Sixty-nine times.
That was the number it took.
Levi sat frozen, dumbfounded, staring inward as the channel held. It didn't collapse, didn't buckle, didn't shatter like glass under strain. It endured.
From the star above, the vein of light pulsed gently, dripping its essence like a slow tap into the hollow node at his navel.
And then— warmth.
Not the fleeting warmth of muscle or skin, but something deeper, more primal. It spread outward from his belly button in careful ripples, like ink bleeding through paper. The cold emptiness of the node softened, filled, and in its place bloomed a quiet, steady heat.
Levi's lips parted, breath catching. After so many failures, the sensation almost felt unreal— fragile, like one wrong move would make it all vanish.
"…It's working". He whispered, hardly daring to believe it.
Every drop of origin energy that seeped through carried weight, the channel strained, yes, but it bent without breaking. The node at his navel hungrily drank in the flow, stabilizing, knitting itself as the first true bridge between his soul and his flesh.
Sixty-nine failures, for one fragile success.
Levi closed his eyes, allowing himself the briefest smile.
At last.
At long last.
He wanted to throw his head back and scream at the sky, to roar at the heavens in triumph. Sixty-nine failures, and now— finally— victory. The urge clawed at his throat, wild and desperate.
But he held it down.
Fear anchored him.
Because even though the channel now held firm, its thread wavering between immaterial and material, delicate yet absolute, he couldn't shake the memory of collapse after collapse. Thirty-seven, fifty-two, sixty-eight— each failure still echoed in his veins like ghost pain.
He knew it wouldn't snap now, not unless he recklessly overloaded it. The novel itself had implied as much— once formed, a channel was stable. Yet… his body remembered the jarring backlash, the endlass lurch of false hope crushed to pieces.
So Levi sat in silence, his breath shallow, lips pressed into thin lines. Trembling faintly as the warmth spread steadily from his core.
Then—
The node pulsed. Once. Twice. A third time.
Each beat was steady, syncing with his heartbeat. Flesh and soul, no longer strangers— now connected.
And then the pulse quickened. Faster. Louder. Stronger.
Levi's eyes snapped open as the rhythm surged, like a second heart thundering inside his belly. The warmth grew hotter, sharper, flooding outward in waves he could no longer contain.
"—!" He clenched his jaw, gripping the stone beneath his palms.
The heat slammed into his ribs, then his spine, then his limbs. Every pulse was a hammer blow, and with each blow something inside him cracked open.
Veins that had been sealed since birth shuddered and tore, not with pain but with fire. Invisible pathways revealed themselves— hidden channels buried beneath flesh and bone, closed off until this moment.
Pulse. His chest burned.
Pulse. His arms seared.
Pulse. His legs lit like kindling.
The warmth became flame, racing through him, leaving behind newly-forged trails where origin energy could flow. It was agony and ecstasy together, a branding of his body from the inside out.
Levi grit his teeth, refusing to scream, refusing to falter.
And then—
One final pulse.
A shudder rippled through him. His entire body shook, every nerve alight, until the warmth spread to his fingertips, to the crown of his head, to the soles of his feet—completing the circuit.
Silence followed.
Levi sat there, drenched in sweat, chest heaving. But when he looked inward again, the sight stole his breath.
The node glowed like a small amethyst sun at his navel. From it extended a web of faint, burning lines— his channels— etched into his body, shimmering with potential.
He had done it. Not only had he formed a channel— he had opened the hidden paths that would let him wield origin energy in combat, to feed his body strength when he needed it most.
He clenched his hand, not feeling any different from how he usually was, except for the strength granted from his soul.
But with a tug, from the navel, the energy surged down his arm in a bright rush, tightening his muscles, swelling them with power. His fingers curled into a fist so firm his fingers popped.
"Wow". Levi gasped, awe spilling out in a trembling laugh.
Then, without waiting, Levi did what he had always wanted to do— ever since he first began fantasizing about this world through the pages of the novel.
He guided the flow.
From the glowing sun at his navel, the origin energy surged upward, threading carefully into his stomach. The warmth thickened, condensed, then pooled into the pit of his belly.
He clenched his focus, driving the current not into his muscles this time, but into the churning acids resting in the dark chamber of his gut.
It was madness. Dangerous. Even in the novel, no sorcerer worth their salt dared to tamper with their own organs this way. But Levi wasn't "worth his salt." He was Levi— reader, outsider, fool. And fool or not, he had dreamed of this moment long before ever being pulled into this cursed world.
He pumped origin energy into the acids, steady at first, then sharper, feeding them like a starving flame.
And then he stopped.
He held his breath. Waiting.
The energy settled in, soaking into the corrosive mixture, infusing it with a glow invisible to the naked eye. The warmth in his gut twisted strangely, a subtle thrum reverberating through his core, as though the acids themselves had awoken, eager and restless.
Levi's lips curved.
In the story, origin energy was defined as the concept— Potential realization.
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A) Drop power stones
B) Comment here
C) Be a ******** and chose non of the above