Above all skies, beyond all realms, there floated a palace.
A colossal mountain, suspended in endless void, wreathed in divine mist that shimmered like liquid stars.
Waterfalls of pure spiritual essence cascaded down its sides, flowing into rivers that drifted into nothingness.
Every brick, every leaf, every ripple of air here was infused with such power that a single pebble could crush a galaxy.
At the highest peak stood there is a figure sitting on a throne —Immortal God.
His throne, carved from a single piece of Eternal Jade, overlooked creation itself.
"Tch… again the same thing. Hero meets villain, fights for 300 chapters, gets a harem, ascends. Mortals sure are predictable… yet strangely addicting."
This man was Namaha — a name whispered only by those who should not know it. He had been here since the birth of time itself, the first light after chaos. For countless eons, he had never stepped outside this hidden palace, simply reading one mortal story after another.
Namaha closed the book.He flicked his wrist. The book arced into a yawning storage space beside him—an abyss stacked with novels upon novels, a ridiculous mountain of stories he'd devoured over eons.
Then, without any fanfare, he stood up.
And the world changed.
The vast mountain… vanished.
The palace… gone.
The endless rivers of essence… erased without even a ripple in reality.
"Enough. I want to see it for myself. Let's see what mortals are really like… without pages and chapters between us."
Namaha simply walked forward, tearing open space with his bare hands.
A dark rift yawned before him, swirling with the colors of countless universes.
He stepped through casually, as if strolling through a garden gate.
Scene shift to a divine place.
Nine figures in white-gold robes sat atop thrones forged from galaxies, each radiating laws that governed all existence — The Nine Heavenly Daos. The moment Namaha's foot crossed the rift, all nine opened their eyes.
A wave of indescribable pressure swept across them.
"He moved," one looking like a old man whispered.
"Track him." Divine sense sweeping through every corner of existence in search of him.
But before it could reach too far…
Namaha's gaze turned back.
Just one glance.
That was all it took.
The 9 Heavenly Dao's vast consciousness shuddered violently, collapsing in on itself.
Fragments of divine sense shattered, and the Dao's itself coughed blood.
A silent warning echoed in their core — "Don't dare to find me."
They gathered—pale, shaken, robes of law trembling—and spoke in tight, human voices:
"He finally made a move."
"We have stopped him as long as we can."
"Now we can't do anything."
"In this situation we can't even hope… the universe is going to change, definitely."
They looked at one another, ancient rulers feeling something unfamiliar in their bones.
Helplessness.
---
In another realm far from Heaven, a round table of black stone held seven Immortal Lords—of seven Immortal Palace. Each bore the weight of a world.
One raised his head. "Do you feel it?"
Another closed her eyes. "The presence that sat over creation from the beginning… is gone."
A third leaned forward, greed sharpening his smile. "After countless cycles, the Immortal God finally falls silent. Perhaps—"
"—dead," finished a fourth, voice hungry.
Silence. Then, plans sharpened like knives.
"If he is truly no more, the remaining realms are unguarded."
"We strike first—Human Realm, Demon Realm, Spirit, Underworld, Fairy—everything collapses once the Immortal Realm moves."
"Consolidate the dimensions. Seat one crown over all."
Seven gazes burned with ambition.
No one at the table asked a simple question: What if he merely left?
---
The Mortal Realm
Sunlight spilled over a bustling city marketplace. Merchants shouted prices over carts stacked with golden mangoes, steaming samosas, sugarcane juice, and fresh flowers. The air was warm, spiced with the scent of cardamom and incense.
Namaha strolled through the crowd, his gaze drinking in every detail — children chasing kites, old men bargaining, women arranging garlands of marigold.
A little boy bumped into him, dropping his basket. Namaha bent down, picked it up, and smiled warmly.
The boy felt his legs weaken instantly — not from fear, but because he'd just brushed against power greater than the heavens.
Namaha just patted his head and kept walking. The boy's body got completely heal even the past injuries.
Namaha's smile lingered. Exploration felt good. Streets, smells, noise—life without footnotes.
Above, the Nine Heavenly Dao dabbed blood from their mouths and dared not reach again. In a hidden hall, seven lords drafted invasions over maps of realms they did not truly understand.
And down here, the Immortal God—who could end universes with a shrug—counted coin for a paper fan because it looked funny when it snapped open.
He flicked it once. Snap. Then, He picked up a steaming jalebi from a vendor's stall, biting into it with a childlike grin.
"So this is real… much better than reading about it."
Namaha straightened, gaze wandering. He tried to remember the last time he'd walked in sunlight.
"Was it… in the beginning?" he murmured. "Hard to say."
For ages, the Heavenly Dao had kept him in that quiet palace. Not by force—force was laughable—but by distraction. They had fed his boundless patience with endless stories, curiosities, myths and love letters bound as novels. He had turned page after page, laughing, weeping, sleeping.
"Thank you for the books," he said softly to no one. "I liked them."
To the people around, he was just another wandering man. No spiritual energy. No cultivation. Just… ordinary.
Until he bumped into someone.
A tall man in dark green robes spun around, glaring. His aura surged — violent and oppressive.
"Watch where you're walking, mortal." The man's voice dripped with disdain.
Namaha blinked at him, still chewing. "You were in my way."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The cultivator's eyes narrowed. "Do you have a death wish?"
Without another word, he flicked his wrist. A blade of condensed spiritual energy shot toward Namaha's chest.
Namaha didn't move. He didn't even put down the jalebi.
The crowd screamed. The blade drew closer—
To be continued....