The Codex of Creation was the oldest text in the guardian archives—a massive tome bound in materials Kura couldn't identify, filled with knowledge that predated the Age of Gods itself.
He'd noticed it before, but hadn't been able to read it. The language was too archaic, too complex. But now, with his evolution to Creator class and his Perfect Analysis skill, the words made sense.
Kura opened the Codex with trembling hands.
"In the beginning, there was only essence—raw, formless potential. The first Creators learned to shape this essence, to give it structure and purpose. They did not create from nothing, for nothing is impossible even for gods. Instead, they understood that everything is essence in different forms.
"Matter is condensed essence. Energy is flowing essence. Space is the canvas upon which essence is arranged. Time is the sequence in which essence changes.
"To be a Creator is to understand these truths. To manipulate matter is elementary. To transmute energy is intermediate. To reshape space is advanced. To affect time itself is the domain of gods.
"But all of these are possible. All of these are within reach for one who truly understands Creation..."
The Codex detailed techniques Kura had never imagined. Not just transmutation, but fundamental reality manipulation. Ways to compress space, to accelerate or slow time in localized areas, to convert matter directly into magical energy and back again.
One section focused on what it called "Mana Crystallization"—the ability to convert pure mana into permanent physical objects. Not temporary constructs, but real, lasting matter created from magical energy.
Kura had already done this instinctively with his Reality Forge skill, but the Codex showed him how to refine the process. How to create specific materials by understanding their fundamental essence. How to make objects with properties impossible in nature by combining essences in novel ways.
He practiced obsessively.
Created a blade from pure mana that was sharper than any metal. Created armor that could shift between rigid and flexible states on command. Created a cloak that bent light around it, making him effectively invisible.
Each creation taught him more about the nature of reality. Each success expanded his understanding of what was possible.
But the most dangerous techniques were in the Codex's final chapters.
Self-Transmutation on a fundamental level. Not just enhancing bones and muscles, but reshaping the very essence of his being. The Codex warned that this was dangerous—that changing yourself too much could result in losing your identity, becoming something unrecognizable.
But it also promised incredible power.
Kura stood in his workshop, the Codex open before him, and made a decision.
He'd already changed. Was already becoming something other than human. Why stop now?
Following the Codex's instructions, he entered a meditative state and turned his Perfect Analysis inward. Examining his own essence, his own fundamental structure. He could see it—the pattern of what made him him, written in mana and matter and something deeper.
And he could see the inefficiencies. The limitations. The weaknesses built into baseline human existence.
Carefully, methodically, he began making changes.
Optimized his nervous system for faster reactions and greater pain tolerance. Reinforced his cardiovascular system to support higher performance. Enhanced his sensory processing to take in more information more quickly. Restructured his muscular system for maximum efficiency and power output.
The process took hours and left him exhausted, but when he finished, he was fundamentally different.
Skill Acquired: ESSENCE MANIPULATION
You can now alter your own fundamental nature. Warning: Excessive changes may result in loss of humanity.
Kura tested his new capabilities. His reflexes were inhuman now—he could track a falling pebble and catch it without conscious thought. His strength had doubled despite no change in muscle mass—pure efficiency gains. His senses were so sharp he could hear water dripping three chambers away.
He was no longer human in any meaningful sense.
He was a Creator. A being who'd reshaped himself into something superior.
And he felt... nothing about it. No regret. No fear. Just cold satisfaction.
That should probably worry him. The old Kura would have been terrified of what he was becoming.
But the old Kura was dead.
* * *
The seal was failing.
Kura had known for days that something was wrong. The cracks had spread from the outermost ring to the secondary barriers. The magical components were destabilizing, their power fluctuating wildly.
He'd done this. Weeks of Transmutation work near the seal, harvesting materials from its structure, his very presence interfering with ancient magic—all of it had accumulated into critical damage.
He could stop. Could leave the chamber, find another workspace, let the seal restabilize over time.
But he didn't want to.
The truth, which Kura was finally admitting to himself, was that he wanted the seal to break. Wanted the Sleeping Princess to wake up.
Because he was lonely.
Desperately, achingly lonely in a way he'd never experienced before. The abyss was crushing—not physically, but psychologically. Weeks alone with nothing but monsters and corpses and the echoing silence of abandoned halls.
The dreams were the only relief. The only time he felt something other than cold determination or battle fury. When she appeared in his dreams, when they talked, when she looked at him like he mattered—
That was the only time he felt remotely human anymore.
So yes, he wanted her to wake up. Needed it, actually. Needed someone who understood what it meant to be imprisoned. Who saw his strength instead of his weakness. Who wouldn't judge what he'd become.
Kura approached the platform, examining the seal with his Perfect Analysis. The damage was extensive. The containment rings were compromised. The magical barriers were at maybe thirty percent strength.
One more push would do it.
One final use of his power near the seal's core, and the whole structure would collapse.
He could do it accidentally. Could just be working on a project, need to use strong Transmutation, and oops—the seal breaks. Not his fault, really. Just unfortunate timing.
But that would be a lie.
If he was going to do this, he should at least be honest with himself about it.
Kura placed his hand on the innermost containment ring—the one directly surrounding the crystal coffin—and activated his Master Transmutation at full power.
The ring shattered.
A sound like breaking glass multiplied a thousand times echoed through the chamber. The entire seal structure began to collapse in a cascade of failing magic and fracturing material. Rings crumbled. Barriers dissolved. Ancient spells that had held for ten millennia unwound in seconds.
The crystal coffin cracked.
Light poured from the fissures—brilliant white light that was too pure, too beautiful to be natural. The cracks spread rapidly across the crystal's surface, and then—
It shattered.
Fragments of crystal exploded outward in a shower of light and sound. Kura threw his arm up to shield his eyes, his enhanced senses momentarily overwhelmed.
When the light faded, she was there.
Standing where the coffin had been, bathed in the residual glow of dissolving magic, was the girl from his dreams.
Silver hair cascading down her back. Pale skin that seemed to glow faintly. Delicate features that were almost too perfect to be real. She wore the same elaborate dress from ten thousand years ago, pristine despite the ages.
Her eyes opened.
They were silver with flecks of red—exactly like in the dreams. But in person, they were more intense. More alive. More real.
She took a breath—her first breath in ten millennia—and looked directly at Kura.
"You..." Her voice was soft but clear, musical in a way that made something in his chest ache. "You broke the seal."
Kura found his voice. "Yes."
"After ten thousand years..." She stepped down from the platform, movements fluid and graceful. As her bare feet touched the stone floor, power rippled outward—visible waves of magical energy that made the very air shimmer. "I'm finally free."
She stopped a few feet from him, studying his face with those impossible eyes.
"You're different from the dreams," she said. "Harder. Darker. You've changed so much since you fell here."
"So have you. You're awake now."
A smile crossed her face—genuine and warm and beautiful. "Thanks to you." She reached out, and this time her hand didn't pass through him. She touched his chest, right over his heart, and her skin was cool against his. "Kura Tomohiro. Hero from another world. The boy who was thrown away and became a Creator."
"You know everything about me."
"I've been in your dreams for weeks. I know what you've suffered. What you've become." Her smile turned sad. "I know what it cost you to survive down here."
"What about you?" Kura asked. "I don't even know your name."
She was quiet for a moment, then spoke softly. "Kaida. My name is Kaida."
"Why were you sealed, Kaida?"
"Because of what I am." She stepped back, and as she did, her eyes began to glow brighter. Red overtaking the silver. Fangs appeared when she smiled—delicate but sharp. "I'm the last of the True Vampires. The Nightborn Princess. The Blood Sovereign."
Power radiated from her in waves. Not hostile, but overwhelming. Kura could feel it pressing against his senses—ancient, vast, terrifying.
"The gods feared me," she continued. "Feared what I could become. So they sealed me here, along with several of my kind. But the others died over the millennia. Their seals failed, or they couldn't sustain themselves in stasis. I'm the last one left."
"And now you're free."
"Now we're both free." Kaida's power receded, her eyes returning to their normal silver-red. She looked almost vulnerable suddenly. "Or we will be, once we find a way out of this abyss."
Kura nodded slowly, processing everything. A vampire princess. Sealed for ten thousand years. Now free because he'd broken her prison.
This would complicate things.
But looking at her—really looking at her, seeing the relief and joy and hope in her expression—he couldn't bring himself to regret it.
He'd been alone for too long.
And now he wasn't.
"Thank you," Kaida said softly. "For freeing me. For giving me a chance to see the world again." She held out her hand. "Whatever comes next, we'll face it together. Yes?"
Kura took her hand. Her skin was cool, her grip surprisingly strong.
"Together," he agreed.
And deep in the labyrinth, two broken people—one a murdered hero who'd become a Creator, one a sealed vampire princess who'd slept for ten thousand years—made a silent promise to each other.
They would survive.
They would escape.
And they would make the world that had abandoned them pay attention.