Outwardly, she composed herself, standing tall and meeting his gaze fully.
"You truly are an anomaly, Raziel ÆLNOUS," she said slowly, her tone carrying both awe and careful restraint.
"Thanks for the dimension," Raziel replied smoothly, his expression calm but threaded with subtle pride. "I'll make sure it's kept in good hands."
"I trust that you will," Sariel responded, her eyes softening ever so slightly, though a faint tension lingered beneath her composed exterior.
In an instant, the scenery shifted around them. The grandeur of the sanctum dissolved like mist, replaced by the familiar, austere lines of the headmaster's office. The transition was seamless yet jarring, a showcase of the Headmaster's incredible power.
Raziel offered her a brief, quick smile before turning toward the door.
"But wait," he asked, pausing and tilting his head in mild confusion, "where will I be staying?"
Sariel blinked, caught off guard by the question. She had expected him to understand, yet…
"I thought the answer was obvious," she said, her voice carrying a mixture of profundity and exasperation. "You will be staying in your own dimension. It is, after all, the imagination manifested."
Her eyes widened slightly, betraying a flicker of shock at the sheer audacity—or perhaps the obliviousness—Raziel had just displayed.
[Great one, you know it yourself so stop acting like a donkey on Shrek]
[Dumbass]
[You really need to increase your intelligence stat]
"..."
"Thank you", he replied and walked out the door.
He instantly activated Sandbox.
Raziel's dimension did not exist within reality.
Reality existed within it.
There was no sky, yet infinity stretched overhead. No ground, yet existence stood firm beneath one's feet. Space folded into itself endlessly—layers of void, light, and abstraction overlapping like thoughts inside the realm of GOD's mind.
Time flowed unevenly here. Moments could last eternities, and eternities could end in a breath. Past, present, and future hovered together, visible and mutable, as if waiting for Raziel's permission to proceed.
Stars drifted like embers frozen mid-burn, their light silent and obedient. Entire worlds formed and dissolved at the edge of perception—unfinished concepts, discarded possibilities, realities that had never been allowed to be born.
At the center stood Raziel's throne—not carved, not built, but acknowledged by the dimension itself. The laws of existence bent subtly around it, as if unwilling to oppose their master. Power did not radiate from the throne; it was simply assumed, absolute and unquestioned.
This realm had no natural order, no governing law except one:
Raziel's will.
Here, concepts were clay. Infinity was measurable. Omnipotence was restrained only by intent. The dimension was not a sanctuary, nor a prison—it was a reflection.
A place shaped by a being who was never meant to exist within limits.
And should Raziel ever choose to fully awaken it—
Even the Tower would be forced to kneel.
With a subtle flick of his hand, Raziel activated his Elemental Affinity.
Imagination.
And immediately the GREAT CROWN descended upon his head.
The Sandbox responded instantly.
Raziel closed his eyes and thought of a home.
A mansion.
And so, a mansion rose from nothingness.
Not assembled—acknowledged.
White stone flowed like liquid thought, forming towering pillars and wide halls. Walls shaped themselves with elegant symmetry, etched with faint glowing lines that pulsed softly, as if the structure itself was breathing. Vast windows overlooked an endless horizon of shifting sand and stars, where dawn and night existed simultaneously.
"Good," he said quietly.
He stepped inside.
The interior was warm, impossibly familiar. Grand staircases curved upward into silence. Plush couches formed themselves near a massive fireplace that burned without fuel. Bedrooms appeared—dozens of them—each perfectly tailored to comfort, with soft beds that promised rest beyond exhaustion.
Then he imagined more.
A massive living hall transformed into an entertainment sanctuary. An enormous screen stretched across one wall. Consoles formed beneath it—Xbox, PlayStation, devices that had existed on Earth. Devices that reminded him of his home.
Games followed.
Some were familiar:
Elden Ring
God of War(Goated game)
Fortnite
Cyberpunk
Minecraft
Others were not.
Games that could not exist in reality—worlds that reacted to thought, combat systems that adapted to emotion, stories that rewrote themselves depending on the player's intent. Infinite games. Infinite genres. Infinite replayability.
Then Raziel turned his attention outward.
The sand stirred.
From it, beings began to rise.
They were faceless and genderless, their forms smooth and unfinished, like sculptures waiting for meaning. Some bore wings made of drifting dust. Others had curved horns, long tails, or elongated limbs. Their bodies shimmered faintly, held together by House chores.
Yet they all shared one truth.
Their power was not innate.
It was him.
If he imagined them weak, they would crumble. If he imagined them mighty, they would rival gods.
As the final being took shape, a notification appeared—simple, calm, and terrifyingly absolute.
[Dust Genesis — Activated]
[Ding!]
[A being has been created.]
[Designation: Dust Agent]
[Rank: Great Infinity]
[Description: A construct born of dust and imagination, shaped to serve its creator.]
[Authority: Scales infinitely with Raziel's will.]
Raziel absorbed the message without surprise.
Then he imagined more.
Cars appeared—sleek, modern, familiar. Roads stretched out, smooth and endless. Streetlights flickered on. Buildings formed—not cities, not continents—just enough to feel real.
Earth-like.
But not Earth.
He could have recreated the planet in its entirety. He could have copied every ocean, every nation, every soul.
But he didn't.
This wasn't meant to be a replica.
It was meant to be his.
Something small. Something personal. A sanctuary carved out of infinity.
The Sandbox settled, obedient and vast, awaiting his next thought.
And Raziel smiled.
Because he genuinely enjoyed his new dimension, Raziel allowed himself to linger.
He entered his bedroom, the doors closing softly behind him, and summoned Kami—if only to keep him company. The two spent time together, playing games, arguing over pointless things, like who's got the bigger dih, laughing as though none of the infinite weight of existence rested on Raziel's shoulders.
For a while, he forgot everything else.
Eventually, Raziel decided to sleep—to let time pass naturally.
Even a being such as himself could sleep.
Not because he needed to…But because he wanted to.
And so, he did.
The Next Day
Raziel awoke to the faint presence beside him. Kami lay nearby, still asleep, breathing steadily—peaceful, almost human.
Raziel rose quietly.
With a single thought, his clothes shifted.
His [Infinite Cloth] responded instantly, reshaping itself to match the Academy's standards—though no standard could truly contain it.
A purple-black coat formed first, reaching to his knees, its fabric darker than shadow yet faintly luminous at the edges. Beneath it, a blazer so black it seemed to devour light itself, etched with refined insignias—symbols of Omni-Infinity, Eternity, and a coiled dragon that shimmered subtly with ancient authority.
His trousers turned pure white, pristine and untouchable by dust or time.
His shoes settled last.
They were not merely footwear.
They were steps—each one capable of walking over fate, trampling death itself should he will it.
Fully dressed, Raziel stepped outside the mansion, leaving Kami behind, still snoring without a care in the world.
Just as Raziel was about to step into the Tower—
A faint chime echoed through the air.
[Ding!]
[You have received a message from the Headmaster.]
[Raziel, I know this may feel sudden, perhaps even out of place.
After careful discussion between myself and the other Heads of the Academy, we have come to a conclusion.
This Academy will not nurture you. It will only restrain you.
Therefore, we have granted you an entry pass to the[Absolute Tower of Outer Realities.]
[May you reach the final floor.]
"I always knew she was a bitch, are they really trying to use this as an excuse to expel me?" he thought, his red eyes narrowing with an almost imperceptible flicker of annoyance.
"I suppose there was no point in wearing this," he muttered under his breath.
The Great System chose for him an attire that seemed not merely made, but born from the very fabric of existence itself. At first glance, it appeared as a flowing cloak, woven from threads that shimmered like liquid starlight, coiling and shifting with an intelligence of their own. The colours were impossible to name—simultaneously dark as the void between galaxies, yet radiant with the gold of newborn suns, the silver of moonlight, and the deep violet of dying stars.
The tunic beneath was sleek, form-fitting, yet unlike any mortal tailoring. It seemed sculpted from an invisible alloy of energy and thought, its surface inscribed with a subtle, infinite spiral pattern—a sigil known as "The One Above All", a symbol of boundless authority, Inevitability, and finality. The spirals shifted with each movement, looping over themselves in an eternal coil, as if time itself bowed to his presence.
His shoulders were adorned with epaulets that resembled wings of pure light, feathered yet angular, fractal in design, each feather reflecting a different plane of reality. As he moved, they left a faint afterimage, a trail of eternity that whispered of the countless dimensions under his dominion.
The pants were equally surreal, formed from the same living energy as the cloak. The Shoes left no footprint, yet seemed to tether him to every plane of existence simultaneously. Every step he took rippled across reality, a subtle distortion that reminded all who looked upon him that he was not bound by normal laws.
Finally, a crown-like circlet hovered just above his head, not resting on his brow but orbiting in a slow, deliberate rotation. Its surface mirrored the night sky, with stars appearing and vanishing in real-time, constellations of unknown worlds shimmering across it. At the centre of the circlet glowed a core of impossible light—an eye of infinity that symbolized both the beginning and the end of all things.
Every thread, every line of this attire breathed power. It was not simply clothing—it was a declaration: Raziel had transcended mortals, transcended Gods, and now walked as the embodiment of creation's will. To see him clothed thus was to glimpse the infinite itself, a being who required no throne or kingdom, for the universe itself bent to his presence.
"Kami, come here. I know you're playing games," he murmured, yet even the hushed sound of his voice seemed to reverberate through the very fabric of reality. Time shivered and space bent subtly under its weight.
In an instant, Kami appeared in a subtle distortion of reality, as if he had emerged not by moving through space, but by bending it. His form was humanoid, yet intangible—he bore no distinct face, no colours, no markings of flesh or bone. And yet, despite his featureless appearance, every movement radiated presence, every gesture carried intent. He was a fragment of Raziel made visible, a thought made flesh.
From his back unfurled six wings, each unlike the other. The first shimmered like the end of all things, sharp and precise, embodying inevitability and finality. The second was a smoky violet, soft and flowing, exuding curiosity and death. The third blazed with golden light, crackling faintly, a manifestation of Glory and authority. The fourth seemed woven from shadows, edges fading into nothingness, representing calculation and Exsistence. The fifth was Chaosal, refracting light into impossible colors—like Realityand unpredictability. And the sixth glimmered like starlight in an empty sky, a reminder of infinite potential and possibility.
As Kami moved or expressed will, the wings shifted, multiplied, and evolved. Six became twelve, twelve split into countless more, each new wing bearing a new nuance of thought, personality, or intent. Each was a facet of Raziel, a reflection of a different truth, a different angle of his infinite mind. Yet, no combination of these wings, no matter how many, could ever reach the "False State"—the condition of absolute nothingness. They were infinite in potential but bounded in purpose: reflections of his complexity without ever diluting the whole.
Kami's presence was impossible to ignore. Even though he had no colour, no face, no singular form, his wings cast shifting shadows that hinted at omniverses folding in on themselves. Each wing moved with intent, a living symbol of Raziel's infinite thoughts, his desires, and his domains. When he spoke, his voice reverberated through layers of reality simultaneously, soft yet omnipresent, a single word resonating like the pulse of creation itself.
He was, in every way, both part and extension of the One Above All, a reminder that even the smallest fragment of Raziel carried omnipotence, intelligence, and purpose. And yet, despite the multitude of wings and personalities, there remained an untouchable core, a singularity that no facet could approach—the True Raziel, beyond all reflection, beyond all duplication.
"Yes, Papa," Kami said, a bright smile stretching across a featureless visage, somehow radiating warmth and assurance.
"Take care of the dimension, you are free to play games, and allow the other facets to remain here if they wish. Also, tell Michael that I will no longer be attending the academy. Have him come to the tower immediately."
"Yes, Father," Kami responded, a subtle smile reflected on his cheek. his form dissolving into the air as though he had never been there at all.
"Great System," Raziel murmured to himself, "send that message to Michael's inbox."
["As you wish, Great One"] the system replied, its voice like the hum of distant galaxies.
Michael awoke slowly, stretching beneath sheets that shimmered faintly like starlight caught on water. Michael's Space: Dream
It was a canvas of limitless imagination, a manifestation of his mind made tangible. Floating islands hovered in a vast void that shimmered like liquid glass, suspended above an endless chasm of swirling stars. Streams of golden light arced between the islands, forming bridges of luminescence that twisted and danced according to his whims. Time flowed differently here; seconds could stretch into hours, and a thought could be crafted into a tangible reality before one could blink.
The sky was a gradient of infinite possibilities: one moment a tranquil dawn, the next a night ablaze with auroras of impossible colors. Celestial bodies—suns, moons, comets—drifted lazily in the expanse, obeying no orbit, as if the universe itself waited for Michael's command. In the distance, monumental spires rose from islands like frozen echoes of forgotten worlds, their surfaces etched with cryptic runes that glimmered faintly when he passed.
Dream was a space for creation and contemplation, a sanctuary where Michael could experiment, think, and imagine without restriction. Though the space allowed infinite possibilities, there was one immutable rule: while he could dream and shape ideas into visual, tangible forms, nothing born here could become real outside of this space—not yet.
Nestled on one of the largest floating islands was Michael's personal domain, a room that reflected both his imagination and his emerging power. Though it resembled a chamber, it was far more than walls and furniture—it was architecture made alive, imbued with aesthetic, grandeur, and purpose.
Monumental pillars spiraled toward an impossibly high ceiling, adorned with altars and sculptures of dragons caught mid-flight. Each dragon's wings spread across the room, their scales shimmering with gold, silver, and obsidian, reflecting the shifting lights of his space. The walls were lined with niches containing crystal orbs and miniature temples that hummed faintly with energy, each a testament to worlds he had imagined.
A polished marble floor stretched underfoot, yet it seemed to ripple like water when he walked, reflecting both reality and dream. Golden sunlight poured in from invisible sources, highlighting tapestries depicting constellations, epic battles, and serene landscapes—all mutable according to his mood or desire.
At the far end, a massive bed crowned with carved dragons and celestial motifs dominated the space. Silver sheets glimmered faintly, as though dusted with stardust, and a soft breeze, scented with the faint sweetness of night-blooming flowers, moved across the room with no discernible origin.
Every object, every surface, and even the air itself responded to his presence, bending subtly to reflect his thoughts or intentions. Though the room was opulent, it was also alive, a manifestation of his personality, creativity, and power, blending art, architecture, and magic into a single, breathtaking whole.
He had recently gotten this space through the headmaster after arriving with Lumina—an affirmation of his place among the academy's elite.
A soft chim rang through his chamber.
[Space Name: Dream][Rank: New][Affinity: Dream, Light, Time, Space][Description: A domain for dreamers and demi-creators, a place where imagination is free to wander, though dreams within cannot yet touch reality.]
As Michael rose, wiping his face with a small silver cloth, Kami appeared once more. He had not teleported; he had not broken in. It was as if he had always been there, silently waiting for recognition.
Michael froze, instinct kicking in, ready to strike with the defensive measures his space should have guaranteed. But before he could act, Kami's voice cut through the tension, calm but commanding:
"Patience, Agent of the Great One. THE REVEREND sent me to deliver a message."
Shock and curiosity warred within Michael. He knew instantly it was Raziel but First, how had this being infiltrated his Space? And why had Raziel deemed it so urgent to send a messenger? Even more unsettling was the faint whisper of recognition: this was Raziel, THE ONE ABOVE ALL. Any fear was tempered by the awareness that he stood before something far beyond comprehension.
Michael carefully masked his emotions, but Kami saw everything. Everything. The unspoken thoughts, the suppressed tension, the minute flicker of excitement—none of it escaped the facet's gaze.
"What does he want to tell me?" Michael asked, raising an eyebrow, trying to project calm.
"This is your first assignment: complete your education at the academy. Let all know the magnitude of your power. Once finished, come to the tower—first floor. There, I will meet you. As for your rewards, one of your dreams may become reality, or if you wish, I may grant you the affinity of Reality itself. That is the message from the Great One."
With that, Kami's presence faded, retreating into the seventh-dimensional folds of existence—everywhere and nowhere, a silent observer beyond perception.
Michael exhaled, a mix of disbelief and exhilaration washing over him. "Ha… this guy is insane," he muttered aloud. His dragon-like horns caught the morning light, golden eyes glinting with anticipation and ambition.
Yet beneath that brash exterior, he was ready. Ready for the promise of a dream becoming reality. Ready to carve his dominion, not just over his space, but over the academy itself.
Dressing swiftly in the academy uniform, Michael stepped into the sprawling halls. Every whisper, every glance from peers would soon carry weight. Ever since that day, no one would dare underestimate him. He was not merely a student—he was a force that would dominate the academy.
[WORLD MAP][Please choose your teleport destination]
"Absolute Tower of Outer Realities," came the calm, unshakable reply from Raziel.