Ti had passed—he didn’t keep track anymore.
Standing beneath the skylit do of his personal training grounds, he exuded a calm, almost regal presence. His black hair shimred faintly in the light—longer now, more controlled, and impossibly dark like obsidian ink. His eyes, a striking athyst, pulsed gently with energy—not wild, but focused, precise, and watchful.
His physique had beco sothing unreal—not bloated with muscle, not starved for speed. Perfectly sculpted between super-lean and super-bulky. Every part of him felt built, earned, and forged through trial.
Right now, he twirled a massive warhamr, its weight irrelevant in his grip. He slamd it into a rune-stone dummy, which cracked with a sharp echo. With fluid grace, he dropped it and transitioned into spear drills. Thrust. Sweep. Spiral.
Then to daggers—silent, rapid slashes. Shield parries ca next, his body spinning, rolling, countering.
He moved between them like a man rehearsing breath.
After all this ti, he had forged hundreds of weapons—blades of fire, frost, storm, and shadow. Elental crafting had proven difficult early on—frostiron would lower temperatures so drastically mid-forging that the forge would freeze. Thunder ore reacted explosively if not tempered with specific gravity stabilizers.
To overco these, he learned.
Ice magic. Lightning control. Gravity bending. Even small bits of ti manipulation.
He studied runes, mastered sealing techniques, devised his own scripts, and engraved his weapons with magical channels. Divine swords capable of emitting holy radiance, demonic blades with draining edge, phantom glass daggers that sliced through non-corporeal targets.
But even that wasn’t enough.
When weaponry felt checked off, he turned to alchemy and dicine—experinting with glowing herbs and strange magical plants, combining properties like accelerated cell regeneration, mana purity enhancent, or muscle strengthening. He brewed potions. Created healing salves. Even made tablets that could stimulate aura circuits.
Yet, even after doing all of this...
He still felt incomplete.
He stopped mid-spin and placed the training glaive down, exhaling softly.
I’ve mastered more than I ever thought possible, he thought.
Martial arts—Ripple Vein Flowing Fist. Infernal Pulse Strikes. Even the Celestial Spiral Form. Weapon arts—flow, break, deflect, control. Alchemy, forging, magic theory, spellcraft, runes, arrays... even Null.
His Null control was beyond mastery. He didn’t use it—it moved with him. Because he was the source.
And still, sothing held him back.
I’m still here, he thought.
Still trapped. Still missing sothing.
Silence. Then, a slow smirk.
"Well, if I’m stuck... might as well make sothing legendary."
He walked toward the high-tier resource vault—speaking aloud as he reached in.
"Let’s make a masterpiece."
He pulled free a chunk of Adamantite—black, dense, impossibly heavy. A tal known to resist even divine forges. Normal flas danced uselessly against its shell.
He extended his hand, summoning a flicker of bluish fla—laced with Null at its core. He added a swirl of divine fla, a streak of demonic corruption, and then a burst of dragonfire essence—lting them together with Null acting as the bonding core.
A golden-black-blue fla blood in his palm.
The Adamantite hissed as it began to lt—slowly, but surely.
"Perfect," he whispered. "Let’s put everything into this."
He raised his hamr and began to forge.
tal sang.
Flas swirled.
And a single thought rang clear in his mind—
I’m making a spear. Not just a weapon... but a symbol of everything I’ve beco.
The forge hissed.
Adamantite swirled in molten pools, resisting the pull of reality itself. Flas of divine white, demonic black, dragonic gold, and Null-blue danced in perfect harmony. Every strike of Ethan’s hamr rang through the chamber—not just sound, but intent. Energy flowed with every blow.
This wasn’t just crafting anymore. This was... expression.
The spear began to take shape—elegant, brutal, divine. Every inch of tal was folded with mana-tuned technique. He wasn’t just layering magical alloys—he was shaping concepts. He channeled the structure of divine righteousness, the chaos of infernal power, the wild dominance of dragon kind, and bound it all together with Null’s perfect acceptance.
The glow from the flas grew brighter.
He didn’t notice. His body moved on instinct—heat licking his arms, veins pulsing with energy. With each swing, he poured more of himself into it.
Unknowingly, sothing... shifted.
His Null began to convert.
Not intentionally. Not through technique.
It simply understood.
It flowed into mind force—thought, focus, will. Then into soul force—the raw truth of being. Both of which bled into the spear. Not applied. Not infused. But... offered.
And still, Ethan hamred.
Ti lost aning. Only the forging remained.
The final strike echoed like thunder.
Everything went white.
A radiant explosion of silence and pressure.
And when it cleared...
There it stood. Embedded in the center of the forge platform.
A spear—long, lean, and elegant—its shaft a dark silver-black alloy veined with lines of deep red like ancient lava. The tip glead with a red-tinged edge that pulsed softly like a heartbeat. Its surface shimred, reflecting not light, but emotion. Power. Soul.
Ethan stepped back, stunned. But before he could even form a thought—
A sound.
A voice.
Soft. Sweet. Curious.
"...Who are you?"
His breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened.
That wasn’t the computer.
He turned.
Floating in front of the spear... was a child.
No older than ten. Barefoot. A small, floating form with one demonic horn curling from the left side of his head... one draconic horn from the right... and a halo of golden rings behind his blonde hair. His crystal-blue eyes sparkled with an unnatural glow—innocent and ancient all at once.
A soul.
A weapon soul.
Ethan blinked. He didn’t speak. Couldn’t.
He had created life.
He had created a living weapon.
And yet, his mind was elsewhere.
That was it, he thought. This was creation. This was the next stage. I’ve done it. I’ve made sothing living... so...
So why...
Why...
WHY AM I STILL HERE?!
He shouted suddenly, his voice crashing into the silence.
"Why?!"
The soul flinched.
His breathing grew ragged. Eyes wild. He clenched his fists.
"I’ve done everything—EVERYTHING! I’ve trained! I’ve mastered! I’ve CREATED! What more do I need to DO?!"
The soul hovered back, visibly shaken.
And still, Ethan’s voice rose—his desperation crackling through the forge chamber like thunder.
"I want out—I WANT TO LEAVE THIS PLACE! I WANT TO SEE—TO FEEL—TO LIVE! I’VE HAD ENOUGH!"
He scread.
A scream that hadn’t left his throat in what felt like lifetis. A scream that echoed his soul’s very core.
And then—
Sothing snapped.
The air trembled.
The lights flickered.
Ethan’s eyes widened—not in rage, but in confusion.
His body lifted slightly off the ground. Not with energy. Not with will.
But as if pulled.
His eyes shifted.
From violet to...
A grey-silver glow.
His body pulsed once with light—Null roaring inside his chest.
His mind grew still.
And then—
Trance.
Silence. Stillness.
And the soul watched, terrified and fascinated.
The forge dimd.
The Null stirred.
And Ethan—no longer grounded—floated in the center of it all...
As sothing began.
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