The crystal beast stood there in silence.
Her hair was long and pure white, cascading down her back like a river of snowlit glass. Her eyes glowed with the same eerie green as the rest of Michael’s Rank 3 undead.
Her skin was pale, faintly luminous with a crystalline sheen. Every movement made her seem fragile and delicate, like glass that could shatter at a touch.
Michael’s lips pressed into a thin line as he studied her. Unlike the others, her appearance was deceiving.
Also, among all his Rank 3 undead, she was the one who could pass off as human with the least effort.
If her hair was dyed and her strange aura concealed, no one would suspect what she truly was.
The three undead now stood plete in their humanoid forms.
The lion—a broad, red-haired middle-aged man with a thick beard.
The serpent—a vicious-looking, handsome semi-old man.
And the crystal beast—a white-haired woman who seemed to be in her late twenties.
Michael allowed himself a quiet exhale. "Not bad," he murmured.
The undead didn’t respond. As freshly raised undead, their wills were still blank—clean "sheets" waiting to be filled.
Unfortunately, their levels had dropped, and all three stood below level 60. Even so, they were far from weak.
After giving them simple clothes to wear, Michael sent the trio to stand aside and remain out of the way. Then, refocusing, he returned to his own training, continuing to push until he could fully control the strength of his newly evolved body.
Meanwhile, back in the Land of Origin, his other self oversaw the battlefield. Lucky and Prince were manded to use their powers to restore the ravaged forest to the best of their ability, healing the ground torn by the clash of Rank 3s.
At the same time, Michael began to carefully inspect the unique skill that had e with his new race.
A first-time experience for him.
*
[Genesis Body]
The authority of a True Person, whose essence has been acknowledged by the universe. Genesis Body allows the user to separate a fragment of their life force and shape it into a living form.
This skill could also serve as the seed of an entirely new race, born from the user’s essence.
*
It was a skill without a mastery level, like {Detect}.
Only after reading it again did Michael realize the skill hadn’t e simply because of his new race, but because of what that race signified.
The description tied together fragments of his earlier speculations. True Human was not a race in the conventional sense. It was a stage. A threshold. Something humanity might one day bee if they climbed high enough.
And at that stage, they would be called "True Persons"—existences most likely akin to the so-called gods.
If not for his talent, such a realm should have been unimaginably distant from him. Yet because of his gift, he had taken a shortcut.
Even so, his {Mortal God} title made it clear this form was not perfect. It was inplete.
These thoughts flashed through Michael’s mind in an instant. But then the weight of the skill’s implication struck him fully.
His breath hitched.
"What?!"
Michael’s eyes stayed locked on the floating words.
The seed of an entirely new race... born from his essence.
His throat went dry. For a long moment, he could only stare, his mind caught between disbelief and a storm of speculation.
"Create... a race?" he whispered under his breath, the words sounding ridiculous even to his own ears.
The thought alone was overwhelming. Raising undead was already enough responsibility. But this?
This was... creation.
Michael forced himself to think it through carefully.
Clones, yes. The skill’s description made that much clear—Genesis Bodies were extensions of himself, shaped from his own essence. That much he could understand, and even accept. But the second part, the hidden potential, implied something different.
If a Genesis Body could one day...
Michael lips pressed into a hard line. "If that’s true... then doesn’t that make me...?"
He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t want to.
The panel called him a True Person. A title of recognition, something the universe itself had acknowledged. If such a stage truly was the realm of gods, then maybe this was what defined them—not just strength, not just mastery of Laws, but the ability to create, to leave behind a lineage born of their own being.
Michael wasn’t arrogant enough to think himself a god. He was still fumbling in the dark, trying to grasp scraps of truth, barely managing to fight against creatures stronger than himself.
But at the same time... the thought carried an odd allure.
What would a race born of his essence look like?
Would they be like undead, tied to him in loyalty, or independent beings walking their own path? If they were truly born of him, would their growth feed back to him somehow, like his undead legion did?
Michael shook his head sharply, dispelling the cascade of wild possibilities. "No. I can’t think like that right now."
Still, the question lingered like a thorn in his chest.
What if one day, when he was stronger, when he truly reached the level of a True Person, the system forced the issue? What if the act of creation wasn’t an option, but a requirement?
The more he thought about it, the more the pieces aligned with his other realizations.
True Human wasn’t a race—it was a stage, a checkpoint. And Genesis Body might be the test of that stage.
To be "true," perhaps one had to prove not only that they could survive the universe’s truths, but that they could add something to it.
Creation.
Michael’s thoughts refused to settle immediately.
If Genesis Body hinted at creation, then what did that say about humanity itself?
After his evolution, he had wondered whether humans were truly "plete."
Was it because they were fragments of something greater?
The theory held weight..
Yet there were holes in the theory too. If humanity were fragments, what of the other races? Were they fragments as well, or were they plete in ways humans were not?
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