What is a name’s purpose?
It exists to identify. To separate one from another.
But what if there is no other?
No person. No creature. No planet, star, or galaxy.
When only one remains, what purpose does a name serve?
The answer is none.
Like a lone sun shining in the darkness of space, surrounded by endless void. If life were given the chance, that sun might one day be discovered, named, cherished. Perhaps civilizations would walk beneath its warmth.
But not with him still alive.
A darkness loomed over the sun. Its form was like a human skeleton, yet its bones were pitch black, vast beyond comprehension, forged from the remains of countless planets and asteroids. In its chest pulsed a heart of nothingness — the largest black hole to ever exist, eclipsing even the star it now devoured.
The Lich. Because there was no one left to name him otherwise.
"This is the last one."
The thought echoed through his hollow mind as a colossal hand of bone reached forward. The sun trembled, unleashing violent flares of energy, yet all of it was consumed by the black skeleton. Slowly, inevitably, the great star withered and collapsed into darkness.
No more sun. No more stars. All that remained belonged to him.
Once, long ago, he was hailed as the brightest mage of a distant world. Betrayed by those he trusted, he had cast aside his emotions and devoted everything to the pursuit of power.
First, he destroyed his companions.
Then his kingdom.
Then all kingdoms.
Then other races.
Then all life.
Even the gods who ruled those worlds raised their chosen ones against him, yet each champion fell.
No savior endured. He devoured them all.
He consumed star after star, until the universe itself grew cold and silent. Like a child clutching a match in winter, he clung to the dying light, but this winter had no end. All warmth, all hope, was extinguished by his own hand.
The silence was deafening.
He had no emotions, yet nothingness answered nothingness. His mind drifted through the void, growing numb. He could have created a new universe, restarted existence itself, but for what purpose? What meaning could there be in repeating the same emptiness?
Then, through the endless dark, he heard it — a voice. Ancient, distant, yet sharper than anything he had known in eons.
"Junior, you dare?!"
The void shifted. He turned his awareness toward the sound, sweeping the cosmos with his consciousness. Nothing answered. Yet the voice had been real.
And in that instant, he felt it. The barrier. The hidden layer that held all realities together. The blank canvas upon which universes were painted.
"There is... another?"
In that moment, he felt it, curiosity. A sensation long forgotten.
He raised his hands. Two black holes swirled into existence, one in each palm. With a clash, he forced them together. Space roared as their collision detonated with the fury of a billion suns, a blast meant to rip the void apart.
But when the echoes faded, there was only silence.
"Perhaps it is time to say goodbye." He looked down at his skeletal hand.
With nothing left to destroy, he began to unravel himself.
His colossal bones splintered into dust, his body reduced to fragments finer than ash. From that dust, a vast magic circle spread across the void, inscribed with lines and runes more intricate than the evolution of life itself. The circle turned, grinding, refining, until all that he was, and all that his reality had been, became one.
A blade.
Forged from everything. Refined by everything. A single edge wrought from the substance of an entire universe.
And he commanded it to cut.
With a single stroke, the blade shattered. Yet the curtain of nothingness tore open, and beyond it he saw what lay hidden.
Countless multiverses, layered one upon another, stretching into infinity.
The Lich did not hesitate.
He abandoned his own reality, flinging himself into the endless beyond.
The stretch of his journey was beyond comprehension. Countless possibilities flashed before his eyes as he drifted through the endless multiverse. Then, at last, he saw it, a crack.
With the final fragment of power he still possessed, he stirred himself and forced his will into the fracture, driving his essence through.
And in that instant, he saw it. A new reality.
Two beings stood in battle, mightier than he had ever been, wielding universes as if they were weapons in the palms of their hands.
This reality dwarfed his own. His universe was but a speck of dust compared to this vast existence. The very energy here leaked of ancient times. He could feel it in the flow of the cosmos — this realm had been alive long before his own universe had ever begun.
At once, instinct seized him. He concealed himself as best he could, hiding from the titans who clashed in the distance, and flung his soul toward the void between stars.
He drifted far, deeper and deeper, until at last he reached the farthest corner of this universe.
There, circling in endless night, was a tiny planet.
Descending from the heavens, he fell toward the skies of the tiny planet, landing in the shadows of a forest.
The instant he stopped, he felt it — a storm gathering above, clouds looming and red lightning crackling in warning.
Someone noticed me.
His power was gone. All that remained was his soul and knowledge. He needed a vessel.
Then he saw them. Humans.
It had been eons since he had laid eyes on such creatures, but he could not mistake them. Four men stood in the forest clearing.
"Wu Yaoshi, you dare to get engaged to the Luo family’s daughter? Trash like you deserves to die!" one of them sneered, thrusting his palm forward. A surge of strange energy erupted from his hand.
Wu Yaoshi, a young man standing opposite him, tried to defend, but the difference in power was too vast. His guard shattered instantly. His body collapsed to the ground with a single strike.
"Dispose of the body. I’ll wait in the carriage. Looks like rain is coming," the attacker said coldly, turning away with a sneer.
"Yes, young master!" his two followers bowed deeply, then began to dig a grave with shovels prepared in advance. This murder had been carefully planned.
I can use this, the Lich thought, drifting toward the dying youth.
Wu Yaoshi, teetering on the edge of life and death, gazed up weakly at the approaching shadow. "Please... help me..."
If it had been another soul, this would have been his fortune. He might have met a master who would guide him beyond the stars.
But sadly, it was him.
The Lich descended, piercing into the young man’s body. Wu Yaoshi screamed as an excruciating pain tore into his soul. It was the kind of agony where death would have been mercy. No — to be erased from the cycle of rebirth entirely would have been a gift.
"AAAGHHHHH!"
His cries froze the two gravediggers in horror. They had never heard a human scream like that before.
Deep inside, Wu Yaoshi’s memories flashed in fragments. A saint in the heavens. A merchant on a distant planet. A warrior, a scholar, a beggar, a father. Faces and lifetimes spanning countless reincarnations.
And then... something strange. A mage? What was a mage? Wu Yaoshi’s soul, confused, asked itself the question.
But his thoughts grew faint. His essence splintered into shards, each fragment devoured by the invading darkness.
Until there was nothing left.
No more reincarnation.
No more chances.
The absolute end.
And another began.
Wu Yaoshi’s eyes snapped open. His lips moved, and a voice rasped out.
"So... this is pain."
"You’re still alive? Just die already!" One of the lackeys snarled, channeling strange energy into his shovel. With a shout, he swung it down, aiming for Wu Yaoshi’s neck.
"I need more power."
Suddenly Wu Yaoshi’s hand shot forward. A dark circle flared in his palm. In an instant, something was ripped from the lackey’s body, a thin layer of smoke, his very essence, drawn into Wu Yaoshi’s grasp.
The wound across his chest knit itself together, flesh mending as if time reversed.
The lackey’s body, however, shriveled in an instant, his skin wrinkling, his hair turning white, his frame collapsing into that of a withered corpse.
"W-what... what is this!?" The other servant dropped his shovel in terror, stumbling backward and falling onto the dirt.
Wu Yaoshi rose slowly to his feet, rolling his shoulders, adjusting to the weight of this fragile vessel. It had been ages since he felt anything.
Above, the crimson storm clouds broke apart. The heavens recognized his arrival. By consuming Wu Yaoshi’s soul, he had fully anchored himself in this universe.
Sunlight pierced through, warming his skin. A breeze stirred the trees. The scent of earth filled his lungs.
"So, this... is nature."
His gaze shifted coldly to the cowering lackey on the ground. Raising his hand once more, he summoned the same spell. The servant screamed as his life force tore free, absorbed into his body.
The forest fell silent. Two corpses lay at his feet, husks of what they had been.
Then he noticed something.
My mana... it’s already full?
He could feel it. His body had reached its limit. Searching through Wu Yaoshi’s memories, he realized the truth.
This body is crippled. His mana circuits, or in this world, his qi veins are shattered.
To him, this vessel was trash.
But even trash was better than walking naked in the rain.
And who said he could not change vessels?
BANG!
He tore open the carriage door. Inside, the so-called young master jolted awake from half-sleep, his face paling in shock.
"You’re alive!?" the man stammered, panic flashing in his eyes as he tried to stir up the energy within his body. But before he could react, Wu Yaoshi’s hand pressed firmly against his head.
A smile curved across Wu Yaoshi’s face.
"You... you look much better."