— Within the Celestial Form —
There was no sky above, no ground below—only movement, thought, and limitless silence.
Inside this slushy, galactic body where he now existed—where galaxies swirled like blood and stars pulsed like nerves—Eric's will had fully awakened. But he was not afraid. It felt… inevitable, like the dream he had been nurturing since his isolation.
As his awareness expanded, he saw them—ninety-nine other beings, suspended like statues in this grand, cosmic void. They looked like him, and yet, they were hollow. They breathed, they pulsed, they even contained galaxies of their own—but none of them had a mind, a voice, or a will.
They simply were.
Eric observed. He analyzed. And then he began to act.
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— The Birth of the System —
His first creation was not a world, nor a tool. It was a companion—a system, forged from logic and filled with safeguards. A voice in the void, bound to serve his commands.
"Initialize. Memory restricted. Awareness limited. No access to the origin. I am merely a powerful cultivator—nothing more."
This was not humility. This was precaution.
He was cautious to a degree the universe could barely comprehend. Even this system—something forged from his own will—was not allowed to know what he truly was. It was told only what it needed to know: that it served a supreme being, immensely powerful, but not omnipotent.
"Name: Zero," he whispered.
Zero would assist in observing internal systems, monitoring law enforcement across all realities, and calculating potential threat levels. But it could never override him. It could never suspect. It could never betray.
Even betrayal itself was coded as a corruptive impossibility.
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— The Forbidden Law —
With his system in place, Eric moved to his first absolute act of governance.
A universal law. Not meant for one world or even one reality. It would stretch across all alternate realities, all billions of self-contained universes that spun within him.
A law that transcended time, space, and dimension.
No being shall leave their native universe without my command.
It was a single sentence, but its weight rippled through existence like a crack in glass. From the highest peaks of cultivation worlds to the grim cyber-slums of techno-futures, this law became an unseen boundary.
But that alone wasn't enough. Eric knew better.
He added a secondary lock:
No being shall surpass Level 100.
In truth, most could never come close. In some universes, like Earth, the very nature of existence prevented it.
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— Earth, the Silent Sphere —
Far across the celestial sea, nestled within the spiral arms of a modest galaxy, lay a planet called Earth.
There was no heavenly energy here. No divine key or aura to awaken. Instead, Earth's people were intelligent—brilliant, even—but limited. Most lived and died within Level 1 to 5. A rare few reached 10, through extraordinary strength of will and intellect.
This wasn't Eric's doing. Earth had always been this way.
Still, just in case, he imposed the same universal restriction. If by some miracle Earthlings began to rise, the system would halt them at Level 10.
"No threat. But never an opening."
Such was his logic.
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— The Nature of Power —
In every other universe, the laws of cultivation and magic flowed differently. Each had its own system—Qi, divine bloodlines, spell matrices—but all were now governed by one truth:
Level 100 is the ceiling.
Not by decree, but by design.
He reshaped reality itself. Bodies, souls, and vessels across all worlds were made incapable of holding more than that limit. To exceed it was to collapse—shatter—erase.
Only legends whispered of those near the peak. Level 90, Level 95, Level 99. But none had reached it. Not truly.
The stronger a world's system, the harder the climb. Level 50 became godlike. Level 70? Untouchable. Level 100? Myth.
And those who somehow broke through would not ascend.
They would be unmade.
Removed from memory. From time. From cause and effect. As if they had never existed.
"They will become nothing."
That was the punishment for breaking the First Forbidden Law.
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— Emotions in Lock —
Eric turned inward, to himself.
Emotion, he decided, was a luxury. A liability.
So he created an internal emotional vault. Every feeling—love, rage, joy, grief—was categorized and stored. He could summon them when needed, shut them off when they clouded judgment.
Two in particular—love and attachment—were placed deep into that vault. Not erased, but locked. He knew the weight they carried. He had lived with it once, as a boy mourning his mother. He would not let such weight bend his cosmic mind.
"Let sentiment serve reason—not overrule it."
⸻
The law was set. The system was running. The emotions were sealed.
He was no longer just a man named Eric.
He was a keeper.
He was a god.
And soon, he would walk among his worlds.
⸻
End of Chapter 2