Inside an Abandoned Orphanage Home
Jun Hao
A young man in his twenties stared at the ceiling, wondering if he would ever experience a night of dreamless sleep. He prayed to God for deliverance, but sleep eluded him no matter how he positioned himself.
The bright light from the window illuminated his face, revealing traces of loneliness and helplessness. "It's already morning, huh? I can't even sleep. And if I do, I have the same nightmare of a ghost chasing me."
He slowly rose from his bed and walked to the restroom, each step echoing in the empty orphanage. In the mirror, he saw his reflection—a young man with a ring on his right hand, his face a mixture of fear, anger, and hatred. Tears streamed down his cheeks, showing his exhaustion and remorse.
"I wish I had the talent to cultivate, or at least that someone in my family had survived the Nyx outbreak. Why can't I even sleep anymore? It's been five days."
After dressing in his usual clothes, he stepped out of the empty orphanage and headed to a nearby bar. Five minutes later, he arrived, greeted by the luxurious interior with a gentle smile.
A female bartender with blonde hair and dressed in black and white corporate clothing greeted him respectfully. "Sir, what would you like to have today?"
"I need something that can make me sleep. I haven't slept for five days."
The bartender quickly wrote down his order. "That will be 2000 AMB, sir."
Jun Hao searched his pockets, retrieved 2000 AMB, and handed it to the bartender. She mixed various liquors into a large white glass of wine. "This will definitely make you sleep since you're not a cultivator."
Jun Hao grabbed the glass and drank the liquor as if the world were ending.
"Slow down, mister," the bartender retorted.
He hastily finished the drink and rushed back to the orphanage, feeling sleepy for the first time in days. Upon returning, he quickly undressed and went straight to bed. His consciousness faded, and he found himself in an unknown place.
It was dark—dark enough to be called infinite darkness. He couldn't see anything and heard only faint noises. He decided to sleep in this darkness, but a voice called his name.
"Jun Hao."
Jun Hao's rage flared. "Let me sleep, please! What have you not taken from me? My family is dead. My mom and dad died protecting this ring, and with their last breaths, they gave it to me. I don't want it. I don't want the position of the family head."
Tears streamed down his pale face, his red-circled eyes and grey hair making him look truly miserable. The voice asked, "Do you truly not want it?"
"Who are you? No, what are you? Why are you tormenting me?" Jun Hao demanded.
The darkness fell silent. "I am the first cultivator and the ancestor of the Jun family. I was once called the Echoes of Genesis. Though I was killed, I placed a part of my soul into this ring so that the fated one could inherit its power."
"Enough, stop talking! I don't want power. What would I even cultivate for? Immortality? To become a god? I have no such goals. I wasn't a good child to my parents when they were alive. What is the point of this power you want to offer me? I don't want to hear it. If you were my ancestor, you would have at least helped the citizens in this village."
Jun Hao shouted, his voice echoing his regrets and frustration. The soul of the Echoes of Genesis looked at him with pity and slowly approached him.
Standing before Jun Hao, the soul smirked. "You can resurrect your entire village, including your father and mother if you cultivate hard enough. But you must listen to me attentively. I will die in 24 hours, and there's nothing you can do if you don't listen."
"I am going to tell you a story—a story of a god and his creations."
Jun Hao, confused, asked, "Sir, do you mean to say that if I am strong enough, I could resurrect my entire family and the villagers who died from the dimension outbreak?"
The spirit, furious, replied, "Yes, that's what I just told you, you monkey. Now listen to what I have to say. It's a long story, but I will cut it as short as possible."
"In the beginning, there was only Chaos. A formless, boundless void teeming with raw, untamed energy. From this chaotic soup, a being of unimaginable power coalesced—an Omnipotent God, born from the very essence of disorder."
"With eyes that pierced the swirling mists and a will that shaped the formless void, this God flew through Chaos. He witnessed the birth and death of countless universes, shimmering constructs crafted by other powerful beings like himself, spawned from the primordial unrest. Yet, none held his interest. They were fleeting, imperfect, mere echoes in the grand symphony of Chaos."
"And so, from an eternity of surveying, a whisper of boredom stirred within him. The God, omniscient and omnipresent as he was, craved something unique, something his own. He resolved to create his own world."
"He began with a single, nascent planet, a swirling sphere of molten rock and nascent potential. Over eons, guided by his will, this planet evolved, transformed into a perfect galaxy of swirling stars and nebulae—a vibrant dance of creation and destruction. But the cost was steep. With each evolution, the God's own power diminished, irrevocably poured into his creation."
"The galaxy expanded, transcended itself, becoming an infinite multiverse with diverging timelines, each a branching path of possibility. This infinite multiverse birthed countless spirits, gods, constellations, and monarchs, each a testament to the power the God had invested. With this evolution, half of his divine essence was gone, irretrievably woven into the tapestry of his creation."
"The multiverse, though perfect, was not static. It continued to evolve, expanding beyond comprehension, birthing beings of power that rivaled its creator. The multiverse stretched, folding in on itself, becoming globe-worlds—each one a universe unto itself."
"Each globe-world was infinite, and each possessed a numerical system of its own, with each number infinitely transcending the last. This expansion birthed the Seven Heavens and the Nine Hells, all infinite in scope and complexity, reflecting the light and shadow of existence. The world grew with perfection and a delicate balance, yet with each progression, the God's power dwindled, fading like starlight at dawn."
"Finally, the God's essence was nearly exhausted, fully absorbed by his creation. But in that fading light, a new spark ignited—a new god was born: the God of Death, the inevitable consequence of creation's boundless expansion."
"Sensing the creator's weakened state, the God of Death surged forth, a terrifying manifestation of entropy and finality. A cosmic battle ensued, a clash between creator and creation, order and chaos, life and death. But the creator was too weakened, his power spent on the foundation of his world. In the end, the God of Death triumphed, absorbing the last vestiges of the creator's divine essence."
"With this newfound power, the God of Death sought to spread his authority across the world, to usher in an era of darkness and decay. But the creator, even in his defeat, had foreseen this. In a final act of self-sacrifice, he cast his core essence, his very being, into the heart of the infinite multiverse. He sacrificed his omniscience, the very source of his power, to unleash a new force, a hidden potential within all beings."
"Cultivation."
"And so, the age of cultivation began. A spark of divine potential ignited in the hearts of mortals, offering them the chance to transcend their limitations, to reach for the heavens, and to defy even the God of Death himself. It is this legacy, born from the creator's final sacrifice, that echoes through the ages, fueling the endless pursuit of power and immortality in the world of today."
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