“Did you hear?”
“About the third princess, you mean?”
“I heard she mysteriously died during the emperor’s birthday feast; apparently they’re blaming the Kun Sect for it…”
“How could the Kun Sect be audacious enough to attack the daughter of a Universal Fusion Realm expert? Right before his eyes as well.”
“My cousin’s best friend’s brother’s master’s husband’s uncle’s son is the palace librarian’s disciple, and he told me the princess died after finding a long lost treasure land.”
“I heard that too, only my source isn’t as good; she told me the princess found some manner of graveyard containing ancient beasts’ corpses, but died before she could get anything.”
“If the daughter of someone close to reaching the Transcendent Immortal realm is interested in that place, then it truly must be extraordinary…”
…
“Why are there no instructions!?” Fillan shouted at the sky with resentment and confusion. “Why!?”
“First I get abducted into some primeval dungeon trying to suppress my powers, then you forcefully pull me into this—this thing—without telling me what the fuck I’m supposed to do; have you no shame, you rotten zoo-cemetery-trialground-will!? I curse you!”
Fillan originally thought the universe was going ballistic, giving him great opportunities at his every turn, but over the span of two days, that thought vanished along with his patience.
When Fillan was booted out of the dungeon, he appeared in a barren desert-like wasteland without an end in sight, even after he used Owner’s Eye.
That was to say, this trial had a size equal to, or bigger than, the entirety of Garth.
Pfft, so what? Fillan has shown he can teleport across continents in the span of seconds, this distance means nothing to him. Well…turns out not only is there nothing living here, the universe’s laws also don’t seem to reach this place. Meaning, Fillan is left with his trusty old legs, or Float, to get around.
However, as it would have it, the mana which was mortifyingly high in the dungeon is barely existent here.
If Fillan were to use up all the mana he was currently storing in his Ultra-Hadal mana well, it would take him a total of thirty minutes to gather enough mana for a kilometer long Float trip.
This forced him to be frugal with his reserves. After all, if he ran out of mana it would take him years to gather enough mana to kill himself with.
Fillan was not open to the thought of wandering around this place until he died of old age. No matter what benefits he could get, he refused to suffer for an extended period of time since he could always just improve on his own terms.
Despite all of this, he still tried to find some positives about his situation, only to end up empty handed.
There was no sunlight in this place, much less refined starlight, only a staggeringly bright light-sky, so that crossed improving his soul off the list.
As mentioned, there were no laws there, meaning he couldn’t try to use the time at hand to comprehend more of them.
The qi, however, was incredibly rich and virile. Unfortunately for Fiilan, his body tempering path was cut off and he hoped the reward from the trial would help him start his cultivation journey, thus turning it unhelpful.
Fillan was left without anything to pass his time in this supposed trial of unknown character.
To say he was vexed would be an understatement.
“Damn, damn it. Damn it all, “he barked to himself. “Who the hell would ever believe someone who goes by the name Bull Head? I brought this upon myself, goddammit!.”
Fillan had convinced himself slowly but surely that Bull Head set him up for failure from the start.
One of the people said he’d been there for over fifty years, long before Bull Head entered, yet he wasn’t informed of anything. If he truly didn’t care about keeping things secret, then this wouldn’t be the case.
Fillan reasoned there must have been some manner of hidden mechanism that feeds on people in the dungeon every so often, and Bull Head just didn’t want him to leave before that happened.
“I’ll remember that bastard; I’ll remember him well… I should have known when he started spouting nonsense about how powerful the vixen was, or her being a ‘flesh puppet’ for someone else.”
“That clearly disproved what he was saying, yet I still went along with it. Hubris! Damn hubris!”
“I’ve been here for two days; that’s two days I could have been refining my soul or improving my body tempering talent, or creating new spell patterns, or anything else than standing around like a fucking moron.”
“But…I will give it five more days,“ he decided. “If nothing happens by then, good or bad, pleasant or malicious, I’ll take the quick way out, go back to the Library of Knowledge, do exactly what I did to enter this place, kill Bull Head like the cattle he is, and then tear down whatever I can of this dungeon.”
And so the wait continued.
…
“Katesthio. Katesthio. Katesthio, “ Fillan mumbled to himself, lying in a dune of sand.
“Despite not having seen or met you before, I hate you with a burning passion! ‘Individuals with this physique mimic the legendary Katesthio, an all-devouring beast that uses the energy it gathers to establish and evolve its own innate world,’ my ass.”
“I only now realize this physique probably isn’t intended or even a possibility for humans to possess.”
“If my time-loop shatters the laws and logic of reality, then why the fuck couldn’t it just throw in some way for me to cultivate, huh?”
“Damn cheap enigmatic bastard.”
“This is really making me wonder what would happen if I become chronically poisoned…sure, my injuries heal after dying, but since the outside-introduced energy veins and core stayed, so might poison.”
“It would suck hard cock if I started every time-loop deathly poisoned; how could I function or progress in such a state?”
“Note to self, either don’t mingle with poison users, or develop a resistance to every poison imaginable. Maybe it would carry over as a talent…”
“If waiting idly is considered a poison, then I think I’m about to fucking die!”
Fillan was losing it.
Despite being an acclaimed magician, his physique was barely better than the common man, which means he needs to eat and sleep, and…defecate.
Of course, these are annoying trivialities he developed spells to counteract long ago, but this place was proving a nightmare. Or daymare…It was proving bad.
Whatever water Fillan conjured, inside his body or not, instantly disappeared.
His sleep replacement spell that essentially tricks his brain into thinking it’s sleeping when it needs to was also malfunctioning due to the brightly light sky: It possessed some bizarre effect that forced his brain to never rest.
Whatever food he created would maintain its appearance, but the second he bit into it, it would turn to sand.
That’s to say, he’s going off no sleep, with a diet consisting of blood-qi—to quench his thirst and sustenance—and sand.
Odds are that if Fillan’s body didn’t produce blood-qi automatically, and mainly through the absorption of qi, he’d have already died
“Why did I have to say five more days?” he wondered in delirium.
Despite not caring about much, Fillan was a man of his word—even when no one was around to hold him to it.
It was currently day three of his extended vacation; heat was high, and both morale and sanity were low.
Yet there was not a single change to the desert—except for gaining some food-sand.
“How long could it possibly take for Bull Head’s plan to wrap up?”
“Sigh.”
…
Two hours later—
“I wonder if my Karmic Eye of Reincarnation would still work here…”
“I guess it’s impossible for me to know…unless I use that on the surroundings…maybe…why didn’t I do that before going to Argaria?”
“I swear to god I’m way dumber this time-loop than I have ever been; why the fucking hell would I just wonder how to feel it when I have a spell tailor made for situations like that?”
“It has to be Metamorphosis! There’s clearly something I don’t know about that spell. Again I should have put more effort into it rather than just wonder why it became an advanced spell.”
“This is a decent lesson learned, but it’s still pissing me off.”
Caught up in his remembering how stupid he is, Fillan opened his Karmic Reincarnation Eye absentmindedly.
Fillan’s thoughts on the result of this were varied.
On the one hand, laws didn’t exist in this place; it was like a separate reality from the universe he knew. As such, Fillan didn’t know whether his karmic pressure, aptly produced by his karma, would have any effect here.
On the other hand, his karmic pressure was produced by the unfathomable negative karma stored in his Karmic Reincarnation Eye, meaning that the world’s outside circumstances really shouldn’t impair his ability.
“I guess there’s only one way to know for certain,” he thought, sensing the slight twitch from between his brows. “I need to make sure not to use too much mana on that, or my death will be a terribly slow and awful one.”
However, as his third eye opened completely and the amalgamous shadow within settled, before he could even begin manually casting that, the never-changing desert suddenly quaked.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Not just the desert, even the pure-light sky began to tremble.
“What is happening?” Fillan thought in amazement and shock.
Amazement because the correlation here was blindingly obvious, and shock because the dune of sand he’d been laying on parted from the middle, sending him free-falling into an unexplored abyss.
“Fuck no!” he shouted before nudging his Float circuitry.
However, to his chagrin, no matter what he tried, his mana would not react.
Activating a circuit didn't work. Manipulating it himself didn’t work. Absorbing the teeny tiny bits of mana in the air didn’t work.
Fillan was left completely without his magical means, quickly turning him into a sitting—falling—duck.
“DAMN MY CULTIVATION TALENT—” he roared, disappearing into a darkness not even the sky could illuminate.
…
Three hours later, Fillan was still falling.
…
Seven hours later, nothing changed.
…
Twelve hours later, still the same.
…
Finally, eighteen grueling, nauseating, and frankly disgusting hours later:
“My mana is working, and I can feel the laws again!”
With experienced movements, Fillan didn’t even consider the use of float before casting a massive ring of fire around himself, burning all of the debris that mysteriously appeared around him on his magic-less fall.
Only when there was no remaining trace of the debris did Fillan dare activate Float, finally stopping his descent.
“Never, ever, no matter the circumstance, no matter the reality, not even right before I die, can I talk about what happened on this trip,” he vowed with never before seriousness.
Maintaining his stoic pose—which he only did symbolically—Fillan conjured a huge stream of water which he directed straight into his mouth, and through the use of a digestion spell, absorbed what he needed quickly, while the waste disappeared.
Forced to drink his own blood for almost six days turned him gluttonous for some clean, fresh water.
Not much further down on the list of wants was proper food, which he promptly conjured as well, before scarfing it down.
“Ah, finally a respite from my nightmarish life,” he voiced in content, which was shortly ruined as he thought about what he’d just gone through.
“BULL HEAD, that disgusting, wretched whore’s son will have to suffer far more than death for what he’s done to me!”
“I’ll make him wish for death like he did me, not only once, nor twice, but until I’ve paid off this debt in full.”
“Also, where the fuck is this!?” he wondered. “It looks the exact same as every other part of the hole, so what changed?”
“Fuck it, I don’t care; let me get the fuck out of here. I’ll see if I can find a way of getting to Bull Head before I die this time round.”
Finally, like a fish in water, Fillan used his comprehension and connection with space to teleport as far down as he could.
Disappearing and appearing instantly, Fillan had crossed a distance several dozen times longer than that of his fall, yet there was still no visible difference from before.
He teleported again.
And again.
And again.
Finally, on the fourth teleportation, Fillan ended up inadvertently being forced out of his teleportation way before he was supposed to.
Like a fish onto a chopping board, Fillan slammed straight into a reality bendingly big door laying at the very bottom of the hole.
There were few discernible things about the door other than its apparent size, but it did contain a few minor engravings, each the size of a normal man.
“I’m not even going to pretend like I know what language this is, but art is universal; it’s beautifully carved. I feel a majestic sensation tingle my very soul just looking at it.”
“Also, what kind of creature is this? I’ve never seen or heard of a creature that is half octopus, half human with wings, horns, seven eyes, and three mouths.”
“When in doubt, use that. I didn’t get to use it earlier and it’s rearing to get into action.”
Despite being, technically and practically, more advanced than Plasmatic Annihilator simply due to the sheer amount of spells involved, that—which really needs to get a name—required far less time to activate.
This had two reasons: 1. That was Fillan’s second divine spell, giving him more experience in crafting and engraving it, therefore solving a lot of inadequacies that Plasmatic Annihilator has. 2. That has countless different abilities, most of which Fillan has yet to discover; it only partially activates whenever he currently uses it, meaning it circumvents having to remedy the damage to law and universal structure.
Plasmatic Annihilator is a greatly destructive piece of magic that requires a continuous manipulation of the universe’s workings, while it also destroys the order induced and maintained by laws.
That, however, at least to his current insight, does not do this.
After just shy of a minute guiding his mana carefully, it suddenly transmuted successfully, causing Fillan to guide it through his mana well and into the world. However, rather than disperse it like he normally would, he strenuously forced the mana to remain transmuted as he directed it towards the different engravings.
“Divine Ability: Time as My Teacher,” he thought in excitement.
This was the exact reason Fillan had such a hard time naming the spell; it had too many “divine” abilities, not to mention all the thousands of other normal spells and abilities it possesses.
With a bizarre buzzing sound, the near incomprehensible and barely discernible image of a long silver river stretching from nothing into infinity appeared.
This was the river of time, the source of all development and change. It, however, was not really the focal point of the spell. If Fillan really tried, he could summon a similar image with his time comprehension, so it wasn’t as impressive as it looked.
The river of time, suddenly, began to split into thousands, millions, then billions of tributaries, all slowly inching towards the engravings they were summoned in front of.
It was not until every trace of words or imagery on the door was covered in silver tentacle-like strands that they stopped moving.
The river which was originally raging turned calm as Fillan could feel the universe around him come to a complete freeze, including his physical body. Only his mind was active, seeing the outside world from an odd out-of-body perspective.
If he wasn’t careful, he might start hugging trees when he returns.
The very instant the river of time calmed down, the exact opposite happened to the tributaries.
With an uproarious spectacle of splashing and clashing water, the billions of tributaries—still covering the engravings—quickly fought and vanquished each other, before assimilating them.
Even in the frozen time, it was not long before the billions of tiny tendrils turned into thirty major fragments of the river of time.
One fragment for each engraving, language and figure both.
“Here we go,” Fillan thought giddily. “I wonder what it will show me this time.”
Under Fillan’s expectant eyes, the river of time began to fade, leaving only the fragments connecting to where its phantom previously was. Then, like they were straws, the silver liquid inside the fragments began to flow backwards at insurmountable, illogical, unfathomable speeds.
In doing so, it caused a similar change in the world around Fillan.
Just as quickly as they came, both Fillan and the hole he fell down disappeared. Sand now covered the immaculate door, but did nothing to erode it.
Despite being “covered” in the sand, it was like it had become incapable of disrupting his vision, still allowing Fillan a full view of the door’s engravings.
The silver liquid in the rivers was slowly but surely almost totally emptied, and only when this happened, did the scene in front of Fillan change once again.
“Billions,” Fillan shuddered in horror.
Every second experienced during the retreat of river water equals a million years, no matter whether he’s researching something from two minutes or two million years ago.
Fillan had been intently counting, but slowly lost track when he reached the fifteenth minute mark.
He was certain, though, that more than twenty minutes but less than half an hour passed, indicating that what he was about to watch happened at least 1.2 billion years ago.
‘I guess this place wasn’t always a sandy nightmare.’
The sand Fillan knew and hated fully disappeared when the scene stopped changing.
Instead, a sturdy rock-like channel leading straight to an azure glow, took its place.
Fillan knew for certain that it was the same hole he fell in earlier, but he’d be damned if it didn’t almost fool him with how different it was.
Equally obvious was the lack of engravings on the huge metal slab in front of him.
Suddenly, with a startle, Fillan directed his “vision” upwards, only to see two creatures appear at a leisurely pace.
One was a respectable looking middle-aged man dressed in plain white robes, the other a creature with an octopus bottom, and human top.
‘Thank god I can’t be affected by anything here; the very universe seems to be shaking just from their walking. I’d probably be turned into mush by looking at them.’
The two individuals slowly approached the metal slap without saying a word. It was important to note that the old man had a saddened expression, while the other one looked at peace.
Then, in a language he had never ever even thought possible, seemingly with each word resonating with the universe itself, the middle-aged man began to talk.
Despite not having any reason or right to know what he was saying, Fillan obtained a clear
understanding nonetheless. It was like someone added an automatic translation cipher straight into his brain.
“Are you truly certain, old friend?” he queried. “There’s no need for this.”
“My time has come, Balfus,” the hybrid responded. “You might not feel or believe it, but my death is certain; I might as well die on my own terms.”
“There is no such thing as certainty for beings at our level; fate has long since lost its hold on us,” Balfus rebutted.
“Never has my intuition been wrong,” the hybrid continued, undisturbed by Balfus’ arguments. “The moment I failed to evolve my inner world into a universe, a looming sense of destruction, decay, and certain death has lingered around me. There is no reason to pretend, Balfus, I know you of all people can not be blind to such matters.”
“What are you suggesting!?” Balfus exclaimed, dropping his calm and saddened façade. “We stand at the apex of the universe, Katesthio, only if we want to die can it happen. No matter the attack, no matter the injury, if we do not want to be affected by it, then we will not.”
‘That’s Katesthio? That’s the thing my physique is trying to imitate? I won’t have to look like that to cultivate right? Would it even be worth it at that point? Also, did he say he was trying to evolve his inner world into a universe? They can’t die unless they want to? What kind of entities are these men?’
Lots of questions, not a lot of answers.
“Isn’t what I’m suggesting obvious?” Katesthio asked. “What exactly do you think I would have become if I truly established my own universe? What knowledge would the creatures born there have of me, their creator? There is always a bigger fish, Balfus, always.”
“It is impossible for this universe to have a creator; I have verified the mana-qi origin theory myself,” Balfus proclaimed with certainty. “I will not yield on this.”
“If my world can turn into a universe, then what is stopping a universe from evolving further?” Katesthio asked rhetorically. “I know changing your mind is not plausible, so I will not bother trying; just remember never to become complacent. Because, if you do, you will end up dead without even knowing how.”
Clearly done with this conversation which, although not verbatim, had been had countless times before, Katesthio landed on the door with grace.
Each of his eight tentacles made grabs into thin air, creating ripples from which eight chisels appeared.
With his two human hands, he made a grasping gesture towards the lower abdomen—where the energy core is found in humans—before pulling violently.
Instantly, the nice rocks Fillan had finally gotten used to began to crumble into crude grains of sand.
The azure glow from higher up in the hole slowly started shifting towards a much brighter tone, before turning fully white.
All the while Katesthio’s tentacles never stopped chiseling the door.
Intermittently, he’d flail his seemingly empty hands towards the in progress engravings, totaling three flails per one.
Despite not changing outwardly, Fillan, still remaining unaffected, could barely comprehend an intrinsic evolution taking place wherever and whenever Katesthio flailed his hands.
‘Is this place Katesthio’s inner world, and did he just use its origins or something to spruce up his final art piece? I was clearly wrong about Bull Head lying about what kind of place this is, but didn’t he promise inheritances and great treasures? Then why the fuck is this bumbling octopus throwing it all away right before my eyes!?
Fillan was close to having a mental breakdown. At once, he was experiencing both the beauty of a master craftsman at work, but also unbearable heartache at the wasted opportunity.
Since they shared the same, or at least had similar, physiques, Fillan could probably directly inherit Katesthio world, and to see it being wasted like this was like lining up for someone to spit in his face.
‘I would rather not have known! There’s no damn justice in this world! I mingled in iron-stained-poop and urine only to have the thing—no, something much better than the thing I hoped I could get from here—discarded like stale water. Only now do I realize this is far from being a lucky encounter, it’s universal retribution!’
“You have truly outdone yourself this time, Katesthio,” Balfus commented with respect shining through his dissatisfaction. “Never has a Cosmic used their entire cultivation to birth a perfect piece of art before, and I doubt anyone ever will again.”
“Haha, I’m glad you like it,” Katesthio chuckled. “Despite failing in the end, I still want my tombstone to radiate with the majesty and might I possessed going against the natural order. Plus, how could I willingly pass on knowing a tombstone better than mine could one day appear in your cemetery?”
‘For the benefit of future generations, you selfish, ignorant, petty loser! Just die in modesty, damn it. How in ever-loving tarnation does a tombstone matter to a dead man—octopus-man?’