Dalton sat in the heart of the forest, the air thick with the hum of spirits. Elementals flickered in and out of sight, drawn instinctively to him, yet none dared approach. They could feel it—the weight of something, deeper, greater than this world's laws.
He raised his claw, golden light spilling across the trees. A single sigil detached from his scales, floating before him. It shimmered, warped, then took form.
A wizard clock legs arms and eyes appeared, holding an oversized staff. Its eyes gleamed mischievously as it spun the clock hand on its face back and forth.
Dalton smirked. "Time Wizard. Let's see how far we can take this."
The spirit cackled, spinning its clock. The air twisted. The forest blurred. Dalton felt the whole world around him stutter, then fracture.
In an instant, the present was gone.
Dalton stood in a void of pure possibility, a place before form, before life, before rules. There was no forest, no sky—only the primal sea of elemental energy, roiling in chaos. This was the birth of the Blade Dance world, the beginning before even spirits had taken shape.
And at the center of it pulsed a vast, luminous heart.
The Spiritual Origin. The font from which all spirits would be born.
Dalton's draconic body shuddered with hunger. The spirits inside him whispered wildly, sensing what he sensed. If he consumed this source, if he rewrote it, then every spirit in this world—past, present, and future—would trace back to him.
The crimson Dragon bared his teeth.
"Then let's make this world mine."
He lunged.
Golden sigils flared across his body as he wrapped himself around the Origin, claws sinking into its radiant surface. It resisted, lashing out with elemental fury—firestorms, floods, quakes of pure ether. But Dalton's body was more than flesh. He was an entire cosmology. The Duel Monsters spirits poured from him in an endless tide: dragons devouring flames, magicians unraveling ether, machines absorbing currents.
Bit by bit, the Origin weakened. Its light dimmed. Its resistance faltered.
And then Dalton devoured it whole.
The void convulsed. Where once there had been a neutral font of elemental life, now there was him. His golden sigils spread outward, weaving themselves into the laws of creation. Spirits no longer sang in wild chaos—they echoed with Yu-Gi-Ohs' order. Archetypes, attributes, etched themselves into the bones of the world.
When Dalton opened his eyes, the forest had returned. The world was as it had been—yet utterly changed.
The spirits circling the trees were no longer only fire wisps, wind sylphs, or water sprites. In addition to them their were spirits from Yu-Gi-Oh a Flame Swordsman a Harpie Lady, a deep Sea diva
They weren't his summons. They were native spirits of this world. But they carried his mark.
Dalton exhaled, smoke curling from his nostrils. His voice was low, reverent, and victorious.
"I am the origin. From this day on, every spirit in this world is born of me."
The Time Wizard dissolved back into him, its clock hand frozen at the very beginning.
Dalton rose, wings unfurling.
"This isn't just any world anymore. This world belongs to me."
The forest whispered in agreement, countless spirits bowing unconsciously to their new progenitor.