Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

Chapter 412: A Crazy Idea

All at once, the weight of his pain came crashing down. The memory of his parents, bloodied and helpless… the image of Alice, crying out as she was snapped and dusted away… the guilt, the rage, the despair he thought he had buried deep within—everything resurfaced.

It came not as thoughts, but as raw emotion. He couldnʼt breathe. His fists clenched. His heart thundered with hatred. His teeth ground against each other as the infernal energy tried to feed on his rage, intensifying it, deepening it, pushing him further into that violent abyss. He felt himself slipping, his mind warping under the pressure.

The red strings of energy pulsed, spreading now toward his left shoulder—slowly, inch by inch, threatening to wrap around his entire being. His breathing grew erratic. His aura turned monstrous. He was no longer thinking—he was reacting, like a beast that had tasted blood.

But then... the pond moved.

It was subtle at first—a soft glow beneath the black surface, a gentle swirl of violet light. The water shimmered, reacting not with violence, but with stillness. From beneath him, a calming wave spread through his body like a cool breeze touching fire.

The dark water around him glowed faintly, forming a soft halo of purifying energy that circled his body. The infernal energy slowed. The spreading red threads hesitated, twitching just as they reached his left shoulder. His right arm still burned with power, and his eye still glowed crimson, but the water wouldnʼt let the transformation consume him entirely.

The pond didnʼt suppress the energy—it embraced it, filtered it, removed the chaos while allowing the strength to remain. It absorbed his negativity like a sponge soaking up poison, and in doing so, it granted him clarity. The anger was still there. The sadness, the loss, the pain—it all remained. But it no longer ruled him.

Only his right side remained altered. His left eye—once on the brink of corruption—returned to normal. The spreading had stopped. Maxʼs breath steadied, and slowly, his clenched fists opened. His heart calmed. He wasnʼt drowning anymore.

He had reached the edge of madness… and the pond had pulled him back.

”That was intense… I almost lost it,” Max muttered under his breath, exhaling deeply as the calmness slowly seeped back into his body and mind. His chest rose and fell steadily now, the storm within finally subdued.

He could still feel the raw, burning heat of the infernal energy coiled within his right arm and eye, but it no longer surged wildly like before. It was contained—stable, even. The red strings of energy, which had once thrashed like serpents trying to devour him from the inside, now pulsed rhythmically, as if tamed by an unseen force.

Max stared down at his reflection in the gently rippling pond beneath him. His right eye still glowed like molten crimson, a stark contrast to his normal left eye. His entire right arm, from shoulder to fingertips, was veiled in a dark red sheen, the markings of the Infernal Demon Tattoo glowing faintly along his skin.

But beyond the visual changes, what amazed him most was the sensation—control. For the first time since acquiring the twelfth-layered infernal demon tattoo, he wasnʼt fighting it. He wasnʼt suppressing it. He was existing alongside it.

The transformation had halted halfway through, stopping at his left shoulder, and he could still feel the tension there, like a line that dared not be crossed. But it wasnʼt unstable. It wasnʼt tearing him apart. It was... balanced. And all of it—this clarity, this harmony—was thanks to the pond.

Max realized it then. Without this place, he wouldʼve been gone. Lost to rage, drowned in hate, consumed by the very power he sought to master. The pond hadnʼt just calmed him—it had saved him. It had embraced the infernal energy, tempered it, and anchored his soul.

Slowly, he brought his right hand in front of his face, flexing his fingers as crimson energy flickered along his skin like firelight. There was no tremble. No burning ache. Only power—and control. A rare, dangerous harmony between destruction and will. ”This place…” he whispered, eyes still locked on the reflection of his transformed self, ”is a miracle.”

ʼNow that Iʼm in control of the Infernal Demon Transformation,ʼ Max thought, hovering quietly above the shimmering pond as its soft glow rippled beneath him, ʼI need to find a way to master this form without relying on the pondʼs influence.ʼ

The thought settled heavy in his mind. He couldnʼt carry this sacred water with him into battle. He couldnʼt depend on it to always balance his rage or suppress the infernal chaos inside him.

If he truly wanted to use the infernal energy within his body and tap into the devastating potential of the twelfth-layered Infernal Demon Tattoo, he needed to control it with his own will. Not through luck. Not through external forces. He needed mastery. But how?

Max let out a slow breath, his gaze hardening. The calm the pond had gifted him still lingered, but he could feel how fragile it was without its influence. The infernal energy was like a coiled beast, resting, not tamed. One wrong move—and it would rise again.

His mind ran through countless ideas. Meditation? No, that wouldnʼt be enough to suppress the raw hatred that came with the transformation. Pain training? Maybe, but the infernal energy didnʼt respond to physical endurance—it fed on emotion. On rage. On despair. He needed something that pushed both his body and soul to adapt. Something repetitive. Something relentless.

And then it came to him.

He looked down at his right hand—still burning with stable infernal power—and clenched his fist. ʼWhat if I undid the transformation entirely? What if I suppressed it… calmed it… and then unleashed it again? Over and over—until my body and mind got used to the side effects of the infernal energy. Until I could stay calm in the storm, even without the pond?ʼ

It was an insane idea. Risky. Dangerous. But it felt right. If he could cycle through the transformation enough times, maybe—just maybe—he could train himself to withstand the rage and madness. To maintain control through sheer force of habit, understanding, and resilience.