Then another form of him passed through the same space, but this time, the Sea of Self had inverted.
What spread before him was no longer calm or golden. It was a Black Sea, endless and heaving, its surface torn by red, raging waves. The water boiled as if fed by wrath itself. Lightning split the sky without rhythm, thunder rolled like unrestrained laughter, and from the crests of the waves rose beasts made of emotion, howling mouths of hatred, serpents of desire, many-eyed horrors of fear, all screaming, laughing, cursing at once.
He stepped onto its surface.
The moment his foot touched the water, claws reached up, grasping for his ankles, his knees, his chest. Hands formed from foam and blood tried to pull him under. A beast made of grief lunged, jaws wide, crying in a voice that sounded like his own past.
He did not slow.
He moved forward, and space folded.
In an instant, he vanished from their grasp and reappeared several strides ahead. The sea convulsed. The beasts froze mid-motion, their screams cut short. Their bodies crumbled into dust, scattering across the waves like ash.
He did not look back.
Another wave rose, taller than before, crowned with thunder. Lightning struck downward, furious and absolute. He raised his hand and struck once—clean, precise. The lightning bent at his touch, curved like a bow, and slid past him, looping behind his back where it condensed and joined the ring already forming there.
The ring pulsed as he was moving forward.
As he walked, those that came near him were cut apart by proximity. They crossed an invisible boundary and unravelled, their essence pulled backward, compressed, and absorbed into the ring.
Behind him, the sea began to calm.
Before him, it grew worse.
Waves rose in endless succession. Beasts swarmed from every direction, some clinging to his arms, some biting at his legs, others screaming truths meant to weaken him.
"You remember us," they hissed.
"You were us," they roared.
"You cannot walk without us," they laughed.
He walked.
Massive shapes broke the surface, colossal fish with eyes like dying stars, eels wrapped in runes of hunger, sharks whose teeth were memories sharpened into weapons. They lunged, tearing through water and air alike.
He chanted.
The sound was like a resonance.
He passed through them silently. As he crossed their paths, their bodies shattered, collapsing inward, drawn behind him into the ring. The ring thickened, glowing now with streaks of crimson and gold, light and shadow rotating in harmony.
At last, he reached the source.
The tree stood there.
Its trunk was formed of bone.
Its bark was layered skulls.
Its branches bore human heads as leaves, eyes open, mouths screaming endlessly.
The Tree of Demon Origin.
They screamed louder as he approached, recognizing him. Some cried in rage, some in terror, some in pleading familiarity.
"It hurts," they wailed.
"Stay," they begged.
"Remember," they commanded.
He stopped.
For the first time in this sea, he closed his eyes.
When he opened them, they glowed red.
Light erupted from him. The light touched the screaming heads, and they burned. Their flames did not spread outward; they collapsed inward, turning to ash that fell upon the tree itself. Yet instead of disappearing, the faces fused into the bark, roots, and branches, forever etched, forever silent.
The tree screamed, not in sound, but in vibration, shaking the sea beneath it. Desperation surged from it, ancient and furious.
But the light did not stop.
It passed through the tree.
The bone cracked. The roots blackened. The entire structure collapsed inward, reduced to nothing but ash drifting across the surface of the sea.
When the dust settled, something remained.
A mask lay where the tree once stood.
He walked forward and picked it up. The mask was ancient, its surface marked by countless lifetimes of control and fear.
He hung it upon the ring behind him.
Then he tore the space itself with his bare hand.
Reality split.
On the other side stood him.
Him.
They looked at each other—and smiled.
Without words, they stepped forward and clasped hands, gripping like warriors testing strength. Power surged between them, neither yielding, neither overwhelming. Their bodies drew closer, boundaries dissolving.
They merged.
One face.
Two eyes, one light with a symbol, one dark with different symbol. Both balancing each other.
On his forehead formed a Tai Chi diagram, not enclosed by a circle, only black and white strokes chasing each other endlessly, gaps present yet complete.
Two rings hovered behind him now.
One pulsed with life, golden and warm.
The other pulsed with death, crimson and cold.
They rotated, then fused.
He raised the mask and placed it upon his face. It covered only the lower half, leaving his eyes bare. Runes ignited across his body as the merger completed, ancient symbols rewriting themselves with every breath.
He stood naked. No cloth could represent what he had become.
He stepped forward.
Outside, the watchers finally stirred.
"Why now?" one hissed, voice sharp with urgency. "Why did we wait this long?"
"If he crosses that gate," the other replied, tense, "everything we arranged collapses. All our preparations become meaningless."
The realm trembled.
"Look," one whispered. "She is making her move again. Her true form… it's returning."
"And his body," the other added, voice low. "See how it pulses? That energy. This is no longer mere awakening."
Silence fell between them, heavy and fearful.
"We cannot delay," one finally said. "We go inside him. Now."
"To destroy him," the other agreed quietly. "Before he goes beyond that gate."
Together, they stepped forward—and vanished into him.
***************
Inside, He went forward.
The circle behind him expanded as if it had finally remembered its purpose. It absorbed the air, the light, the echoes of conflict, even the tension clinging to space itself. The moment he stepped onto the cliff again, the world unfolded before him in brutal clarity.
Above, a star-filled sky cracked and reformed endlessly, constellations colliding like armies. Below, a vast golden sea churned with violent radiance, its waves reflecting suns that did not exist. To his left stretched a continent soaked in blood, rivers running red through shattered mountains, the land screaming beneath endless slaughter. To his right, floating heavens fractured and reassembled, palaces of jade and fire clashing with abyssal fortresses forged from bone and shadow.
Gods and demons fought everywhere.
Divine beasts with wings of scripture tore through abyssal dragons crowned in horns. Thunderclap spears clashed with hellfire blades. Every strike split space, every roar birthed earthquakes, every fall raised tidal waves that devoured entire battlefronts. The battlefield was so vast it felt eternal, yet so repetitive it felt meaningless.
He stood still.
A question rose before him.
Godly path… or demonic path.
The war seemed to pause, just for a breath. Blades froze mid-swing. Roars faltered. Countless eyes turned toward him, aware now that this conflict revolved around a single decision.
He stared at them, his expression calm.
Then he sighed.
"So this is it," he murmured. "You're fighting… for me to choose you."
He stepped forward once, then stopped again.
"I won't."
The battlefield trembled.
"I'll make my own path," he continued quietly. "You are nothing more than stones left scattered on it."
He watched them carefully now. Gods screamed about order, destiny, salvation. Demons howled of freedom, desire, conquest. Yet as he observed the rhythm of battle, the identical fury, the mirrored hunger, the same fear of being erased, something became painfully obvious.
They were the same.
"you all aren't gods or demons," he realized aloud. "you are beings trapped by identity. Controlled by the need to be something rather than nothing." His eyes narrowed. "You all come from the same nature. The same source. The same terror of null."
The ring behind him pulsed.
He raised his voice, not shouting, yet it rolled across the battlefield like a law being written.
"Everything comes from null. Everything returns to null. Get out of my path."
He stepped forward again.
Without conscious thought, his hand reached back and grasped the rotating disk. The moment his fingers touched it, the disk screamed in awakening. It spun faster, expanding into a colossal Wheel of Assimilation, sigils igniting across its surface: beasts, runes, yin and yang, life and death, collapsing into a single rotating scripture.
Thirteenfold Void Reversal.
The gods and demons froze.
Weapons were raised in panic.
"Destroy it!" a god roared.
"That thing devours existence!" a demon screamed.
Spears of divine lightning, swords of karmic fire, chains of abyssal law, all were hurled at him at once. The sky collapsed under the barrage.
None of them reached him.
Every weapon stopped a breath away from his body, trembling violently, then reversed direction, dragged screaming into the spinning disk. Blades melted. Lightning bent. Laws shattered. The wheel grew larger, heavier, its rotation distorting space-time itself.
The battlefield began to collapse inward.
He lifted the disk with one hand.
"This is the end of your war," he said.
He threw it.
The disk surged forward like a devouring sun, cutting through the armies. Gods and demons were ripped from the ground like broken kites, wings severed, thrones shattered. Entire legions were absorbed in seconds, their screams collapsing into silence as they were rewritten into nothingness.
Mountains folded. Seas drained upward. The sky cracked like glass.
He walked forward as the world ended around him.
Almost at the end of the path, two figures remained.
One god. One demon.
They stood together, barely holding back the wheel's advance, their bodies cracked, bleeding light and shadow.
"Why?" the demon gasped. "Why kill us? Join us! Slay this god and you'll be crowned Demon Sovereign of the Abyss! Eternal life! Endless pleasure! Power without restraint!"
The god shouted over him, voice trembling yet proud. "Ignore this heretic! Kill the demon and ascend! Become a True Celestial Emperor! Rule lives, rewrite destiny, enjoy immortality and divine authority!"
Their voices overlapped.
"Choose me!"
"No—choose me!"
"Choose me!"
"Choose me!"
The words echoed, desperate, terrified.
He stepped closer.
His hand rested on the spinning disk.
"There was never a god," he said calmly. "And never a demon." His gaze was steady, mercilessly clear. "They are born from the mind and heart. Desire creates demons. Fear creates gods. They are two sides of the same coin, endlessly denying each other."
He leaned forward slightly.
"My path is neither godly nor demonic."
The ring behind him pulsed once, deep, final.
"I have no wish to become your vessel. I will rise again and again until I reach my destination. You are all null. You came from null. Your existence is null. Your death is null."
He smiled faintly.
"And I am the same."
The god and demon froze, their eyes wide.
"Nothing is eternal," he continued. "Not life. Not power. Not heaven. Not hell. I came from null. I will exist briefly. And I will return to null. Who are you to dictate my path?"
He pushed the disk forward.
Void-Annihilating Final Cycle.
The god and demon were erased. Their existence collapsed into absence as the disk pierced the space containing them, stabbing into the fabric of reality itself.
Cracks spread endlessly.
Yet as they vanished, their final words echoed faintly, strangely calm.
"We'll wait… outside."
Space folded.
He said nothing.
He stepped forward, punched the ring once, World-Breaking Silent Palm, and passed through the shattered space. The disk returned, shrinking, resting against his back like a dormant sun.
He moved on.
And the path ahead… finally opened.
.............
What he reached was not light, not darkness, not sea nor sky, but a space of volcanoes.
He stood at the edge of a vast precipice. Below him, stretching beyond perception, were countless volcanoes, rising and falling like breaths of a colossal being. Rivers of molten fire traced glowing veins across the land. Ash drifted slowly in the air, yet it did not choke; it shimmered, as if each particle carried a silent memory of burning and rebirth.
Among them all, one volcano stood higher than the rest.
At its peak, a violent mass of energy rotated without order, spiraling outward, collapsing inward, shifting direction without rhythm. It was neither flame nor lightning alone, but a fusion of all destructive forces, bound by an unseen will.
He felt it immediately.
A quick Recognition.
He began to walk toward it.
As he descended from the cliff, the ground beneath his feet moved. Rocks surfaced from the molten earth like breathing creatures, then sank again, swallowed by the heat. The land itself was alive, restless, yet strangely calm, violence wrapped in serenity.
Nothing stopped him.
No beasts emerged.
No voices questioned him.
No gods or demons barred his path.
Only the sound of distant eruptions—steady, rhythmic, almost meditative.
As he approached the great mountain, the volcanoes around him erupted more frequently. Columns of fire pierced the sky. From the molten fountains emerged serpentine forms, forged of flame and energy, their bodies twisting like living currents.
They lunged toward him.
But the moment they neared, they were drawn backward, pulled into the rotating ring behind him. One by one, the fiery serpents dissolved, their rage stripped, their essence absorbed. The ring glowed brighter, heavier, as if carrying the accumulated will of countless destructions.
Time lost meaning.
He did not know when he arrived, only that suddenly he was there, seated upon the scorched stone near the summit. The violent rotation above him slowed, not stopped, but steadied.
A single soothing sound reverberated through the space.
Inside, he felt a shift.
Something far away, yet intimately close, answered his presence.
Outside.
The two beings had abandoned subtlety.
They clashed with her openly now, power colliding with power. Space fractured around them. She resisted, her form flickering between black and white, her expression strained but unyielding.
"You cannot take him," she hissed.
"He is no longer yours to claim," one replied coldly.
"Everything returns to order," the other said. "Even him."
They struck together.
She staggered but did not fall.
Then—
A tremor surged through the water below them.
They froze.
From the depths, his body rose.
Water cascaded from him like discarded skin. His eyes opened, each bearing a different symbol, ancient and incomprehensible. He stood upon the water as if it were solid ground, then slowly sat down, crossing his legs into deep meditation.
Behind him, the ring ascended, vast and silent, rotating with restrained power.
The demon stared, her mouth opening in disbelief.
The two others shouted together, voices overlapping in fury and fear:
"STOP HIM!"
"Do not let him use that power!"
At the base of his body, a single point of light ignited.
Inside.
He felt it immediately.
A burning sensation at his back.
Yet he did not flinch.
He slowed his breathing.
Then slowed it further.
Until the breath itself thinned, passing gently through his airway… and then stopped.
In the stillness, his awareness deepened.
What he saw was not a burning sphere, but coils of serpents, countless and intertwined, rotating in complex patterns. They were energy itself, raw, ancient, primal. Each serpent moved with its own intent, resisting union, resisting dissolution.
........
He reached out to absorb them.
They resisted.
They rotated faster, wrapping around each other, forming barriers of motion—movement against stillness, chaos against unity.
A voice echoed from within, neither male nor female, neither external nor internal:
"If you stop here, all you have gained will collapse."
"If you force us, you will break."
"If you retreat, you will remain incomplete."
He understood that it was a question of commitment.
He rose from his seated position and walked toward the coiling mass. The heat intensified, pressure crushing against his will. The serpents lashed out, forming spirals that blocked every path.
For the first time, he felt his power draining.
Yet he did not retreat.
He summoned the ring behind him and began to rotate it, slowly at first, then faster. With each turn, energy was drawn inward, not outward. His strength waned, but clarity sharpened.
"All power is borrowed," he murmured.
"All forms are temporary."
"If I lose everything here… then let it be lost."
The ring accelerated.
The serpents screamed in resistance. Their rotations destabilized, patterns collapsing. One by one, they were pulled into the ring, stripped of separation, reduced to pure current.
He took another step forward.
Then another.
Each step felt heavier than the last, as if he were walking against the weight of existence itself. Yet with every absorbed serpent, the burning sensation softened, transforming into warmth, then into rhythm.
Inside and outside began to align.
The volcano's roar synchronized with his heartbeat.
The ring glowed, not brighter, but deeper.
And as the final serpents spiralled inward, he sat at the threshold of something irreversible—knowing that beyond this point, there was no return to what he had been before.