Far from the jungles and rising smoke of human settlements—
Beyond broken continents and folded space—
A throne of shadow stirred.
The Shadow knelt.
Its formless body rippled as it lowered its head, fragments of corrupted energy dissolving into the void beneath it.
"My lord," it said. "I have found him. The human."
On the throne, a presence slowly awakened.
Sithorn.
The space around him vibrated—not violently, but absolutely, as though reality itself acknowledged his existence. Eyes like collapsing stars opened.
"So," Sithorn said, voice calm, ancient, amused. "The little lamb still lives."
"He grows quickly," the Shadow replied. "He surpassed me."
A low chuckle echoed.
"The gods hide," Sithorn said. "And Gia dares protect him."
The name alone caused the void to tremble.
"It matters little," Sithorn continued. "Let them cling to their sanctuaries. Let them delay the inevitable."
He rose.
Runes older than creation itself ignited around him.
"Once I obtain complete control over Origin Magic," Sithorn said softly, "I will erase every false god."
His smile widened.
"And then—"
"I will become a multiversal entity."
The Shadow bowed deeper.
Unaware of this exchange—
Leo stood beneath a storm-filled sky.
Rain lashed the growing settlement. Lightning illuminated stone roads, wooden halls, watchtowers reinforced with runes, and hundreds—no, thousands—of humans moving with purpose.
His people.
Years of teaching had changed them.
They spoke now—not in grunts or signs—but in structured language.
English.
Crude at first.
Then fluent.
Language accelerated thought.
Thought accelerated civilization.
That night, as thunder shook the heavens, something clicked inside Leo.
His spirit compressed.
Then condensed.
Not violently.
Inevitably.
DINGMartial Arts — Lv 4
Spirit Refining Realm → Soul Condensation
The world exploded outward.
Leo's divine consciousness surged—
Ten kilometers.
Every heartbeat.
Every breath.
Every hostile intent within that range became clear as day.
His physical body transformed.
Strength surpassed one thousand tons.
Speed tore past three times the speed of sound.
Air shattered when he moved.
Lightning bent around him.
Leo exhaled slowly.
"…So this is Soul Condensation."
He clenched his fist—and relaxed it just as quickly.
Control came first.
He never forgot the Shadow.
Nor the truth it revealed.
There is always someone above.
Through exploration, ruins spoke.
Cities buried beneath stone.
Temples shattered by impossible force.
Statues defaced—faces erased.
The gods had ruled this era.
Then vanished.
Almost exactly one hundred years ago.
"They didn't leave," Leo murmured once, standing in the remains of a collapsed sanctuary.
"They were hunted."
Years passed.
Four years since the tribe.
What began as a settlement became a state.
What began as survival became economy.
Governance emerged.
Law followed.
Leo did not rule by decree.
He ruled by gravity.
Presence alone shaped outcomes.
His lifespan stretched beyond five thousand years, his vitality stable, his spirit unaging.
Slowly.
Surely.
Without declaring it—
Leo became a hegemon.
And somewhere beyond the stars—
Sithorn smiled.
"The board is set," he whispered.