The sun rose over Aqualis Village, spilling gold across cobblestones and wooden rooftops. Birds chirped, merchants shouted, and children raced along the streets. It looked like any ordinary morning.
But today was not ordinary.
Ocean Counter, an 8-year-old boy with black hair and brown eyes, walked calmly through the village. His satchel bounced at his side, his steps seemingly clumsy. To anyone else, he was just a harmless, ordinary child — tripping, fumbling, and smiling politely at the villagers who passed him by.
Then the air shivered.
From above, a figure appeared — a being that seemed older than time itself. Its eyes burned like collapsing stars, and its form flickered between countless frameworks and dimensions. This was Kiyo Jian, an abstract entity existing outside all systems, narrative layers, and rules. Its voice echoed across reality itself.
"You dare exist?" Kiyo Jian intoned. "I can erase every law, every system, every story. You cannot survive me."
Ocean blinked slowly. He stepped forward, small hands at his sides, calm as ever.
"You're… persistent," he said softly. Then, without raising his voice, he moved.
A ripple of energy spread from him — water, air, and a strange unseen force bending in impossible ways. Kiyo Jian unleashed everything: narrative attacks, universal frameworks, system resets — reality itself seemed to scream.
And yet.
Nothing touched Ocean Counter. Every attack, every law, every rule, failed to register. Kiyo Jian's power, absolute in every conceivable dimension, struck… and passed through him like mist. The abstract being's eyes widened, flickering between countless forms.
"You… cannot exist!" Kiyo Jian shouted, sending waves of meta-energy and story-breaking force.
Ocean tilted his head. A faint smile curved his lips. A single wave of his hand, subtle and casual, reversed the flow of energy. Kiyo Jian's attacks crumbled, folding on themselves before even reaching him.
"Are you done?" Ocean asked quietly.
Kiyo Jian tried again, pouring every ounce of abstract power, every meta-law, every narrative rule into a single strike. But Ocean Counter was already beyond them all. The attacks shattered like glass against an unbreakable surface.
For a moment, the village seemed suspended — the sun, the cobblestones, the laughter of children frozen by the clash of impossibilities. And then, just as quietly as it began, Kiyo Jian vanished, retreating into the void of failed abstraction.
Ocean Counter adjusted his satchel and continued walking to school. A stray apple rolled past him. He picked it up, smiled faintly, and walked inside. To the villagers, he had only tripped over a stone.
To the universe, he had just survived — and effortlessly defeated — a being that existed beyond everything.
No one noticed. That was exactly how he liked it.