A look of absolute, unshakeable determination settled across Anil's face. The heavy burden of indecision had finally lifted.
The grueling process of forging these twin techniques had not broken him; instead, it had tempered his soul, leaving his mind clearer than it had been in millennia. To make these arts as flawless as possible, he had spent ages peering into the foundational laws of almost every universe in existence. Standing there in the void, he knew with absolute certainty that the value of these two scrolls far exceeded any technique that had ever surfaced since the dawn of the Cosmos. It was no exaggeration to call them the supreme arts of all eternity.
Yet, a cruel paradox awaited him.
Despite his unparalleled genius, he faced an insurmountable wall: he could not practice them. No matter how he strained his celestial divinity, no matter how many setups he attempted over a frustrating century, the second part of the Primordial Origin Art remained completely locked to him. It was as if the cosmic fabric itself was actively repelling his efforts.
Slowly, the bitter truth dawned on him. He could not absorb the Origin energy of another universe because his current, god-like form was already permanently stamped with the brand of his home universe.
To Anil, the distinction was clear. Origin Laws and Origin Energy were entirely different concepts. It was possible for him to comprehend the Origin Laws because every universe shared the same fundamental laws—the only difference lay in their stability. The more stable a universe's laws, the higher its tier.
But Origin Energy was the literal lifeblood of a cosmos. It was the primordial fuel burning at the core of existence, and it alone dictated the lifespan of a universe.
Even a Celestial being, whose lifespan was said to rival the heavens, was not truly immortal. Their eternity was an illusion; they could only live for as long as their home universe's Origin Energy remained unexhausted. When the core died, the gods died with it. A low-tier universe typically burned out after twenty trillion years, while a magnificent high-tier universe might stretch its lifespan to one hundred trillion. But eventually, the dark winter claimed them all.
Realizing that his current celestial body was too rigid to adapt, Anil came to a radical, terrifying conclusion: he had to separate his celestial soul from his physical form.
His plan was precise yet perilous. He would use the first form of the Primordial Origin Art to siphon a fraction of Origin energy from a newly born universe, using that raw, unblemished catalyst to circulate the Universe Origin Body Art and fortify his naked soul first.
Finding a newborn universe was a monumental task. While ancient universes collapsed into ash every trillion years, the birth of a new one was an agonizingly slow, miraculous process. A nascent cosmos had to absorb and anchor the three thousand great laws to build a stable foundation, and then spend at least another billion years just to kindle worlds capable of nurturing living beings. Anil had watched this cycle of cosmic birth and death for eons, studying the very fabric of life.
He would be reborn as a crying babe, starting his cultivation journey from the absolute ground zero.
Yet, he refused to let his two million years of accumulated celestial power go to waste. Traveling to the absolute fringes of the Cosmos, Anil found a remote, isolated universe—one completely devoid of a high-level cultivation system. It was a barren, quiet place. Perfect. He hid his near-invincible celestial body within a dimensional fold of this silent universe, sealing the space with a barrier no lower deity could ever hope to pierce.
With his anchor secured, the ritual began.
In the vast, silent void, Anil's soul detached from his flesh. The spirit looked identical to his physical form, but it glowed with a soft, ethereal, bioluminescent blue. It hung suspended in the dark, tethered to the comatose body on the ground by a single Silver Cord—a fraying, blindingly brilliant lifeline that pulsed violently like an overloaded power line.
With a final, roaring burst of will, Anil severed the connection.
The celestial soul shattered. Like a stream of light hitting a prism, his spirit fractured into a spectrum of infinite possibilities. The brightest, purest spark—carrying the core of his consciousness and a massive reservoir of compressed Origin energy—was caught by a roaring celestial current. It plummeted through the cosmic layers, screaming with raw, untamed power.
The spark tore through the boundaries of countless worlds, hurtling deep into a remote, forgotten corner of the galaxy.
Before it appeared a tiny solar system: nine planets orbiting a single, massive star that burned a violent, boiling red, violently lashing the vacuum with terrifying solar flares.
The brilliant blue spark shot past the boiling star, plunging toward a vibrant, blue-green planet. It descended upon an inconspicuous, quiet island, effortlessly slipping through the roof of a modest home where a man and a woman lay sleeping soundly, completely unaware that the heavens had just opened above them.
Here, in the quiet dark of a mundane world, the epic of the universe's greatest celestial being ended—and the story of a human named Krishak began. A man destined to reshape a fragile, warring planet called Earth, to tear down the artificial divisions of humanity, and to silence the drums of war forever.