Location: World Axis-E110
Sector: Loomlight Sanctuary - Central Sanctum Core
Ashborn stirred.
At first, it was just a flick of breath an instinctive inhale after stasis. His body, suspended in mid-air above the bed of woven light, slowly lowered as ambient gravitational threads recognized his active vitals. His Lavender irises, still clouded with tears, blinked beneath messy black curls, tips dyed with cosmic purple from residual dream energy that hadn't fully faded.
He opened his eyes fully for the first time since waking.
The room responded.
The walls shimmered with a slow pulse, adjusting to the signature frequency of his aura. This was no ordinary sanctuary, the room itself was alive, coded with memory-reactive architecture. Light fractals, programmed from the mythic DNA of his Genesis Thread, subtly reshaped the walls, ceilings, and even temperature to mimic the biothermic echo of his true homeworld, the Lionheart kingdom.
Ashborn took a step forward onto the floating floor, his bare feet sinking softly into light-grain tiles. He sniffed faintly. The scent of starlit ozone and freshly synthesized marble. Everything smelled... almost like home...
His voice came out hoarse, low.
"...So it wasn't a lie. I'm in World Axis-E110..."
The name echoed in his head like a sterile designation, devoid of meaning. The axis was part of a cyber-dimensional network, a world born of failed utopias, cyber gods, and terra-rewriting civilizations. This was not where he belonged.
Yet, here he was.
He turned and took a good look at the room: a bed suspended in the air by gravitational threads and myth weave alloy. Walls coated in fractal meshwork-Neural Glass, displaying ghostly afterimages of systems and his stabilized vitals.
An elegant black Monolith pulsed softly in the corner, the SyncCore, managing the sanctum's link to his biological imprint.
Then his eyes caught it.
Through a gliding panel, the balcony revealed a skyline of chaos and brilliance.
Skyscrapers that bent gravity danced with floating shrines and neon-treaded temples. Airships levitated in silent spirals, each trailing energy ribbons coded with language from dead civilizations. Streets are restructured every few minutes, adapting to public psyche data. Even the mons, there were forcefields, pulsing as if they too were part of the server-hive that controlled this fragmented world.
Ashborn's eyes widened, a whisper escaping his lips.
"...Wow. I guess I was tired of not realizing I was in a damn cyberpunk reality."
A pause.
"What was it called again...? Axis-E110 Right... Weird name for a weird world."
His legs moved on their own, muscle memory synced with years of combat, discipline, and survival. He walked toward the sliding wall and entered the washroom module.
Without ceremony, he reached for the seal straps on his combat-grade Techwear.
First came the boots, reinforced with shock-absorbent mag plates and obsidian-threaded soles.
Then the cargo pants, laden with cyber-lock pockets, chain-link aesthetic strips, and retractable blade loops.
Finally, the tight-fitting tactical shirt, a midnight-black piece laced with kinetic veins that still flickered with micro-electrical residue.
He stood under the automated rainfall chamber.
Sensors scanned his vitals,
'Scan complete.'
The first drop of cold water fell, crystalline and slow, striking his forehead with a sound like a tuning fork striking steel.
And that's when it hit him.
The dram.
No... the memory.
"...That dream..."
"It was real. There's no doubt about it..."
His voice was low now, trembling but steady, as if trying to hold the weight of something massive inside his chest.
"But... I couldn't stay in that realm. No matter how much I wanted to..."
His fingers clenched. Water ran down the curve of his shoulders and chest, trailing through scars, battle marks, and divine tattoos, proof of everything he had survived. The memories of Kyther, Seraphira, Nyxa, and Dravion... their warmth still clung to him like stars long dead, yet still shining in his soul.
"...I guess even Mother couldn't do anything about it..."
And that thought, that even Ashley Lionheart, the Queen of Realms, couldn't find him, tore at him like a blade wrapped in love.
His gaze darkened.
"But I swear..."
He slammed a fist against the tiled wall. It didn't crack, the room had preemptively reinforced itself knowing he was about to strike. The very code of the walls respected his pain.
"I swear I'll return."
"No matter who or what tries to stop me...
I'm going back home."
His voice was no longer soft.
It was a vow.
---
As the water stopped, the systems dried him instantly in a pulse of photon heat. Ashborn looked at himself in the mirror a fully grown, six-foot cosmic warrior with wild black hair, lavender star-shaped eyes, and a grin that hinted at defiance.
(AN: Damn I made him tall:v)
But deep in his stare was something more dangerous.
Purpose.
And on his neck, the faintest pulse of the [7th Genesis Fragment] flare reminding him: he still exists. His siblings are out there, watching, waiting.
So he whispered one final thing before stepping out into the chaotic neon storm of World Axis-E110.
"Let's see who's running this place... and why they're so desperate to keep me out of my reality."
---
---
---
"System Status"
Ashborn murmured
[RELOADING....]
[RELOADING....]
[RELOADING COMPLETED]
["Welcome Back Master"]
[SYSTEM HUD LOADING...]
[SYSTEM STATUS - POST NULL-CROWN & DREAM ARC SYNC COMPLETE]
• All upgrades integrated
• Cosmic Core Evolution confirmed
• Genesis Thread Phase III activated
• New Bloodline Techniques Unlocked
• Weapon and relic systems expanded
[System Status: Ashborn Lionheart]
Designation: Cosmic Spirit ( Mythforged Variant: Dream-Surged Hybrid)
Traits integrated from paradoxical dream logic and Null-Crown entropy. Enables unstable but hyper-adaptive combat evolution in dream-bending zones, unconscious state-fights, or layered timelines.
Class: Cosmic Knight
Level: [Redacted - Ascension Path Override]
Titles:
• Wielder of Genesis Thread
• Tower Challenger - Solo path
• First of the 40
• Spiral Echo Vanguard
• Null-Crown Breaker
• Dream-Spliced Soul
[Ascension Core Status Update]
• Ascension Tier: Sealed Core Transcendence Threshold Detected
•Corey Sync: 94.5%
Transition Detected: Preparing Evolution toward "Mythic Apex Core"
• Core Status: Stable - Minor Fractures Detected
• Primary Affinity: [Cosmic]
• Sub-Affinities: Space, light, Entropy - Partially Unsealed
• Mythoscape Flux: Dual Polarity Detected (Dream Residue laced)
[Stat chart]
Health (HP): 10,650/10,650
Ashborn's health regenerates rapidly, making it difficult to keep him down for too long.
Stamina (SP): 9,420/9,420
Ashborn possesses incredible stamina, allowing him to endure physical exertion for extended durations without fatigue. He can run for miles without breaking a sweat and fight for days without needing rest.
MP (Mana Points): 11,880/11,880
Ashborn's mana pool is vast, capable of fueling even powerful spells without quickly running dry. His mana pool is not exhausted easily, and it continues to regenerate over time.
Strength: 500 > 510
Ashborn can now shatter spatial layers with sheer force. Each strike resonates with a gravitational pulse, damaging nearby terrain and destabilizing enemy balance. He can wield colossal constructs with ease.
Speed: 500 > 520
Ashborn crosses city-scale distances in seconds, phases through solid structures, and engages in multi-directional blitz strikes. His motion perception is near-light-adapted
Durability: 500 > 510
He withstood direct soul-rending impact from Floor 35's Horrorborn Apex, enduring dimensional punctures and chaotic matter corrosion. Passive durability now deflects most kinetic attacks below City-level energy without injury.
Dexterity: 500 > 510
Ashborn's fine control over his body and cosmic constructs has reached supernatural grace. He can wield multiple weapons simultaneously and execute micro-precise strikes on molecular targets.
Agility: 500 > 510
His movement now blends into streaks of cosmic blur. He can dodge magic-based tracking spells, auto-aim algorithms, and subatomic phase rounds.
Intellect: (250)
He now deciphers spell matrices, tower mechanisms, and runic traps at a glance.
Spirit: (Maxed)
His spirit now pulses with a stellar heartbeat. This grants passive resistance to all forms of spiritual disruption, fear effects, eldritch corruption, and soul fragmentation.
Cosmic Potential: S
Compatibility with divine/cosmic forces – raw alignment with universal flow, capable of awakening sealed godlike traits.』
Magic: S
Spell potential and energy output – baseline arcane projection exceeds royal court standards by 150%. Ashborn's mana output allows for fourth-level Concept Spells. Can collapse enemy shields through direct override or unweave spells mid-casting. Spell damage has quintupled since Level 17
Luck: (B)
Ashborn is exceptionally lucky,
Often finds himself in favorable positions and gets out of difficult situations unscathed. Dramatically increased due to broken Fate Chains from the Floor 30 boss.
Charisma: (A-)
Ashborn's charisma is very high, as he can easily win over new allies and has a natural charm that draws people to him.』
---
[Genesis Thread Upgrade – Phase IV: Echo-Loom Spiral] (New)
The Genesis Thread is now partially alive—responding to abstract stimuli and narrative-based causality.
[Echo-Loom Spiral] Threads now imprint "storyweight" from past moments, (e.g., desperation, hope, betrayal) and bind that meaning into real-time buffs.
[Narrative Drift Trigger] When Ashborn invokes strong will or emotion, Genesis Threads may spontaneously adapt to a fitting legendary move.
Thread Split Limit: 6 active threads
[Divine Thread Imprint] Can now record and re-weave the divine structure of a spell or ability once seen.
Example: He can mimic a divine spear's kinetic spin just by remembering how it felt during impact.
---
[Ascension Core Status Update]
Ascension Tier: Sealed Core Transcendence Threshold Detected
Corey Sync: 94.5%
Transition Detected: Preparing Evolution toward "Mythic Apex Core"
---
[Core Evolution: Paradox Crown Engine - Updated]
Your core now interfaces with collapsed dreamscapes and logicless realities.
New Feature:
[Null-Crown Lens Interface]
Ashborn may now temporarily interpret nonsense dream logic as cosmic law.
Effects Include:
• Turning metaphorical phrases into real attacks (e.g., "Cutting through doubt" becomes a mind-mind-cleaving slash)
• Manipulating symbolic actions: Stepping forward in a dream might become a spatial warp
• Limitation: It costs a high toll of sanity and narrative coherence
---
[Bloodline Shift Detected - Dormant Pathways Stirred]
• Nephilim Dragon - Stage II: Dream-Wrought Flame
Internal draconic sparks begin burning through spacetime and narrative structure.
Effects:
• Burns Time Fragments
• Ignores 60% Magical Resistance
• Warps Space-Time around flames
• Burns karma/fate chains
• Works against bosses with time rewind loops
• Breath attack now imbued with Chrono-Fire: Burns away scripted fate and timeline inertia.
• Temporarily cancels cause/effect chains around a target's abilities (e.g., cancels combo chaining)
[Mythoscape System Upgrade - Phase I: Storyweaver Field Initiation] (New)
Mythoscape Flux is now stabilizing under Echo Logic Protocols
• Ruinforce Bias Unlocked: Chaos, Betrayal, failure, and pain now fuel Ashborn's Void Ruin Threads.
• Radiantforce Harmony Unlocked: Love, Honor, Perseverance now enhance Mythos Radiance Threads.
• Dual-Natured Fusion Skills Now Possible.
• New trait: Dream Logic Immunity - Illogical enemy abilities have reduced success vs Ashborn, as his Mythoscape adapts to absurdities.
[Genesis Fragment Sync Upgrade - Dream Echo Bound]
Genesis Fragment now includes a dream-anchored sublayer.
Visual Shift: Fragments glow faintly with mist and violet-black shimmer
New Feature:
• Resonant Synergy: If fighting is unstable dream realms or illusion domains, Genesis Fragment may self-evolve to counter the area's logic.
---
[Final System Summary]
• Core Sync 94.5% – Transcendence Threshold Reached
• [Genesis Thread Phase IV – Echo-Loom Spiral]
• [Mythoscape Flux Unlocked – Dual Logic Mode: Radiance + Ruin]
• [Dream Logic Adaptation Complete – Illogic Combat Viable]
• [Bloodline - Stage II – Dream-Wrought Flame]
---
Ashborn's bare feet touched the faintly warm crystalline tiles of the floating platform outside the Loomlight Sanctuary. The air shimmered with phantom data, ghosts of runes, fractured constellations, and drifting script that bent backward when he tried to read it. Somewhere behind his eyes, the [Null-Crown Lens Interface] pulsed like an unblinking third eye decoding the impossible, making sense of fragmented dreams that had no right to obey physics.
"Interpret nonsense as law..." he muttered internally, "If this thing lets me weaponize dream logic, then what even counts as reality anymore?"
Ashborn rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing.
Aetherion hovered beside him in its spear form, humming in synchronization with his pulse. The weapon had changed too, again its fractal edge glitched between concepts. For a brief moment, it wasn't even a spear, but a command. One of those godlike metaphysical anomalies he wasn't yet prepared to name aloud.
He looked down at himself, still bare-chested, skin glowing faintly from residual thread exposure. Tattoos that hadn't been there before glowed on his forearms and shoulders, spirals of myth, thin as silk strands, animated by quiet light. Probably another side-effect of the Genesis Thread Phase IV - Narrative Synapse Weaving, but he'd dig into the horrifying poetic details later.
"Ruinforce Bias. Radiantforce Harmony," he repeated aloud, the names curling off his tongue like curses and blessings at once.
"Sounds like... positive and negative forces. Or maybe... Narrative alignments?" He frowned, lips twitching in a grimace. "And I'm supposed to balance both without imploding my damn core. Sure. No pressure."
He passed a hovering Monolith that buzzed as he neared it, likely a proximity scan keyed to his signature. Dream logic bled into reality in this district. A fountain up ahead spewed sand that turned into birds mid-flight, while a building slowly unfolded like a blooming lotus the moment you looked away.
Ashborn ignored it all.
Axis-E110 Dream Cartel Bazaar district wasn't exactly normal, no part of this liminal dimension was but it did have a rep for selling gear to reality-warped anomalies like himself. He just hoped their clothes weren't sentient again.
"First things first," he muttered as he turned down a translucent stairway that bled into itself with each step. "Find something to wear that doesn't auto-scream my stats or rewrite history just by putting it on."
Aetherion hovered closer, subtly adjusting its form into a partial cloak shape, its fractal strands folding downward like obsidian silk.
Ashborn blinked. "...Okay, that's helpful."
The blade pulsed with smug violet light.
He rolled his eyes.
Down the steps, a store shimmered into full existence only when he stepped onto the final stairs. Its sign read:
[THREADS OF THE NARRATIVE WARDROBE: WOVEN FOR THE MAD & THE MYTHIC]
The mannequin in the window was wearing a trench coat made of stormclouds stitched together with lightning, and pants that flowed like melted memory.
Ashborn pinched the bridge of his nose again.
"Gods, I miss normal shirts."
He stepped inside.
---
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---
Ashborn stepped cautiously into the store, the air humming with strange tension the moment the threshold closed behind him. The entrance dissolved, vanishing into an endless mural of faces and stars painted on a moving canvas. Inside mannequins stood in solemn rows, each dressed in outfits that defied logic, fashion, and in some cases, the laws of narrative stability.
One ensemble seemed to be made entirely of glass feathers and rotating runes, fluttering even without wind. Another was a living entity, a bodysuit that blinked, twitched, and whispered things only dream-beasts should hear. A crimson cloak near the far end was visibly rewriting its stitching, spelling out quotes from apocalyptic literature that didn't exist yet.
Ashborn stopped in place, arms crossed, expression turning increasingly grim.
"What the fuck... everything looks weird," he murmured with open disdain, tone dipped in dry sarcasm and the weight of someone used to far too many cosmic disappointments.
He took a slow breath, eyes narrowing as his gaze deflected over absurd god-armor, luminous epics of gold and warplate that looked like they belonged to fallen titans or ancient story vampires who drank metaphors for breakfast.
Then-
His eyes froze.
There. At the far end of the school, partially hidden behind a writhing wall of dream-veils and holographic gowns, stood a mannequin clad in something different. Something that didn't shout its name or cry for attention. It radiated quiet functionality. Tactical precision. And controlled lethality.
The name floated beside it in stylized glyphs:
[WRAITH MK1]
Ashborn stepped forward, instinctively silencing the ambient dream music as he walked. His gaze slid across the mannequin like a slow scan.
[WRAITH MK1- Breakdown]
Color Palette: Dominantly matte black, textured to absorb light, with faint undertones of deep gray. Ethereal purple highlights pulsed through fine seams, glow lines that subtly breathed with arcane energy, tech augmentation, or both.
Upper body:
• Turtleneck Tactical Undershirt: Sleek, ribbed, and high-necked. It hugged the torso like a second skin, offering breathable, armored compression. Reinforced nano-thread patterning allowed for cosmic resistance layers against thermal, kinetic, and metaphysical impact.
• Reinforced Harness: Jet-black straps wrapped across the chest and ribs in a modular X-harness. Subtle metal anchor points glinted faintly with interface potential, ideal for pouch mods, grapple gear, or integrated thread-weaving modules.
• Arm Guards: Lightweight armored wraps curled over both forearms. The left bracer bore living circuitry, glowing faintly with purple script, a sign of augmentation or embedded power-link. The gloves were fingerless, designed for direct sensation, grip, and energy channeling.
Lower Body:
• Combat Pants: Thick, cargo-style joggers, loose but tapered at the calves. The heavy-duty fabric was etched with microscopic inscriptions of durability. Multiple strapped pouches along the outer thighs and hips were built to hold more than bullets, memory cores, Transdimensional slivers, or interface shards.
• Knee Padding: Form-fitted and dense, subtly angular to allow crouch and slide without armor shift. Reinforced with mythic-fiber plating.
• Tactical Boots: High-ankled and battle-scarred in design. Ashborn could tell from a glance, those soles had traction for both planetary terrain and floating gravity plates. They were built for chase, war, and silence.
• Utility Belt & Holster: Modular, lock-socketed across the waist with matte-finish pouches on each side. Tethered to holsters that wrapped down to the thighs.
Outer Layer:
• Long Tactical Coat: The pièce de résistance. Sleeveless, trench-style, with angular lapels that shifted faintly like sharkskin under light. The coat split at the knees into a tripartite panel, meant for flow and movement in combat. It gave the silhouette a low, commanding profile, wraithlike. Hunter-class.
Ashborn let out a low whistle.
"This... this is it."
And then came the problem.
His fingers brushed the price tag, an ancient coin engraved with a screaming sun and a price in Fate-Stabilized Dream Currency.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Right. I don't have a fortune in abstract metaphors and paradox bones just lying around."
He tilted his head. The Genesis Thread pulsed gently across his back, like a creature waking in rhythm with his thoughts. He stepped back, raised his right hand, and exhaled.
[Genesis Thread: Weave-Scan - Actived]
Analyzing composition...
Thread Frequency: Harmonized with Voidborn Silicate Alloy, reinforced by Memory-Stitch Fabric.
Spiritual Alignment: Silent Class / Observer-Type / Adaptive Resonance Stable.
Compatibility with current core: 93% sync. Initiating Memory Echo Synthesis...
---
The thread extended from his palm like strands of mist and starlight tracing over the outfit, recording every texture, density, and aura imprint. He could feel it talking back. The coat remembered the wind. The gloves remembered every blade they had held.
Ashborn whispered under his breath:
"Tailor it... to my shape, my weight, my stride."
The matter glowed, deconstructing into data filaments and flowing through his Thread like water through ink. Behind him, space folded, a ripple in narrative tension, as raw material sparked from the vacuum. Synthesized matter shaped itself to memory. Woven essence took on new life.
And in ten seconds, standing before him, was his version. The Wraith MK1 - reborn under his resonance.
It shimmered faintly, waiting.
Ashborn stepped into it. Piece by piece, the outfit locked into place with the confidence of a suit that had always known him. The coat fell perfectly around his form, the weight balanced. His gloves pulsed softly with thread energy. His boots whispered like ghosts on tile.
As he stood before a mirror of bent light and inverted time, Ashborn smirked slightly.
"Now this... is more like it."
---
Ashborn stood in front of the warped full-length mirror, the final of synthesized light pulsing faintly across his armor's deep obsidian contours. The faint resonance of the Genesis Thread still thrummed in his core, quiet now like a satisfied beast after the hunt.
He tilted his head slightly, ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and raised an eyebrow with unapologetic self-satisfaction.
"Goddamn, I am handsome."
He said it aloud with no shame, voice laced with dry humor and a trace of actual belief. The high-neck undershirt hugged his frame perfectly, the trench-style coat swayed with each subtle breath, and the energy circuits on his left arm faintly pulsed with spectral life.
Ashborn let out a small exhaled and turned on his heel.
"Aight... time to leave this city. Too many laws... and if I break one of them..."
He paused by the exit, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as the memory-thread of a past life flickered like a distant siren.
"...trouble comes. I don't have time for that."
He stepped through the phased-lock Threshold, leaving behind the dream shop, and was instantly met by a view that stole the breath from his chest, if only for a moment.
[Axis-E110, World-city Tier 5 - Veinlight Concordia"]
The skyline wasn't just vast.
It was alive.
Neon rivers flowed freely mid-air like cosmic arteries, threading through the skies like a god's nervous system. Their colors changed with emotional tides of the populace or perhaps the mood of the city itself, soft blues, furious reds, curious greens, above him, the stratosphere was pierced by monumental spires of crystalline steel and mana-glass, each tower wrapped in shimmering constellations that constantly shifted, forming symbols older than language. Ancient sigils danced alongside rotating corporate emblems. History and capital, religion and tech, all merging in an endless fusion.
Smooth Hovercrafts, wingless and whisper-quiet, zipped through aerial traffic lanes. Drones with feathered wings and sapphire eyes carried parcels and prophecies. Ashborn's gaze swept across floating skydocks where mechs sparred beside robed monks, pagodas held aloft by anti-grav halos, and zeppelins that sang lullabies to distant stars.
And then--
A dragon-no, a construct in the shape of one. Its body was composed of segmented plasma coils, each twist of its form refracting space like a heat mirage. It curled slowly around a skyscraper made from obsidian light, its roar silent its presence immense.
Down below, the ground was a melting pot of the divine and synthetic:
• Elven engineers scribbled glowing runes into open circuit walls.
• Beastkin warriors carried plasma-forged weapons beside data scrolls.
• Spirit-Channelers offered free divination beside vending machines.
• Synthetic Archons played chess with oracles on rooftops.
Even the air smelled like starlight and ozone.
Ashborn blinked once slowly.
"...Too many lights."
The words escaped him like a thought spoken too loudly. The sheer sensory overload made his temples throb not from stress but from the uncanny realization that this world was trying to overwhelm anyone not born into its rhythm.
His gaze wandered upward again.
"I wonder..."
He whispered to himself, eyes tracking a shimmering ripple that split a hologram in the shape of a phoenix.
"If there are spirits in this world... the kind that still breathe nature. Real silence."
And with that thought crystallized, he turned his back on the towering dreamscape and began walking calmly, deliberately, away from the core of the city.
The automated transit lines zipped past, but Ashborn didn't take them. He weaved through back alleys and silence-glazed corridors, past bio-mech vendors and spiritual tech shrines. As he moved further from the pulse of the neon skyline, the buildings grew older, more analog. The streets are less populated. Advertisements faded into rusted metal, and data screens blinked out one by one like eyes closing in sleep.
Eventually, beyond the final edge of Concordia's western slums, Ashborn reached what looked like a forgotten cliffside elevator platform. The rusted railings were bent. Overgrown vines clawed around its base. No more floating towers. No more hover lights. Just... sky, and a distant sea of green beyond it.
He stared into the horizon, his gaze landing on what looked like a daek forest.
Dense. Quiet.
And untouched by the city's madness.
Ashborn narrowed his eyes, coat flapping gently behind him.
The Wraith MK1 felt perfectly aligned with every breath he took.
"Time to find out,"
He muttered as he stepped off the platform and began his descent towards whatever still remembered the language of roots, whispers, and spirits.
---
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To be continued...