Anthony stood motionless for a moment. The silence stretched between him and the administrator like the calm before a storm. He looked at the gleaming white door behind him—the one that promised eternal rest, final peace, a clean exit from the cycle.
And then he looked away.
"I think…" Anthony began slowly, eyes narrowing with new resolve, "I would like to have the chance to go through reincarnation."
There was a shift in the air. Subtle. The kind of change only someone like the administrator would notice. A new fire had sparked in Anthony's eyes—sharp, focused, hungry.
He wasn't choosing life because he feared death.
He was choosing it because he wasn't done.
He'd lived as a destroyer, yes. A dealer of devastation. But he had never truly finished what he set out to do.
In his previous life, he was limited—by time, by biology, by the collapsing structure of his own body. He had crafted weapons, rewritten warfare, and saved humanity without ever meaning to. But now?
Now he had a second chance.
Though that chance only came to him because of thing he had unknowingly done—a good deed buried in the chaos of the past.
After all, it was his creation that had saved Earth… that had spared humanity from a future of slavery, from a life stripped of dignity, stripped of even a shred of respect.
He wasn't coming back to build weapons for others.
He was coming back to create the ultimate explosion. To pursue the most impossible ideas. To finish what he had only begun.
He wanted to become immortal—not just in name, but in form. A living force of science, fury, and innovation.
Eternal death?
Not today.
The administrator tilted his head slightly, folding his hands on the desk.
"Are you sure?" he asked, voice calm but firm.
Anthony nodded once, eyes burning.
"Yes. Lock it down."
The administrator gave a single, approving nod.
"Good."
He reached for a golden quill that materialized midair and scribbled something unseen onto a new scroll that shimmered with faint violet runes.
"Now," the administrator said, eyes meeting Anthony's directly, "state the kind of reincarnation you desire."
Anthony blinked.
"Ooh… so I can choose what kind of reincarnation I get?" he asked, grinning now.
"Yes," the administrator replied without hesitation. "You're entitled to a self-directed reincarnation. No restrictions—only imagination."
Anthony rubbed his chin thoughtfully, lips quirking. "Now that's dangerous."
He stepped forward on the red carpet, arms behind his back as he paced in place.
But then he stopped, looking up again.
"Wait—before I say anything stupid—can I get, like, a list? Or at least some examples?"
The administrator's expression didn't change. But one corner of his mouth might have twitched. Maybe. Maybe not.
"Examples, you ask?" he repeated.
Anthony nodded like a chicken pecking a worm.
The administrator gestured with one hand, almost lazily.
"You could become a chicken."
Anthony paused. Blinked.
"…What?"
"Or an ant. That's quite common, actually. Surprisingly meditative, I'm told.
You could reincarnate as a tree. A river.
Even a boulder—if you wanted stillness. Or punishment. Or simplicity."
Anthony stared.
The administrator went on, his tone dry.
"Or you could request to return as a human—either in your former world, or in another. Perhaps in a high-magic reality.
A galactic empire. A medieval ruin of a world where knowledge is power and you'd be seen as a living god.
You could come back as a beast. A being of flame. A swarm intelligence.
You could even attempt to ascend into a divine archetype, though results vary depending on cosmic stability."
Anthony opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Then: "Holy shit. I really can pick anything."
"Yes. But choose carefully," the administrator said, his tone growing faintly serious. "Once locked, your reincarnation cannot be reversed."
Anthony was already pacing again, muttering to himself. "God, a boulder? Can you imagine? Just lying there for centuries while pigeons crap on you and moss slowly eats your brain. No thanks."
The administrator sipped his coffee.
"I could be an immortal mad scientist. A god of explosions. A reborn demigod with a reactor for a heart," Anthony continued, eyes gleaming. "Or hell, just a guy with a really stupidly high IQ in a low-tech world."
He looked back at the administrator, breath sharp.
"This might take me a minute."
"You have time," the administrator replied, resting his quill. "But not forever."
And in that vast, endless hall—between dimensions, between lives—Anthony Grey stood reborn in purpose.
Not yet reincarnated.
But choosing.
The Hall of Countless Doors waited.
Anthony stood still for a while. Very still.
Then he let out a long, tired groan, dragging a hand through his hair and muttering, "Ughhh…"
He shook his head, frustrated.
"So many damn options," he said aloud, pacing in a slow circle. "What kind of life do I even want?"
The weight of infinite possibilities pressed against his skull like a vice. His mind spun—ideas clashing, crashing, melting into one another. Thousands of futures played through his thoughts. None stuck. None felt right.
He clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and spoke to himself in a firm, almost annoyed tone.
"Calm down, Anthony. Just calm… down."
He exhaled hard and squared his shoulders.
"Okay. Step one—set parameters."
He pointed a finger at the air like he was laying out a blueprint.
"Becoming a chicken? No.
An ant? Absolutely not.
A rock? I'd rather die. Again."
He crossed his arms.
"No trees. No spirits. No sentient toasters. We're going with human. End of story."
He nodded to himself. It helped.
"Human. Good. Grounded. Got a brain. Got limbs. That's a start."
Now his thoughts sharpened. Focused.
"Next question… do I want to start at the top? Like, born into some galaxy-spanning human empire? Crown prince of a solar dynasty? Massive army, endless wealth, starcruisers at my command?"
It had a certain appeal.
"Could be fun. I'd have access to labs, military R&D, massive infrastructure. I could build weapons without any limitations. Hell, I could start my own arms race across sectors."