[You're just letting him flail?] the system chided, its tone dry and exasperated. [Finish him already.]

"Nah," Aaron replied mentally, shaking his head. "Let him make a fool of himself. I'll end it when I'm satisfied." His tone was laced with pettiness, relishing Havoc's futile struggle, the void's darkness amplifying his dominance.

[Never seen anyone as petty as you, Aaron Highborn,] the system remarked, its voice tinged with amusement.

"Congratulations—you're staring at the pettiest man alive," Aaron quipped, his smile widening, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

"Hmm, I've got an idea for my bloodline," Aaron muttered, closing his eyes to access the dark, endless world of his origin bloodline. His consciousness faded, drawn into a realm of infinite shadow, a void devoid of light where only darkness reigned, its oppressive weight pressing against his soul like a cosmic tide, the air thick with the whispers of ancient power.

Aaron's consciousness plunged into the dark, endless world of his origin bloodline, a realm of infinite shadow where light was a forgotten memory. The oppressive void pressed against his soul, its silence a cacophony of ancient whispers, each one laced with the weight of eons. "You returned sooner than I predicted," a resonant voice intoned, cutting through the darkness like a blade forged from night itself. Aaron's eyes snapped to the source, his expression flickering with surprise as he beheld a figure cloaked in a robe of infinite shadow, its seams stitched with the essence of primordial chaos. A crown of blood and skulls adorned the figure's head, its crimson and bone-white gleam a stark contrast to the abyss. Before the throne, statues of every night creature—vampires, werewolves, warlocks—stretched infinitely, silent sentinels of a bloodline's legacy.

"Who are you? And what are you doing here?" Aaron demanded, his guard raised, his aura flaring with crimson energy, ready for any threat. The darkness seemed to pulse in response, as if acknowledging his power, a reflection of Abigail's fierce resolve to protect her family, now burning in Aaron's unyielding spirit.

"You know the answer," the figure replied, its pitch-black eyes piercing Aaron's soul, a gaze that unraveled time itself, heavy with the weight of forgotten epochs.

"You're…?" Aaron began, realization dawning like a blood moon rising in the void.

"Yes. Your predecessor, the first Night Father," the figure confirmed, its voice a whisper of eternity, carrying the gravitas of countless battles. "There's no time for idle talk. The longer I linger, the closer they come to tracking you. You're too weak to face them now—hide, gather strength." Its words were urgent, its form a fleeting shadow in the infinite dark, as if tethered to the void by a fragile thread.

"Aaron Highborn, I didn't choose you as my successor," the figure continued, its tone a mix of begrudging respect and stern admonition. "Yet your growth is remarkable, your potential exponential. But it's not enough. Chaos will come for what you possess, relentless and unstoppable. Use your abilities, build armies, sire children—many, to carry your bloodline. Prepare for his strike." The words echoed with cosmic urgency, the crown's skulls seeming to whisper warnings of their own.

"Sire children?" Aaron scoffed, shaking his head with a wry grin, his arrogance unshaken even in this realm of dread. "Not ready for that. I'll pass on the family planning, thanks." His tone was defiant.

"Those born of you are most compatible with your bloodline, able to wield it fully," the figure admonished, its voice stern yet urgent. "Others you bestow it upon will hit limits, but your progeny can surpass them, their potential unbound by mortal constraints." The statues seemed to loom closer, their silent forms a testament to the bloodline's untapped power.

"That's all for now," the figure said, vanishing like a wisp of smoke, leaving no trace of its existence. "I must go to keep you hidden."

Aaron stood alone, the darkness pressing against him, a displeased frown etching his features as the void's whispers grew silent. "Great, now I've got to do something crazy," he groaned, seating himself on the throne that pulsed with his bloodline's power, its crimson and shadow-wrought surface resonating with his essence, a seat of dominion that felt like an extension of his soul.

[Don't pretend—you're thrilled to have an excuse to go wild,] the system teased, its tone playful yet knowing, echoing in Aaron's mind like a conspiratorial whisper.

"You want in on it too," Aaron shot back, his frown morphing into a knowing smile, a spark of mischief igniting in his eyes, his arrogance a mirror to Abigail's unyielding defiance.

[Obviously,] the system snickered, its amusement a bright note in the void.

"Time to tie up loose ends," Aaron mused, approaching the statue of the nether warlocks, its form radiating an ancient, malevolent power that thrummed in the air. He placed his hand on its shoulder, his physique shifting, nether runes etching across his skin like living tattoos, their arcane patterns glowing with a sinister light, his eyes inscribed with sigils that shimmered with otherworldly power, twin orbs of pulsating energy igniting in his palms.

---

"Yo, I'm back," Aaron announced, his consciousness snapping back to the void, finding Havoc hammering at an isolated space within the isolated space Aaron had crafted, a failsafe to shield himself. "Hope I wasn't missed too much?" His voice was a mocking lilt, his smile sharp and taunting, radiating the same unyielding confidence that defined Abigail's legacy. Gone was his usual cloak, replaced by a sleeveless hooded robe woven from nether energy, its fabric absorbing the starlight. The hood cast his face in shadow, nether runes glowing on his exposed arms, their patterns pulsing with dark power. His eyes, inscribed with arcane sigils, shimmered with an eerie light, and twin orbs of pulsating energy crackled in his palms, casting a sinister glow across the void.

"Look at this guy, trying to punch my face," Aaron said, his tone dripping with amusement, his smile a blade of scorn. "Rude, don't you think?"

"So, Havoc," he continued, his voice a playful taunt, locking eyes with the titan, "where were we in our little chat?" His new form radiated a menacing aura, the void itself seeming to bow to his transformed presence, the stars dimming as if in reverence to the Night Father's power.

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