In the shimmering sanctuary beyond time and beyond everything, there existed a realm called Mystery—a place so far removed from the known layers of reality that even the cosmic beings of the Sixth Cosmos dared not utter its name lightly.
Here, in the innermost sanctum, the being known as Origin lounged in his massive throne carved from the crystallized laws of physics themselves. His essence pulsed with raw energy, and yet, his divine form was shockingly casual. With his feet resting lazily on the edge of an infinity-spiral console, Origin had his gaze locked onto the holographic screen in front of him. He tapped furiously on a modified divine PlayStation controller, muttering curses in beeped tones.
"Damn it," he grunted. "I have a concept, and I'm the anchor of energy itself. Yet I still can't get this damn sniper aim right in PUBG. What is this nonsense?"
The hologram flickered. A poorly mistake and a trap at the air drop which he couldn't identify. A bullet straight to the head. His character collapsed in the dusty digital terrain.
"You've got to be kidding me," Origin barked, tossing the controller onto the vibrating platform next to him. "This is the third time today I died in the game!" That bastard Camper he has a Groza and a AWM why the hell is he still hiding in a room like a coward waiting in front of him 2 Air Drops were yet he hid like a snake waiting for player to come so he could snipe or shoot them and I also became his prey when I came to loot this bastard shot me in my head with a AWM breaking my level 3 helmet knocking me out before, I could self revive myself that bastard throwed a grenade at me and killed me. I hope I don't find him otherwise I will give him a few years of bad luck
He leaned back and stared at the ceiling of swirling equations above, each one representing a universal constant from every known multiverse. But right now, his mind wasn't on equations. It was on the quiet. The stillness between creation and destruction.
It was that damn waiting period again.
The Fourth Cosmos had ended, its energies exhausted, its stories complete. It had been a meaningful chapter—the era of The Pilgrim, a cosmos that introduced choice, possibility, and archetypal morality. For the first time in all of creation, beings were given the chance to decide. And in that freedom, meaning was born.
Origin had sensed the end when it happened.
"Around three millennia ago," he muttered to himself, recalling the moment. "The Fourth Cosmos came into being. The Pilgrim—first to understand possibility. First to birth the concepts of good and evil. And now... it's gone."
He exhaled, then summoned a pixelated chunk of Minecraft obsidian from his side console. As he absentmindedly began building a towering black spire in-game, his thoughts drifted.
"The Fifth Cosmos will come. Eventually," he said aloud. "Energy has to stabilize, the foundational constants need to coalesce, and then—boom—another multiverse to catalog."
He grumbled. "Until then… I'm stuck in this inter-cosmic limbo. Might as well read some manga."
With a flick of his fingers, dozens of volumes of Dragon Ball flew into the air around him, forming a rotating halo of shonen-powered inspiration. As he flipped through a page where Goku charged a Spirit Bomb, Origin chuckled.
"At least he always finds a new form to break his limits. I should take notes."
But the peaceful boredom soon gave way to irritation.
The deeper Origin thought, the more something gnawed at the edges of his awareness.
It was him.
That festering paradox sealed in the Below-Place—the deepest foundation of all reality. The abyss even the Void refused to acknowledge.
The One Below All.
OBA.
A name spoken to him by OAA a evil counterpart of him a scum and bastard version of him . The Shadow Counterpart of the One Above All, a reflection made from entropy, malice, evil and annihilation. Where OAA was infinite love, infinite design, OBA was infinite corrosion, the erasure of meaning itself.
"Why does every Creator God have to have an evil version?" Origin snapped. "It's like some cosmic joke."
He paused his Minecraft game, slowly rising from his throne of energy and light. As his full conceptual form shimmered into view, the room darkened. Not from a loss of power—but from the heavy truth pressing against reality itself.
"OAA sealed him. Way down below. Layers under layers. The Below-Place. A realm that even I don't want to step into unless I'm ready to fight for my concept's survival."
Origin clenched his fist, and reality pulsed.
"He's not dead," he muttered. "He's just dormant. Sleeping. Waiting for the multiverse to reach a point where he can twist it into a story of death."
He looked down at his own hands. A swirling mixture of energy particles, stars, antimatter halos, and fundamental code.
"I'm strong," he admitted. "But I'm not there yet. Not at the level of the Old Man."
He meant OAA.
"The One Above All… the True Creator God. If he's top tier, I'm at best a half-step below that. And that's not good enough. Not if OBA gets loose."
The truth was bitter, but clear. Origin's own attacks, no matter how advanced, would not damage a being whose existence rejected all patterns. At the True Creator God level, only equal conceptual force could harm an opponent.
"Everything in this Marvel framework stems from OAA," he mused. "Even the Heart of the Universe… that artifact was born from his own hand. That comic where Thanos hurts OAA? Plot garbage. That wasn't even 0.01% of a wound. It was for narrative drama."
He scoffed. "I met OAA. There's no way something born from him could damage him. He's the origin of origins."
Origin paced across his sanctum, swirling his divine cloak tighter.
"No artifact can help me. No existing power structure in the Marvel Omniverse is capable of giving me the edge. If I want to challenge OBA, I need something different."
He snapped his fingers and pulled up dozens of holograms, each displaying cosmological libraries of multiverses—DC, Image, Dark Horse, independent narrative systems, conceptual frameworks even the Living Tribunal didn't catalog.
"I need something that isn't from here. Something with magic deep enough to carve a concept. And not just any magic—I need magic tied directly to the Laws of existence."
He paused.
A flicker.
A name.
A world, dancing on the edge of memory.
"…Tensura," he said softly.
He smiled.
"That Time I Got Reincarnated As a Slime."
A cosmology wrapped in isekai brilliance and fantasy, yet incredibly close to the structural foundation of the Marvel Creation their potential to reach marvel level of creation is no joke. It wasn't just another magic world—it was one whose very core was formed by a True Creator God: Veldanava The Star KingDragon. A will or avatar a being part of a higher dimensional True God that is who Veldanava truly is.
Origin's divine eyes pulsed.
"A being on OAA's level… a narrative with systems of magic tied to concepts and laws. That's what I need."
He pulled up a full diagram of the Tensura Cosmology, mapping the spiritual life forms , daemons, angels, Primordial Daemon and Primordial Angel. Paths of evolution. Energy types. Skill systems. Law structures.
"In this universe, concepts like Ultimate Skills, Authority Manipulation, and Law Manipulation are actual powers. Not metaphors. I can learn from them. I can create my own Magic System based on what they do—and transcend the laws here. Especially Ultimate Skills. They are the skills that allow people to manipulate or control the LAWS of that specific skill they got. "
The plan was forming.
"I'll have to meet Veldanava. Spar with him or well fight with him. Learn his way of creation logic. Understand how he formed that reality of creation. Only then can I forge magic capable of hurting OBA."
But a chilling thought entered his mind.
"…What if the plot already killed Veldanava for degrading his True God status due to marrying a normal human?"
He clenched his fist, thunder roaring in the space between realms.
"I swear… if I get there and find out he died just for some plot connivence, I'm rewriting the script myself."
The thought lingered, but he shoved it aside.
"Time to act."
With a wave, he pulled out a golden sigil—a communications tether to the One Above All.
"I'll call the Lazy Old Man. Let him know I'm leaving Marvel Creation for a while. He better not dump all the admin work on me again."
He stretched, cracked his neck, and looked back at his paused Minecraft world. Then to the manga panels frozen in the air.
"This was nice. But I've got a multiverse to infiltrate. A god to meet. And a war to prepare for."
He looked ahead.
"To the Fifth Cosmos, and beyond."