed slightly. Listening… what had amused her was Phei’s movements and his shenanigans but now Consort had something to report to her.

“For the past three days, since the arrival of the old patriarchs and the rest of the Maxton bloodline, the entire estate has been sealed. I cannot see through it. Not even a glimpse.” Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “The wards are too strong, the containment too absolute. But I have been feeling… something.”

She paused, letting the void swallow the echo of her words before continuing.

“A faint energy. Early. Forceful. Parasitic. Then that instant sky split. There are a signature of a Jörmungandr Bloodline awakening — stolen dragonic heritages, grafted, forced into a vessel that was never meant to hold it. It is weak now, but growing. Pulsing.”

Another pause.

“Like a second heart beginning to beat inside the wrong chest.”

Her silver hair shifted in a void-wind that didn’t exist.

“I have tried every scrying technique at my disposal. Every thread of shadow I possess. I cannot see more than that… even though I am so close. Close enough that if it were any other family, any other ward, I would have already been inside and dismantled every practitioner in the room before the first syllable of their chant had left their lips.”

She fell silent.

Waiting.

The laughter behind the Red Door stopped completely — as though someone had reached into the sound itself and snapped its neck.

The sudden absence was heavier than any noise that had preceded it. The sigils on the door’s surface froze mid-crawl, the constellations of dead languages holding their positions like soldiers at attention.

Then — a long, rich chuckle rolled from behind the Red Door. Warm. Amused.

Ancient beyond any measurement that time had invented.

“Relax, my dear blade.”

The voice rolled through the void like distant thunder wrapped in silk, making the sigils flare brighter for a moment before they settled again.

It was a woman’s voice — though calling it a woman’s voice

was like calling the ocean some water. It was every woman’s voice. Every mother’s. Every empress’s.

Every goddess who had ever looked down from a throne and decided that mercy was optional.

“You cannot see because the Maxtons have been keeping a Lesser God witch in containment for generations.”

Consort’s fingers tightened once on her katana hilt.

Then relaxed.

“They brought her with them — bound, chained and hidden — when they first crawled onto this pathetic little rock you call Earth. Why do you think they had the audacity to perform those insane rituals on the Ryujin Tiamat Bloodline without fearing annihilation? They have had a god in their cellar the entire time.”

The sigils on the Red Door shifted — lazy, almost playful — as though the information amused them.

“A being who can bend fate, rewrite blood, and hide entire bloodlines from even my restricted sight.”

A soft pause. Almost fond.

“And since you, my faithful blade, are still weaker than that witch… it is no wonder you cannot pierce her veil. Do not blame yourself. She is older than you. She remembers when the oceans were still boiling.”

Consort nodded slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing a fraction. Not relief — Consort did not experience relief the way mortals did… just something adjacent.

The particular ease of a weapon that had been told its failure was not malfunction but simply the existence of a bigger weapon. The One Above went on and explained everything to the Consort.

Her eyes shone in realization.

“It makes sense now,” she murmured. “The level of trickery they used on Melissa all those years ago… how they know exactly how to exploit the Prime Nine Years… how they managed to steal Seiryū’s Dragon Heart Scale while dragon himself was dying in flames. They had a being of that calibre on their side the entire time to do their binding. Guiding them. Shielding them. Doing the impossible while they supplied the cruelty.”

She hesitated, the question forming on her tongue.

“Does this mean—”

As if she had read the thought before it was spoken — as if she had plucked it from Consort’s mind the way a child plucks petals from a flower — One Above’s voice cut in smoothly. Almost fondly.

“Do not worry, little blade.”

The voice behind the Red Door was calm. Soothing the way an anaesthetic was soothing — it made you comfortable right up until the moment you realised someone was operating on you.

“While the Maxtons have such a powerhouse in their grasp, she is still their captive. They cannot use her to fight their battles — not openly. If they could, they would already stand above the Heavenchilds. The witch is bound. Constrained.

“All she can do for them are rituals… witchcrafts… spells… errands… tasks that require no direct confrontation. She is a tool, not a weapon they are allowed to unsheathe.”

Consort bowed deeper.

“Even then,” she said quietly, “that is a considerable advantage. A Lesser God performing rituals — even constrained ones — operates at a level that makes everything I’ve witnessed from Legacy families look like children arranging stones and calling it magic.”

One Above hummed in agreement. The sound vibrated through the void and made the sigils on the Red Door flare brighter for a moment, the dead constellations briefly reigniting before settling back into their slow, restless crawl.

“Indeed,” she said, almost wistfully. “The other families have no idea. They think the Maxtons are weak. Broken. Hiding in their ruined mansion after the boy humiliated them. Licking their wounds. Nursing Harold’s broken face and broken pride.”

A soft, knowing laugh.

“But the Maxtons have been acting weak deliberately. Operating in the shadows the entire time. And all along… they knew Phei would awaken… what he really was beyond just being a broken Ryujin Tiamat. Something even I did not know until very recently.”

The admission hung in the void. Heavy. Rare. One Above did not admit ignorance the way mortals did — sheepishly, defensively.

She admitted it the way a mountain admitted erosion: as a fact that changed nothing about her fundamental enormity.

“They knew exactly how to provoke the attack on the Maxton Mansion. Knew the boy’s rage would provide the catalyst. Knew the Void-Ice eruption would crack open the seal on the Azure Dragon’s legacy, leaving the Dragon Heart Scale unanchored and vulnerable after the nine prime years.”

A pause. Then, almost reluctantly — the almost carrying the weight of someone who had not been reluctant in millennia:

“And I hate to admit it, my faithful blade… but the Maxtons might actually be steps ahead of me this whole time.”