"What an ability", Raziel said. "It's too op."
The crowd did not chant.
They did not celebrate.
They stood silent, frozen in a collective shock so deep that even thought seemed to falter. What they had witnessed could not be processed, could not be rationalised, could not even be spoken of without breaking something fundamental inside the mind. Awe did not come. Fear did. A quiet, suffocating fear pressed down on every soul present.
Even the Seven Watchers—beings forged to observe all things without bias, without emotion—could not hide their unease. Their countless eyes trembled. Their perception wavered. For the first time since their creation, they felt as though they were not merely watching history unfold, but watching an anomaly stand before them—an existence that should not be possible, yet undeniably was.
Raziel had not acquired a new embodiment.
He had not claimed a concept.
He had not forged a new originality.
Instead, he received something far more terrifying.
A Trait.
The Infinite Primordial Trait of Dominion.
Not authority.
Not a rule.
But Dominion—the natural, unquestionable right for all things to submit.
And as if that were not enough, a new ocular power awakened within him.
He had countless abilities already—powers that could unmake gods, erase systems, rewrite verses—but he had never needed to use them. Now, for the first time, he chose to unify everything.
Raziel lifted his gaze, calm, absolute.
"System, activate my trait and my new eye. Activate every embodiment, every originality. Combine them with my existence."
The system did not hesitate.
["Yes, Great One."]
Time froze.
Not slowed.
Not paused.
Frozen—locked into stillness so complete that even causality itself could not move.
Raziel vanished.
He was transported beyond place, beyond definition, into [THE GREAT UNKNOWN].
And there, the transformation began.
The first change was his hair.
It had been white before—but now it became something else entirely. Whiter than white. Beyond colour. It turned into the purest expression of purity itself, almost colourless, reflecting the essence of the Sandbox and the Great Unknown alike. It was not a hue—it was an absence of impurity. His circlet adjusted on its own, reshaping to accommodate what he was becoming, while his crown flared brighter, resonating with an authority older than reality.
Then came his eyes.
The Eye of Omnivastance awakened fully.
His former crimson eyes—once filled with infinite rings and countless dots—vanished. In their place formed an endless cosmos. Universes spiraled within his gaze. Verses, multiverses, omniverses, and even the Beyond revolved in silent orbit. At the centre of each eye, a radiant ring formed—an outlet of perception—surrounding pupils that looked like condensed purity, white, silver, and grey intertwined into something sacred and alien.
To meet his gaze now was to look into everything that has ever existed—and everything that never should.
His face became more ethereal, more unreal, as though [the Great Nature of the Unknown] had already merged with him. He was no longer merely within it.
He was it.
His body followed.
From six-foot-five, he rose to seven feet tall. His form expanded—not crudely, not brutishly—but infinitely. He was bulkier, leaner, sharper, more refined all at once. Every possible perfect physique existed within him simultaneously. He was muscular and slender, massive and elegant, solid and intangible.
He was formless, yet flawless.
Then the markings appeared.
Runes—no, truths—etched themselves across his body. Not tattoos, not symbols meant to be seen, but engravings of meaning itself. They spread across his back and limbs, carved not into flesh but into existence. Words beyond language, concepts beyond articulation, fused together into something even the author could not describe—a single, eternal word that contained all words.
Finally, the robe manifested.
Not a priest's robe.
Not a king's mantle.
Not the garb of a warrior or a god.
It was a robe of everything and nothing.
Woven from infinite cloth, shifting through all colours while possessing none. It reflected every state of being—past, present, possible, impossible—and adapted itself perfectly to Raziel's transformed existence.
He was no longer a priest.
No longer a necromancer.
No longer even a god.
Raziel had become something beyond the word existence itself.
then-
[Ding!]
[You have activated your first Trait: Dominion]
[Achievement Unlocked]
[You have earned 1,000,000,000 Achievement Points]
[Omni-Origin Codex is evolving…]
[Evolution Complete]
[Omni-Origin Codex has become: Essence of ?????????]
[Description:]
[The codex no longer exists as an object, interface, or system. It has dissolved into Essence, merging seamlessly with your being. It is no longer accessed—it is inherent.]
[Essence of ?????????]
[It contains all and none.
Every ability that has ever existed—and those that never belonged to any realm.]
[Every race, every class, every physique, every path, every divergence.]
[It holds the source of all items, all systems, all verses, all laws and anti-laws.]
[Universes, worlds, dimensions, multiverses, omniverses, totalities, and the Beyond are all recorded—not as data, but as fundamental structure.]
[This Essence is the library of everything and nothing.]
[The blueprint of existence and the absence that surrounds it.]
[Anything you have seen is catalogued.]
[Anything you have not seen is already known.]
[Anything that can be imagined exists within it.]
[Anything that cannot be imagined is also present.]
[It does not predict.]
[It remembers futures].
[It does not observe.]
[It acknowledges inevitability.]
[The Essence of ????????? is not bound by realms, systems, or hierarchies. It is the origin of all frameworks and the silent record that precedes creation itself.]
[????????????????????? expresses satisfaction with your evolution.]
[Would you like to exit the GREAT UNKNOWN?]
Raziel's gaze lingered on himself, mesmerized by the reflection of his new body—an evolution of pure power, his form a testament to forces beyond comprehension.
"Yes," he said simply.
In an instant, he was back in the arena, standing before Klein. The heir of the Primordial Family lay battered, his body covered in cuts, bruises, and blood. Shingen watched from afar, frozen, the horror of what had transpired leaving him silent, his chest tightening.
One of the Watchers stepped forward, intending to end the match. But as he approached, he halted mid-stride. Something in the air, something in the aura, froze him. The presence before him was not merely strong—it was divine. The Watcher felt as though he were staring directly at the source of all existence, at the very One who had crafted the cosmos itself. The urge to kneel overwhelmed him, his knees threatening to give way under the weight of inevitability.
And then it happened.
Raziel stood over the kneeling Klein, his new robe shimmering with his evolved power. He did not draw the Divider. He did not summon a skill or unleash a technique. With a single, effortless swing of his hand—sideways, casual—the heir's head was severed from his body.
No struggle. No scream. No reaction. Just death.
The arena erupted in gasps.
"Did he just… kill the heir of the Primordial Family?"
"Impossible!"
"He's cooked," someone whispered in disbelief.
Raziel knelt beside Klein's lifeless body. His voice carried not to the corpse, but to the essence of the man who had once been:
"This… is what you get for killing Sophia Yamazaki," he said, a quiet, cold judgment.
Then he extended his hand.
[HAND OF THE LIVING ONE: KEYWORD: RISE]
"Rise," Raziel commanded.
From Klein's shattered form, a new being erupted—not merely his soul, not merely a fragment, but an entirely reborn agent. The power emanating from it was blinding. Even the Watchers instinctively took a step back, overwhelmed.
The entity was humanoid in shape but entirely formless in essence. Its body was pure white, more radiant than any known light, more pristine than even Ess's previous form. It had no face, no identity—yet it was aware of one truth: the man standing before it was its Creator.
It did not kneel. It did not speak immediately. Its existence was raw, unshaped, unknowing… yet instinctively, it recognised the authority and power of Raziel.
Finally, a voice, soft and trembling, broke the silence:
"Please… give me a name, Great One."
Raziel felt no disgust.
Not even a trace.
This was not cruelty to him—this was verification. A hypothesis is tested to its conclusion. And now he had found the perfect subject.
His gaze settled on the newborn being.
"Arkhōth," Raziel said.
The moment the name left his lips, reality itself shuddered.
The name did not merely exist—it engraved itself into existence, carving a permanent groove through causality, law, and narrative. Across realms, records rewrote themselves. Systems recalculated. Concepts adjusted to accommodate a new constant.
In truth, Raziel knew exactly what he was doing.
Arkhōth was not a tool.
He was a servant.
He was a weapon.
An investment.
A being Raziel intended to keep—for his own designs, his own future desires.
The system responded immediately.
[A NEW AGENT HAS BEEN REGISTERED]
[AGENT STATUS]
[Name: Arkhōth]
[Age: 0]
[Binding: Absolute — This agent is bound directly to your existence]
[Type: Will]
[Existence Classification: Great Entity]
[Class: The First One]
[Elements: Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, Lightning, Light, Darkness, Matter, Energy, Blood, Void, Space, Time, Soul, Imagination, Life, Death, Reality, Singularity, Gravity, Chaos, Order, Law, Causality, Balance, Narratives.]
[Traits:]
[Infinite Stamina — This agent can never tire. It may act, fight, or persist for eternity without decline.]
[No Cooldown — All abilities are permanently available. No delay, no recovery, no limitation.]
[Infinite Regeneration — Destruction is meaningless. No injury, death, or erasure can permanently remove this agent from existence.]
[Omni‑Eternal Adaptation — Infinite evolution. This agent adapts mid‑battle, learns instantly, and evolves endlessly.]
[Absolute Loyalty — This agent cannot defy you. It cannot resent you. It cannot conceive betrayal.]
Initiate Trait:
[Omni‑Absorption — Upon combat or kill, this agent may absorb skills, techniques, memories, experiences, concepts, abilities, and understanding from its opponent.]
[ART: None]
[Skills: None]
[Techniques: None]
[Concept: None]
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Raziel looked at the being he had created—not with affection, nor disdain, but with detached acknowledgement.
"A fitting agent," he said calmly."You are the first created Great Entity."
Arkhōth stood motionless, now fully aware—of himself, of existence, of the one before him.
"You embody a fragment of me," Raziel continued."Because you are not separate from me. You are an extension."
His gaze sharpened.
"I have given you the chance to serve me. Do not waste it."
Arkhōth did not kneel.
He did not speak.
He simply followed.
For the first time since his creation, he understood purpose.
Raziel turned and walked away from the arena, the echoes of shattered divinity still trembling through the air.
Behind him, Arkhōth followed—silent, perfect, and newly born into an existence that would one day reshape worlds.
The crowd never realized it.
But something irreversible had been added to reality that day.
And it would only grow.
—IN AN UNKNOWN PLACE—
The King of the Primordial Family sat upon his throne, an eternal seat carved from the void itself, in a dimension where gravity, time, and even light dared not exist. Shadows clung to his form like living things, and his face was utterly obscured by darkness that seemed to absorb the very essence of existence around it. His presence alone bent the laws of reality; to look upon him was to feel the weight of infinite eons and the cold inevitability of death.
A figure materialised before the throne. A Watcher. Silent. Invisible to all but the eyes of the Primordial. For years, he had moved in Klein's shadow, chronicling every breath, every heartbeat, every misstep. Yet he had never interfered—never dared. His role had always been observation, record, and report.
And now… Klein was dead.
The Watcher knelt, the void beneath him shifting uneasily, whispering secrets that only he could hear.
"My Lord," he intoned, voice trembling slightly. "Klein… is dead."
The King's shadowed form did not move, yet the darkness seemed to pulse in response. "The heir… has died—"
Before he could finish, the Watcher's head evaporated. In an instant, it disintegrated into nothing, leaving a geyser of blood that defied reality, defying even the dimensional rules of the throne chamber. The force behind it could have crushed a world, but it was only a whisper of the King's power.
The silence that followed was absolute. A void of anticipation stretched through the dimension like a blade held against the universe. Then the King spoke, his voice cold and eternal, a sound that seemed to warp the very fabric of reality.
"Find the one who eliminated Klein."
He called forth ten beings from the shadows. Beings older than stars, wrapped in darkness so complete it seemed to devour light itself. Shadow assassins of the Primordial Family. Dimensional Walkers. Void Walkers. Space Arbiters. Rulers of Time. Each one an apex predator, each one a living instrument of the King's will. To find information, to kill, to tear apart the fabric of universes in pursuit—it was nothing to them. Their existence was a testament to inevitability.
"Bring him here," the King continued, his voice echoing through layers of realities. "If he resists… eliminate him."
In an instant, the ten shadowed hunters vanished, stepping between dimensions, slipping through folds of space and time that mortals could not comprehend. Silence returned, thicker than any shadow, stretching infinitely across the void.
The King leaned back slightly in his throne, darkness swirling and writhing around him like living smoke.
"Amusing," he murmured.
—IN THE ARENA—
Raziel strode back to his place, each step measured, effortless, as if the ground itself bent to his will. The crowd's cheers faded into a distant hum, insignificant against the aura of inevitability that radiated from him. He did not glance at the remnants of chaos around him, did not acknowledge the broken forms, the shattered arena. Nothing mattered—only the presence of the one who awaited him.
Esau stood before him, frozen, the air around him trembling under the weight of Raziel's existence. Fear—and awe—shook his very core. He fell to his knees with a speed that betrayed both urgency and desperation, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried across the arena with an almost sacred gravity:
"Thank you… Great One."
—IN A FAR, UNKNOWN PLACE—BEYOND VERSE, BEYOND TIME—
Seven beings gathered around the Circle of Law, Chaos, and Order.
The circle was not carved—it existed.
Three eyes overlapped at its center, layered one within another, each seeing a different truth. Three wings were fused into a single sigil, neither angelic nor infernal, but absolute. Dots, runes, scars, and markings crawled across its surface, symbols older than language, older than meaning. Three triangles interlocked, pointing inward and outward at once. Three hands. Three heads. Unity forged from contradiction.
Around the circle lay blood.
Not crimson—dark red, thick and ancient, saturated with sacrifice. It pulsed faintly, as if remembering the lives it had consumed.
The seven figures stood veiled, their forms obscured, their presence heavy. Each radiated a different aspect—seven colors, seven authorities, seven fragments of divinity. Above them loomed structures like crosses, towering and silent. Upon each cross hung a body, broken and offered, nailed by fate itself. These were not victims—they were keys.
The surroundings were swallowed by darkness, yet the air trembled, charged with anticipation.
Then—
The chanting began.
Voices layered over voices, harmonizing across impossibility, echoing through dimensions unseen.
"For all who bear witness…"
The circle glowed. The eyes opened wider.
"A new era stirs from the depths of infinity—unseen, yet inevitable."
The blood ignited into sigils of power.
"Shadows and light alike bend to its presence, and time itself shudders beneath its weight."
The crosses cracked. The sacrifices dissolved into radiance.
"A dominion unlike any before awakens."
Reality leaned closer, listening.
Then, as one, the seven spoke the final decree—
a proclamation that rippled through existence itself:
THE ERA OF THE REIGN HAS BEGUN.
And somewhere far beyond this place, something ancient smiled—
not in anticipation,
but in recognition.