Varos soared through the skies of the Divine Realm. For months, he had been on a journey, searching for the perfect location, one that was secluded and undisturbed, where no prying eyes could witness what he was about to do.
At last, he discovered it: a desolate plateau, the remnants of an ancient battlefield. Divine energies had long since faded here, leaving only silence and an eerie tranquility behind.
This place is perfect, this must end today." His voice was cold, his determination absolute.
He sat cross-legged on the stone surface. And then raised his hand, a soul spike materialized from his pocket dimension, and hovered before him.
It pulsated with a faint yet terrifying glow of blue pale soul energy, pure condensed soul essence radiated from it.
This was the key to everything he was about to do.
The runes within his stomach flared to life the moment the soul spike appeared, as if sensing the irresistible delicacy before them. A deep hunger clawed at his insides, threatening to consume him.
This time, he did not resist the hunger. His eyes turned pitch-black, dark as the abyss. His once-pristine white soul was tainted, streaked with ominous black patches, writhing as if alive.
The hunger surged as he heard ominous whispers all around, "Devour it. Absorb it. Take everything."
The soul energy seeped from the soul spike in glowing strands and slithered through the air like celestial serpents before getting into Varos's mouth.
The moment they entered his stomach, the runes engraved within erupted with a terrifying hunger, devouring the energy with a ferocity akin to a primordial beast feasting upon its prey.
His soulsea roared, waves of unfathomable power crashing against the boundaries of his existence. Each thread of energy merged seamlessly, reforging his soul like divine steel tempering under the flames of a thousand tribulations.
Days passed like fleeting moments in his trance, his body and soul engulfed in an endless cycle of absorption and refinement. After ten days, Varos's eyes snapped open. A golden light flickered deep within his pupils, like twin suns illuminating the vast abyss of his soul.
His aura surged, his soul strength having skyrocketed by a staggering 50%!
He clenched his fists, feeling the boundless power coursing through him, yet beneath the surge of strength, a shadow lurked in his soul sea—the remnant will—a malignant presence that still defied him, waiting for a moment of weakness to seize control.
"No more waiting," Varos said as he exhaled, his breath carrying an eerie, resonating force.
He now had two choices: erase the remnant completely, which would be akin to severing an unshakable karmic bond, or seal it away, preventing it from ever surfacing again.
His fingers tightened, and his consciousness spread across his soul sea like an unstoppable tide.
The soul spike had dimmed and lost much of its power. The only thing left within it was the soul essence, a crucial component for either sealing or erasing the lingering will in his soul sea.
"Erasing him would be difficult," Varos thought grimly. He knew the law his progenitor had not only practiced but embodied: the Law of Undying Will. And he, too, had begun walking the same path.
He understood better than anyone that erasing a will forged from this law was nearly impossible. It was a concept rooted in persistence, defiance, and an unwillingness to fade.
Even if he attempted to obliterate it, remnants would linger, waiting for the slightest opportunity to regenerate.
"The only choice I have is to seal it," he murmured. His grip on the soul spike tightened as he prepared for what would come next.
At that moment, a voice echoed within his soul sea: cold, mocking, and laced with amusement. "You think this will rid you of me? You amuse me, descendant."
Varos's eyes darkened, his patience wearing thin. "You're running out of time, Mortevant. Soon, you'll be nothing but a forgotten trace."
Mortevant laughed, a hollow, grating sound. "Ah, but I am in no rush. After all, it is you who should be worried. You're already tangled in the conspiracies of others."
Varos stiffened. His grip on the soul spike tightened. "What do you mean, 'conspiracy of others'?" His voice was sharp, demanding.
Mortevant let the silence stretch as if savoring his control over the conversation. Then, in a voice laced with amusement, he finally said, "Tell me, have you never wondered why everything around you falls so easily into place? Why do the opportunities, power, and enemies you face… always seem to guide you toward something greater?"
Varos's mind raced when he heard the words. He had felt it before, the unnatural sequence of events, the way everything seemed to push him forward as if following some unseen script, and sometimes he wondered how he even escaped the temporal rift zone.
"Did I offend someone without realizing it?" Though his gut already told him the answer wasn't so simple, he forced the question out.
Mortevant let out another dark chuckle. "it's not about who you've offended… but about who has chosen you."
Varos's heart pounded in his chest as he said,"Who?"
Mortevant's laughter only deepened. "Now, now… why would I spoil the fun? Figure it out yourself, if you live long enough, that is."
Varos felt an icy chill crawl down his spine. He knew Mortevant was playing with him, but there was truth in his words; someone, had their hands in his fate, toying with his destiny
And that realization sent a far deeper unease through him than any lingering threat from Mortevant ever could.
"What are your conditions?" Varos asked, his voice steady yet laced with cold vigilance. He knew this was a trap, but better to face a wolf in the open than a serpent in the dark.
He didn't know the full extent of the forces conspiring against him, but deep down, he had his suspicions: the Primordials. Only beings of their level could toy with the fate of lesser creatures as if it were nothing more than a game.
Mortevant's voice echoed through his soul sea, filled with eerie amusement. "My conditions remain unchanged. I want the body of a Primordial, any one will do."
Varos narrowed his eyes as he said, "And if I offer you a body that rivals a Primordial's?" He said, although he didn't expect Mortevant to accept, but if he could negotiate the terms, perhaps he could manipulate the situation in his favor.
Mortevant's response was immediate, his voice filled with disdain. "No! The bodies of Primordials are inherently superior to your feeble imitations. We were not simply created; we were forged by the Supreme creator from the highest source of energy in the universe. Our bodies carry traces of the Origin Law, the foundation of creation itself," he retorted.
"But before I could unlock its full potential… I fell. And now, I must reclaim what is rightfully mine."
Varos's heart shook slightly. Origin Law? He had never heard of it before. Could it be a level beyond even Grand Laws and Universal Laws? If what Mortevant said was true, then it was no wonder the Primordials stood at the peak of existence. Had the Creator deliberately withheld this power from lesser beings? Or was there another reason?
He frowned, shaking his head. "No. Now's not the time for this." He couldn't let his thoughts stray now.
"What rank do I need to reach to wound a Primordial?" Varos asked, his tone calm yet sharp.
Mortevant's voice echoed from the soulsea, carrying an undeniable weight. "Rank 5," he stated without hesitation. "But wounding one and defeating one are entirely different things."
Varos remained silent, waiting for him to continue. "The weakest of the Primordials was at Rank 5… eons ago. By now, he has likely ascended to Rank 6. If you wish to kill him outright or plot to take his body, you would need to reach Rank 7."
Varos narrowed his eyes when he heard killing and he asked. "But didn't you claim that your race stood at the peak of the universe? That Primordials were invincible?"
Mortevant suddenly let out a dry, mocking laugh. "That's exactly what I believed when I was alive. And that arrogance… it cost me everything."
His voice dropped, carrying an edge of cold amusement. "And I bet they're still as arrogant as I was." Then, his laughter faded into something more sinister. "That arrogance… is their greatest weakness. I learned that lesson the hard way."
Mortevant's tone now turned sharp, filled with a dangerous certainty. "Now, we will turn that arrogance against them."
At the same time, Lex sat cross-legged above the Origin Ocean, his expression expectant. Beneath him, the infinite sea of energy roared silently, awaiting the moment the World Tree seeds he had cast into its depths would sprout.
However, he didn't want to wait idly.
To pass the time, he shifted his focus elsewhere. His pupils darkened, turning black, as the shape of a celestial clock manifested within them. The past and present intertwined before his eyes.
His vision pierced through the layers of reality, gazing upon the Divine Realm, where a rare sight caught his attention; Vastoth was frantically searching every corner of the divine realm like a madman.
"Interesting," Lexmurmured.
Of all the Primordials, Vastoth had always been the most composed and least prone to emotional outbursts. Yet here he was, acting as though he had lost something irreplaceable.
Lex's gaze focused. His celestial clock began to tick, and time unwound before him. The moment of truth unfolded in reverse, he watched as Vastoth and Vyrinox clashed in battle, saw the ebb and flow of their fight. "So that's what happened." A smirk played on his lips, but he didn't dwell on it for long.
His attention turned to Vyrinox as he thought, "Vyrinox… what are you scheming now?"
His gaze pierced through the fabric of space, shifting towards Vyrinox and Zarrakis, who sat in deep meditation within a hidden dimension, one that loomed directly above Varos, who was still absorbing the Soul Spike.
At first glance, they seemed to be mere observers, yet Lex's eyes could see the truth beneath the illusion.
He saw Karmic threads, thin, barely visible strands stretching out from Varos, connecting him to nine other beings. These threads pulsed with a soft, sinister glow, siphoning away fragments of his cultivation and transferring them elsewhere.
Lex let out a low chuckle as he said. "The Devouring Scripture of Nine." His gaze deepened, and in that instant, the intricate workings of the technique unfolded before him.
He traced the flow of energy, deciphering its principles with ease. Nine Primordials. Nine Laws. A technique refined through ambition and greed.
Deception, chaos, might, dreams, darkness, wisdom, decay, devouring, destiny—every law they had embodied was embedded in this monstrous art, fusing together into a technique that could siphon power unseen, gradually accumulating strength without direct confrontation.
Even Lex had to admit it was a work of brilliance. But then, a cold gleam flashed in his eyes as he said, "A pack of parasites feasting on the labor of others."
He remembered an old saying from his past life, "Two minds are better than one." But in this case? Nine minds. Nine schemes. Nine greedy thieves consuming everything in their path. Lex let out a soft sigh. "Even among gods, there are scavengers."
Although there was nothing inherently wrong with what they were doing, Lex didn't approve—unless they were driven by genuine necessity, he wouldn't support it.
"I gave them several paths to grow stronger, yet few are even trying to find them," Lex said as he glanced at the others. "Most of them just want a shortcut to power."