High above the known world, in a shattered dimension stitched between falling stars and time-scarred ruins, Raizen stood alone.
Here, space obeyed him like breath. The void wrapped around his feet, pulsing with endless energy.
This was the place he had chosen—to begin.
The moment he had prepared for.
He closed his eyes.
His core expanded. The void inside him—no longer wild—obeyed with sharp precision. Around him, black motes flickered into form, each one carrying his will.
The void surged. Infinite. Endless. Untamed but waiting.
He extended his hands.
> "Construct."
> "From nothing."
Light bent. Time stalled. Space folded into lines of reality that hadn't existed a second before.
Shapes began to form in front of him—humanoid silhouettes, infused with his energy, his essence.
Their bodies shimmered with blank potential. Stronger than any mortal. Born from the void itself.
But just as he was about to breathe life into them—
They shattered.
Every figure.
Every echo.
Gone.
As if the void itself had rejected the creation.
Raizen's eyes didn't widen. But his hands curled.
Again.
He tried again.
He rewrote the soul pattern. Added more energy. Reinforced the structure. Gave it direction. Gave it obedience.
This time, the figures held… for three full seconds.
Then—
Gone again.
The void swallowed its children before they could take a single step.
Raizen exhaled slowly.
Not angry.
But focused.
> "Why?"
He stepped back, his thoughts racing.
He had infinite energy.
He could shape matter, rewrite patterns, forge laws. The void did not resist him.
And yet… every time he tried to create them—the army, the beings that would carry his power across realms—they failed.
> "This isn't a matter of force."
> "It's understanding."
> "I'm missing something."
He sat down in the void-warped air, letting time drift as his mind wandered.
He thought back to the Mirror Hall. The reflections. The forgotten names. The stories.
They didn't just wield power.
They wielded purpose.
The void could devour. Yes.
But it could also shape, twist, build, evolve.
But only when the one controlling it understood the weight of what they created.
These weren't tools he was trying to build.
They would be extensions of his soul.
Each one needed… more.
Not just shape. Not just strength.
> "I lack something real," he whispered. "Something that binds the creation to existence. That gives it permanence."
> "I've only understood power."
> "Not meaning."
> "Not identity."
He stood slowly.
He wouldn't stop. But for now… he would pause.
And that's when he felt it.
A ripple.
Dozens.
No—hundreds.
Across the sky of every continent, sacred formations lit up. Clouds shifted. Pressure cracked down on every lower realm.
Divine energy descended like a blight.
His body turned, instinct pulling him toward the source.
And he saw them.
A march of immortals tearing through the sky, each with glowing brands on their foreheads. Behind them, gods descended in streaks of violent light. And behind them still…
Twelve Godkings.
Each carrying an artifact that could level continents.
> "So they chose war."
He turned away from his half-built void creations and stepped forward.
The army wasn't ready.
He wa
s.
The void pulsed around him.
His gaze sharpened.
And he whispered—
> "If I must stand alone, I'll make sure none of you forget why you feared the void."