Chapter 25: Millennium of Solitude
Jay made a decision early on, long before power, titles, or systems ever became part of my existence. In this phase of my life, Jay would rely on no external authority. No system prompts. No hidden assists. No rewards handed down by something pretending to be benevolent. Everything Jay built here would be his alone. I began from the only place that could never lie to me: my body.
Not energy. Not cultivation stages. Not romanticized paths of enlightenment filled with chanting and bottleneck breakthroughs. Flesh, bone, nerves, cells, and the consciousness anchored to them. Jay understood something fundamental that most cultivators never did. Energy could be stolen. Systems could be disabled. Laws could be rewritten. But his body rebuilt at the level of existence itself could endure even when everything else collapsed.
What Jay undertook could not properly be called cultivation anymore. It was closer to existential reconstruction. Every cell was examined, broken down, reassembled, and rewritten to withstand pressure far beyond conventional reality. Jay was not strengthening muscles; Jay was redefining what it meant for a body to exist. Density, durability, adaptability, continuity. These were no longer biological traits, but structural axioms.
There was no named technique. No ancient manual. No grandmaster's inheritance. Only iterative refinement guided by instinct and perception. By the standards of external classification systems, the result was clear enough. The minimum threshold of this method allowed stable existence at High 1-A levels of reality pressure. Not because of energy output, but because Jay's body itself no longer depended on lower-dimensional assumptions.
Time lost its meaning during this process. Pain became background noise. Sensation dulled, sharpened, vanished, returned. When I finally stopped, when Jay finally allowed himself to assess the passage of time, my own estimate placed it at roughly five hundred years.
Jay Pov
It was during this endless reconstruction that I noticed something deeply unsettling. My memories of a so-called previous life were not wrong, but they were not fully authentic either. They felt curated. Adjusted. As if someone had assembled them with intent rather than letting them form naturally. I could not yet prove manipulation, but the suspicion took root.
At the same time, I became aware of seals.
Not metaphors. Not psychological blocks. Actual restrictions embedded into my existence. Layers of suppressed authority, folded inward and locked away. I could feel their scale. Their weight. Their absurd potential. Whoever placed them had done so with care, not malice, and that alone disturbed me more than hostility ever could.
Of all those seals, I managed to release only one.
Void Body.
I knew the name instantly. Not because I remembered learning it, but because the knowledge surfaced as if it had always been part of me. The concept was simple and terrifying. My body no longer occupied a single definitive state of existence. I existed in the threshold between presence and absence. Physical attacks lost traction. Metaphysical interference slid off. Conceptual assaults found no foothold. You cannot destroy what is not fully anchored.
What unsettled me most was not the power, but the familiarity. I knew this ability too well for someone who had never consciously learned it. Yet there was no corresponding memory. No reference point. Just certainty.
And then came the realization that shattered what little comfort I still had.
i was fictional.
Not as an insult. Not as an abstraction. I understood, with chilling clarity, that I existed within a narrative framework. I was being written, observed, structured. And somehow, impossibly, I was aware of it. I did not rage. I did not panic. I laughed. Quietly. Briefly.
If this was a story, then I would not be a passive character. I would be the one who bent the narrative until it screamed.
"damn i'm a character in a story…. hey you guys see this right? I hope you can enjoy my story if the author is not messed up"
3rd Pov
When the reconstruction phase ended, Jay tested himself with a simple action. A small jump. Nothing dramatic. The result was immediate and instructive. jay crossed an absurd distance in an instant, my landing destabilizing the surrounding space. That was when I understood the problem.
Jay's foundation had changed completely.
Every stance, every movement, every instinct jay possessed was calibrated for a weaker body. The output jay produced was wildly disproportionate to the intent behind it. This mismatch was dangerous, not just to others, but to the integrity of reality around jay.
"Sigh… So I need to start over again? well not like that was hard tough"
So Jay started over.
From nothing.
Jay relearned how to stand. How to shift weight. How to breathe without tearing the air apart. He stripped combat down to its barest elements and rebuilt it from the ground up, forcing Jay's instincts to realign with his new existence.
Martial arts were not new to Jay. Even before everything else, Jay had already mastered every known fighting style on Earth. Striking, grappling, weapons, internal, external. Boxing, Taekwondo, Muay Thai, Bajiquan, Wing Chun, Judo, Wrestling, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Sambo, Silat, Kali, Kendo, Kenjutsu, HEMA.
That detail matters. His body was not normal even then. At five years old, he had the height and skeletal strength of a ten-year-old child. His musculature, bone density, and resilience were already sufficient to endure brutal physical training without damage. Even so, the difficulty was not physical. It was restraint. This phase alone took five full years of focused effort. I'm amazing right guys? well not that amazing though at least i have no "cheat" back then!
However, his mastery achieved under one framework does almost automatically. The presence of the Mori Jin template made relearning easier, almost automatic.
"I think this is good enough... but let's do it until it's perfect"
He re-executed every technique until it reached true perfection. Not functional competence. Not practical effectiveness. Absolute refinement. Each movement expressed with zero waste, zero instability, zero excess force.
Controlling aura. Suppressing output. Ensuring that a strike meant to incapacitate did not annihilate. That was the true challenge.
This retraining period stretched on far longer than it should have. Roughly two hundred years passed as he refined control, discipline, and intent. To me, it felt interminable. Necessary, but exhausting.
"sigh… it's really really hard to control my power, but it's okay atleast now I'm not destroying a multiversal just by my presence alone… I hope Prometheus has something that hold my power and dimensionality.
Only after that did I move on.
After, Jay experimented with magic—particularly the forbidden arts of Hegemony God Mercurius.
He started with Sequere Naturam.
The stars gathered around him, pulled by gravity that wasn't physical but conceptual. He condensed their light into his palms. The sphere pulsed like a heart—each beat threatening to rupture reality itself. When he released it, it expanded into a supernova that devoured its own dimension.
Jay watching the inferno consume entire universes of thought.
Even contained, the energy annihilated everything.
He sighed. "Hiss… Way too much power for casual use."
Next, Disce Libens.
He compressed entire stars, forcing them into a singularity. The dimension screamed. Space warped, reality cracked, and everything began collapsing toward a single point. He had to rewind the event manually before it consumed him.
"I can mimic it."
With my current capacity, even a minor misalignment could erase a region of space unintentionally. I trained magic as one would train surgery, not warfare. Control at microscopic and conceptual scales. Perfect modulation of output. Absolute awareness of cause and effect.
I did not limit myself to inherited systems or familiar magical grammars. I studied magic as a universal phenomenon. Conceptual authority. Meta-magic. Law manipulation. Narrative interference. Causality and acausality spellcraft. Imaginary structures. Void applications. True creation.
And Absolute Magic.
Absolute Magic isn't power.
That's the first mistake people make.
Power implies comparison.
More or less. Stronger or weaker. Win or lose.
Absolute Magic exists before those questions are allowed to form.
Most magic bends reality by forcing it to comply. Mana is injected, formulas are executed, laws are overwritten through brute authority or refined technique. Even the most advanced spells still rely on possibility—the chance that the spell activates, the chance that it succeeds.
Absolute Magic rejects that premise entirely.
It does not attempt anything.
It declares.
When I say something using Absolute Magic, I am not casting a spell. I am stating a fact that reality is no longer permitted to argue with. There is no activation phase, no failure rate, no resistance. The concept of "counterplay" simply doesn't exist, because counters require uncertainty—and uncertainty is forbidden here.
If I say "This exists," then existence is already settled.
If I say "That does not exist," then it never truly did.
Not destroyed.
Not erased.
It Invalidated things.
That distinction matters.
Destruction acknowledges that something once was. Absolute Magic denies even that courtesy. It retroactively decides what was allowed to be real in the first place.
This is why Absolute Magic is dangerous—not to enemies, but to reality itself.
Reality survives by branching. By allowing outcomes to diverge, probabilities to fluctuate, stories to continue. Absolute Magic collapses all branches into a single, final answer. No alternatives. No retries. No "what if."
It is judgment, not violence.
That's also why intent matters more than will. Hesitation contaminates certainty. If doubt exists, Absolute Magic fails—not because it's weak, but because the statement itself becomes logically flawed.
You cannot say "I will win."
That implies the possibility of loss.
You can only say "I win."
Even then, it must be true in your mind before reality is forced to accept it.
Absolute Magic doesn't operate on the physical layer of the world. It doesn't even operate on the conceptual layer where laws, time, and causality reside.
It operates on the narrative layer.
The part of existence that decides what is canon.
That's why fate bends around it. That's why destiny stutters. That's why even gods hesitate—because gods still play roles written within the story, while Absolute Magic speaks from the position of the editor.
And yes… that includes me.
Which leads to the most uncomfortable truth of all.
If Absolute Magic works this way, then it means something above the universe exists—something that defines what is "true" before reality begins.
And if I can access that authority…
I know this world is fiction.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
I don't say this out of arrogance..
I can edit things out.
That's why I limit its use.
Not because I can't erase enemies, concepts, or entire continuities…
…because it's not fun.
Absolute Magic is not a weapon.
It's a full stop.
And once placed—
Nothing comes after it.
"This one is quite good. i like it so i can literal at least if there is no boundless i'm quite safe"
Every branch that mattered.
His target was clear. At minimum, Tier H1-A operational capacity. Not theoretical. Practical. Usable.
This took one hundred uninterrupted years.
After that came something unexpected. The powers associated with Kamen Rider.
At first, I thought it would be superficial. Aesthetic. Symbolic. I was wrong. I discovered that I could not only access Rider powers, but also their signature techniques. Including the dimensional partitioning ability known as Aurora Curtain, originally wielded by Kadoya Tsukasa.
It allowed me to sever and traverse dimensions with ease.
More than that, I could access the full spectrum of Kamen Rider power from Heisei through the Reiwa eras. Not just the Riders themselves, but the intrinsic potential of their users. Wishes made real. Reality bent by intent.
This exploration lasted only a few days. Enough to understand the scope. Enough to set it aside.
He thought about Akeno's mother—about whether this power could restore what was lost. "Maybe… I'll test it someday."
The final phase was the most dangerous.
Divine Concepts.
Not divine powers. Not godly abilities. Concepts themselves. The foundational meanings that reality uses to define itself.
I deliberately excluded anything tied to race, bloodline, or mythological species. No vampiric authorities. No undead persistence. No blood-based dominion. What I sought were universal constants.
At the core of everything I anchored two concepts.
Beginning.
End.
The beginning was not creation, but potential. The point before form, before decision, before differentiation. The end was not destruction, but finality. Closure without continuation.
From these two, all others aligned.
I assimilated concepts of creation, non-existence, void, infinity. Time and fate. Probability and uncertainty. Causality and acausality. Space, order, chaos, law, authority. Life and death, defined without undead distortion. Consciousness, identity, emotion.
I incorporated abstractions such as fear, despair, hope, madness, negativity. Social constructs like war.
Knowledge, memory, change, stillness. Destruction as a cosmic function. Apocalypse as transition.
Two hundred years have passed in this state.
I mastered them all.
The problem was Beauty.
The concept manifested uncontrollably. My presence alone was enough to kill or shatter the minds of ordinary beings. Those with sufficient strength would fall in love regardless of reason, gender, or existing bonds. My body emitted a pheromonal effect comparable to a divine aphrodisiac.
"Not good!! this is dangerous!"
I suppressed it.
I created tools to dampen charm. Glasses. Masks. Full facial coverings with layered anti-charm constructs. Even then, it was barely enough. I engineered a suppressant for my own presence, something as mundane as a deodorant, refined to conceptual levels.
Only then could I exist among others.
When everything was finished, Prometheus intervened one final time. Not with a reward, but with a necessity. The ability to regulate my own existential weight. Not to weaken myself, but to remain compatible with lower-dimensional reality.
Because the truth was simple.
I no longer belonged to a normal dimensional framework.
I was already outerversal, approaching a boundary I could not yet cross. The seals remained.
AN: If you wondering what it was it was op as fuck
Return to the World
Jay opened a portal and stepped through.
The first thing he felt was the morning breeze—cool, fresh, and real. The scent of grass, the sound of distant birds. Dawn had just broken.
He glanced at the time. 5:00 A.M.
He had entered at 10:00 P.M.
Only seven hours had passed.
<< Welcome back, Master, >> Caelira's voice chimed, calm and firm. << No disturbances detected during your absence. Everything remained stable. >>
Jay smiled faintly. "Good job. You kept watch while I was gone."
<< That was my duty. However… I suggest rest. One hundred years of uninterrupted training, even in temporal isolation, taxes the psyche. >>
He laughed lightly. "I'm fine, Caelira. Don't worry so much."
<< My concern is not physical fatigue. It's mental. Isolation corrodes even the strongest minds. >>
He smiled wryly. "You sound like a therapist."
After a long shower and fresh clothes, Jay cooked breakfast—toast, scrambled eggs, coffee. The smell of caffeine grounded him better than meditation.
Prometheus's voice interrupted the quiet.
[DING! Your current existential density exceeds the tolerance limit of standard three-dimensional worlds. Without regulation, passive presence alone would result in spatial erosion..]
[Stability threshold achieved. Further uncontrolled growth is not recommended.]
[Regulator initialized. Compatibility with lower-dimensional reality confirmed.]
"So that's what this is," I said. "A leash?"
[Incorrect. This is a regulator, not a restraint. You are not being weakened. Your existence is being translated.]
I flexed my fingers. The pressure I had grown used to felt… folded. Compressed into something manageable.
"Meaning I can finally exist without breaking the room just by breathing," I said.
[Correct.]
I leaned back against nothing, staring into the conceptual space.
"And the seals?" I asked. "You know who put them there."
There was a longer pause this time.
[Information access denied. you still too weak]
",,,, if some one other than you say that i will be pissed off"
[If you are already aware of it then you know that "memories" are planted right?]
"No comment and not now. I want to enjoy myself right now"
After a millennium of solitude, the world was loud again—bright, alive, full of warmth and chaos.
<
Caelira spoke once.
That was all.
He smiled softly to himself.
"Yeah," he murmured. "It's good to be back."