Creation Of All Things

The tremble didn't fade.

It grew.

Ripped.

Unfolded.

The silence that had once cradled Adam like a forgotten memory now recoiled—like it knew what was about to be born.

And then it happened.

One flicker.

Then another.

Then a dozen.

All around him, the void began to split—but not from violence. From intention.

Echoes stepped out.

Each one… him.

Same eyes. Same weight. Same fury held back only by sheer control. They moved as one. Not like soldiers.

But like aspects.

Of a mind that had shattered itself on purpose.

Adam opened his eyes slowly, golden irises glowing with something vast.

Something new.

Each version of him blinked into place—some cloaked in red, others in black, others shifting with smoke and light. They radiated calm precision.

One drifted toward a fading star system to scan timelines.

Another shot through a gap in space, chasing scent trails of erased events.

Two knelt down and placed their palms into the bones of fractured reality, letting raw data bleed into their skin.

One simply stood on air, unraveling equations that had never been written.

And the real Adam—

The center.

He remained still.

Floating.

Breathing.

Becoming.

He shut his eyes again.

And the system woke.

You have created a conceptual power.

Generating record…

Ability Created: [Ω - Absolute Sight: Chrono-Dominion]

Description:

An ultimate omniperspective ability, forged by the Monarch of Unwritten Law, Adam. Chrono-Dominion grants the user total dominion over all aspects of foresight and reality prediction. Not limited by fate, time, probability, or interference, it observes all possible timelines, variants, dimensional echoes, and non-linear temporal anomalies—across all levels of existence, even realms that do not yet exist.

Where Eclipse Sight stops—Chrono-Dominion begins.

With this ability, the user may:

See the Beginning and End of any action, decision, or interference across any universe, whether observed or hidden.

Lock or Remove specific futures from reality as if they never existed.

Summon Future Versions of the self to manifest in real-time, each equipped with knowledge and outcome from their timeline.

Inhabit Multiple Points of Time Simultaneously, allowing the user to exist across overlapping events without paradox.

Bypass Prophecy Locks, metaphysical barriers, or fate-cursed threads.

Witness the thoughts, memories, and inner echoes of future selves—even those that never lived.

Seal or Alter another being's future with a glance.

This ability does not generate energy.

It rewrites inevitability.

Adam's breath was calm now.

But the air around him wept.

Cracks webbed through the void.

Not broken—but reshaped. Like glass being melted and blown into new forms.

His aura pulsed once.

And all the alternate Adams blinked in sync—receiving something. A command.

They moved again, scattering through the spaces between dimensions like ghosts unleashed. No signal. No voice. They just knew.

Adam opened his eyes.

There was no color in them now.

Only truth.

He lifted one hand—and closed his fingers.

Time stilled.

The threads of fate, already distant and hard to trace, snapped into view—not as lines, but as veins. Arteries of outcome, pumping in every direction. Stretching far into voids that shouldn't even be real.

He didn't smile.

Didn't rage.

He simply spoke.

"I don't need to chase fate anymore."

A pulse rippled from his chest, wide and slow. And as it passed, the stars flickered into sharp, high-detail—every point in the cosmos suddenly clear.

"I am the lens."

Another Adam stepped beside him, handing him a single fragment—glowing silver, hot like a memory on fire.

The real Adam closed his hand over it.

As Adam gripped the fragment of erased memory handed to him by one of his other selves, the light surged—hot, erratic, barely stable. This was no ordinary timeline. It fought to remain unseen. Fought against being remembered.

But Adam wasn't just remembering.

He was commanding history to show itself.

The void around him twisted, then broke like a mirror underwater, forming a jagged portal that didn't just open—it bled.

The vision unfolded.

A world stood still—lush, familiar. The original universe, just days before the vanishing.

The cities were alive.

His faction was whole.

Families walked the great sky-bridges. Arcane transport lines shimmered through the air. His people were laughing, working, unaware of the shadow peeling into reality like paper soaked in oil.

Then—

Everything froze.

Not paused.

Held.

Time didn't stop naturally. It was grabbed.

The light dimmed.

Color drained from everything except one figure—

Standing midair above the capital's heart.

A being draped in a robe that shimmered like oil over water. No face. Just a smooth mask of shadow and static. His presence felt not from this story. A character misplaced by something older.

He raised one hand.

Fingers long, abstract—like broken pieces of space-time themselves.

He looked around. Not at the world, but through it. As if judging the quality of the narrative.

Then he spoke.

Not loudly.

Not angrily.

But with finality.

"False gods always forget what silence sounds like… until they're forced to listen."

He slowly turned his hand upward—revealing nothing inside his palm… and yet everything shifted.

Reality panicked.

The skies fractured into glass mosaics. Rivers ran backward. Suns blinked like faulty lights. And then, all sound collapsed into itself—swallowed by the crushing pressure of something impossible.

Then, the masked being lowered his hand—

And snapped his fingers.

The world did not explode.

It forgot to exist.

One heartbeat—

Everything vanished.

Not faded.

Not shattered.

Just gone.

Like a scene deleted from a script that was never written.

The people. The cities. The sky itself.

No screams. No resistance.

Just… absence.

Back in the Void — Vision Ends

Adam's hand jerked open, the memory-fragment burning out in his palm like ash soaked in lightning.

His clones froze. Turned.

The void itself winced—as if that act, that snap, carried weight even here.

Adam stood still for a moment, the image of that faceless figure echoing in the shadows of his mind.

"…You're not just a god-killer," Adam whispered, voice cold.

"You're a narrator."

He stared into the dark. At the place the vision had come from.

"Then let's rewrite the story together."

And as his aura surged again, brighter this time, he whispered one more line to no one—

And to everyone.

"Let's see how long you last when the plot fights back."