In a detached part of the universe — a place so ancient that even the laws of existence had long since eroded — a man sat in silence. He was motionless, almost statue-like, neither alive nor dead. The space around him was dark, yet to call it "dark" was a misrepresentation. The concept of darkness simply didn't exist in this domain.
No wind. No sound. No time.
In this incomprehensible void, the man's stillness became the only definition of "being." His breath neither left nor entered, his heart neither beat nor rested. He existed in the same way a concept existed — without form, without duration.
Then, without warning, a burst of light surged from within him. It was not blinding, nor divine. It was simply present, a faint whisper of reality intruding upon unreality. Yet that small flash caused the entire space to ripple like disturbed water. The room — if such a word could even describe this shapeless domain — contracted by several folds, as if the fabric of void itself feared annihilation in his presence.
The man remained unmoved. His expression was tranquil, his gaze heavy with eternal fatigue. He looked at his hands, where a single sphere of light hovered, and spoke into the emptiness.
"This time… it was karma. It managed to connect his thread to mine — even here, in a realm utterly devoid of Dao."
His voice carried no emotion, no echo. Words here did not travel; they simply were.
Within the sphere, faint images flickered — hundreds of galaxies collapsing simultaneously, their brilliant cores flaring in synchronized destruction. Their unified intent was clear: to erase a single existence — a mere golden core cultivator whose death demanded an extreme price of the universe.
The man's eyes, deep as the void surrounding him, reflected no surprise.
With a subtle motion, he raised his hand. Countless other spheres appeared around him, each radiating quiet, boundless power. To an observer, they would seem identical — indistinguishable motes of light adrift in a sea of nothing. Yet the man's gaze moved among them with recognition and precision. Each orb held a distinct fate, a different story — yet they all carried their own unique purpose.
"Let's begin the next round," he murmured.
As he spoke, the countless spheres shimmered, then vanished. Their departure left faint ripples across the void — ripples that extended beyond this realm, touching distant dimensions and forgotten worlds.
One such sphere descended upon a small blue planet, one utterly unremarkable in the grand tapestry of existence. A world obsessed with industry and greed, its greatest Dao was called capitalism.
For a fleeting instant, the man's expression softened — a distant echo of curiosity.
"So it begins there, again."
He closed his eyes, withdrawing into his silence. The void reclaimed its stillness.
Yet his calm was not ignorance. Each of his actions, every thought he allowed himself, required monumental calculation. To an outside intelligence — even if every supercomputer, every divine consciousness, and every mind across the universe collaborated — it would take no less than twelve billion years to reproduce the outcome of a single step in his plan.
Such was the depth of the enemy he faced — a foe that required eternity itself to counter.
And yet, despite the unfathomable complexity of his struggle, the man's composure did not waver. His every move was deliberate. His patience infinite. For he understood that the battle he waged could not be fought with force alone — it demanded subtlety, foresight, and the willingness to sacrifice everything if needed.
⸻
Far away — on the small blue planet called Earth — the neon glow of Shibuya painted the night in hues of violet and gold. Humanity bustled beneath the sleepless city: screens flashed advertisements for things no one needed, crowds rushed toward destinations they would forget tomorrow, and somewhere between laughter and exhaustion, the rhythm of survival played on.
Atop one of the skyscrapers, a young man sat at the edge. His name was Ray Lofter, a foreigner who had come to Japan seeking opportunity, and instead found monotony.
He dangled his legs into the abyss of the city, his gaze detached. From this height, the streets below seemed like veins of light coursing through a mechanical beast. Cars honked. Signs blinked. Life moved on. Yet to Ray, it all looked strangely distant — as though he were watching a simulation rather than a living world.
He had lost his job earlier that day.
Not because of incompetence, nor any great failure. The company simply "restructured," and he, being neither essential nor influential, was among those discarded without ceremony.
He wasn't angry. He wasn't sad. He was simply… empty.
From an outsider's perspective, Ray was entirely ordinary. He'd graduated with decent grades, maintained a modest career, paid his rent on time, and avoided conflict. There was nothing wrong with his life — and perhaps that was the problem.
As he stared into the night, he thought quietly to himself.
"Why should I try my best? For money? For recognition? To form connections that time will eventually erase? Even if I succeed… I'll still die. Everything I build will vanish, everything I love will fade, and every memory of me will dissolve like mist."
He exhaled softly, the wind catching his words and carrying them into the indifferent night.
Ray wasn't depressed — not in the clinical sense. He simply lacked a reason to care. His life had been a series of minimal efforts and adequate outcomes. He had never chased a dream, nor faced a true failure. He lived efficiently, like a machine programmed to survive without purpose.
He realized, distantly, that he had never once felt the raw exhilaration of trying. Of giving everything to something uncertain. His entire existence had been one long avoidance of both pain and meaning.
He looked down. The city lights below shimmered like stars inverted, a galaxy at his feet. A single misstep, and he would fall — and that thought, curiously, didn't frighten him. It felt almost… peaceful.
Then, without warning, the night split open.
A golden light, brilliant and soundless, tore across the sky. It lasted less than a second — a flash so swift that the world itself seemed to blink. For that instant, Shibuya's neon glow dimmed beneath it. The beam struck Ray squarely in the chest.
His mind blanked.
The world tilted. His body convulsed, and he collapsed against the steel ledge, unconscious.
No one below noticed. To the countless people walking, driving, and laughing, nothing unusual had happened. The phenomenon repeated across the cosmos — countless golden rays descending upon countless worlds — yet none but their chosen targets perceived their arrival.
For Ray, it was the moment his insignificance ended.
And somewhere, in that impossible void where even time dared not move, the man in silence opened his eyes once more. A faint smile — neither relief nor triumph, but something subtler — ghosted across his face.
And the light around him flickered once more — countless worlds turning, countless fates aligning — as the first motion of his grand design began.