Sitting in the quiet void, Anil gazed into the distant, swirling expanse of stars, contemplating the turning point of his existence. His eyes burned like twin suns, casting a radiant glow over the neighboring worlds.
In his hands lay two heavy, weathered scrolls of leather. Despite their unassuming appearance, they exuded a faint, destructive aura so potent it made the surrounding space crackle and fray.
This was the hide of the Void Beast—a cataclysmic primordial race that had roamed the dark expanses since before the stars were named. Even to celestials, they were legendary monsters of pure destruction.
Inscribed upon these indestructible hides were two names, glowing with a faint, ethereal light:
The Primordial Origin Art.
The Universe Origin Body Art.
These were the ultimate culminations of his existence. He had deduced three thousand great laws, blending every technique he had ever mastered, alongside a few hidden arts gifted by his long-dead companions. Within these scrolls lay his life's blood. Every betrayal suffered, every hardship endured, every loss wept over, and every lesson learned.
Two million years of celestial experience, written in characters of light upon the skin of monsters older than time, waiting to rewrite the laws of reality.
---
Anil rose from his seated position, and the void seemed to tremble at his movement. He stretched out his hand, and the two scrolls floated gently before him, rotating slowly as if alive.
"The Primordial Origin Art," he murmured, his voice resonating with the weight of ages, "will allow me to extract the Origin from a dead universe. The Universe Origin Body Art will temper my flesh to withstand the unimaginable pressure of containing such power."
He paused, his gaze growing distant.
"Two million years of preparation. Two million years of solitude. And now... I must find a universe on the verge of death."
Anil's fingers traced the ancient characters on the scrolls. Each stroke pulsed with power, containing insights that would drive lesser cultivators to madness if they dared to comprehend them. But Anil was no lesser cultivator. He was the strongest being in the Heavenly Universe, and soon, he would become something far greater.
The problem, however, remained. Dead universes were not common. In the vast expanse of existence, universes lived and died on scales incomprehensible to mortal minds. Finding one in its death throes would require patience—and perhaps a bit of luck.
Anil smiled grimly. Patience, he had in abundance. Luck, he had learned to manufacture through sheer will.
"The outer void is vast," he said to himself, rolling the scrolls and tucking them into a fold of space that existed only within his divine domain. "I will wander again. But this time, I am not searching for a perfect world. I am searching for a dying one."
He closed his eyes, extending his divine senses across the void. Thousands of galaxies, millions of worlds, countless civilizations—all flickered at the edge of his perception. He sifted through them, searching for the telltale signs of cosmic decay. A universe near death would have a distinct signature, a fading resonance that any celestial worth their salt could identify.
A decade passed. Then a century. Then a millennium.
Anil wandered the void, never staying in one place for long. Occasionally, he would pass through dying star systems or witness the collapse of a small dimension. But these were not the grand, universe-ending apocalypses he sought. They were merely ripples in the pond of existence.
Then, after three thousand years of wandering, he felt it.
A faint tremble, like the last heartbeat of a dying god, echoed from a distant corner of the void. It was barely perceptible, but to Anil's heightened senses, it was as clear as a bell ringing in the silence.
He turned, his eyes blazing with renewed purpose. There, in the far reaches of the void, a universe was dying.
Anil moved. In an instant, he was not merely traveling—he was traversing the very fabric of existence. Space folded around him, time bent to his will, and the void itself seemed to part like water before a ship's prow.
Days turned into hours. Hours into minutes. And then, he arrived.
Before him lay a universe on the brink of annihilation. Its once-vibrant stars had dimmed to cold embers. The planets that orbited them were cracked and barren, devoid of life. The cosmic laws that governed this realm were fraying at the edges, unraveling like a tapestry eaten by moths.
Anil observed in silence, his heart heavy. This was a universe that had once teemed with life—countless civilizations, cultures, and dreams that had now crumbled into dust. He could still feel the lingering echoes of the beings who had lived and died here, their final moments etched into the very fabric of reality.
"Forgive me," he whispered, his voice carrying a note of genuine sorrow. "I will use your death to give birth to something new. Something better."
He reached into his divine domain and withdrew the two scrolls. They hummed with anticipation, their ancient energy resonating with the dying universe before him.
"The Primordial Origin Art," Anil intoned, and the first scroll unfurled, releasing a wave of light that washed over the dying cosmos. "Extract the Origin."
The universe shuddered. The dying stars flickered one last time. And then, from its core, a glowing orb of unimaginable energy began to rise. It was beautiful and terrible, containing the concentrated essence of a universe's existence—its laws, its history, its very soul.
Anil gritted his teeth. The energy was immense, far greater than he had anticipated. It pressed against his divine will, threatening to overwhelm him.
But he held firm.
"The Universe Origin Body Art," he growled, and the second scroll un furled, wrapping his body in a cocoon of golden light. The Origin energy surged into him, and pain—ancient and profound—racked his being. It was as if every atom of his existence was being reforged, broken down and rebuilt in the image of a new universe.
He screamed. The void echoed with his agony.
But he did not stop.
---
An unknown amount of time passed—hours, days, or perhaps centuries, Anil could not tell. When he finally opened his eyes, he was different.
His body, once that of a celestial cultivator, now thrummed with the power of a newborn universe. The Origin energy had fused with his very soul, and in its wake, it had left behind something unique.
He held up his hand, and a tiny spark of light danced in his palm. It was small, no larger than a grain of sand. But within it lay the potential for everything—worlds, stars, life, and death.
"The seed," Anil breathed, his voice trembling with awe. "The seed of my new universe."
He had done it. Against all odds, he had succeeded. The Origin had been extracted, absorbed, and transformed into the foundation of a realm that would be his and his alone.
But as he gazed upon the tiny spark, a question arose in his mind—a question that would haunt him for eternity.
What kind of universe should I create?