My Talent's Name Is Generator

The void around me grew thinner, cleaner, as if something essential was being stripped away. Entire currents of deathmist were torn free from the core layer and dragged into me, vanishing into the Dawn Core without resistance.

At first, the Star only trembled.

It was still a dead thing then. A massive, silent body suspended in nothingness. Like a moon that had long since lost its light. Cold. Scarred. Empty.

Then it began to change.

Cracks appeared across its surface, not physical fractures, but faults in its state of being. Through them, black smoke leaked out, thick and heavy, rolling like storm clouds trapped under a shell. The deathmist pouring into it no longer vanished quietly. It fed something.

The Star flared with presence.

Black fire erupted across its surface, burning without flame, swelling outward in slow, violent pulses. The smoke thickened, boiling, collapsing inward, then bursting out again as if the Star itself was breathing for the first time in ages. The dead surface burned away, layer by layer, revealing something beneath that was no longer inert.

No longer asleep.

I felt it then.

A weight settling into my chest. A pull that was not hunger, but recognition. The Star of Origin was no longer just absorbing deathmist. It was consuming it with intent, refining it, reshaping it.

The pressure inside me climbed sharply. My Essence surged to keep pace, violet currents reinforcing the Dawn Core as the Star’s awakening sent tremors through my entire being. Space around me bent slightly, reacting to the shift, the void itself uneasy at what was coming back online.

The Star burned like a black sun now.

And I knew, without needing confirmation, that it was no longer dormant.

It was awake.

The change did not ask for permission.

A ripple spread outward from the Star of Origin, and the moment it spread inside me my body froze in place. It was as if every part of me had been told to stop at once.

Then it began.

I felt something move inside me, deep and precise. New channels carved themselves through my body in an instant, not tearing, but reshaping what was already there. They branched through muscle and bone, threaded around my organs, reinforced my spine, wrapped my heart, and anchored themselves into my limbs.

There was pain.

Sharp, bright, unavoidable.

But it did not linger.

My body adapted almost immediately, constitution surging to meet the strain. Bones hardened. Muscles tightened and then relaxed into a stronger state. My organs pulsed once as the channels locked into place, then settled as if they had always been there.

The process was fast. Brutal in sensation. Effortless in execution.

And then it was done.

I exhaled slowly, realizing I had been holding my breath.

The pressure inside me eased, replaced by a deep sense of alignment. My body felt heavier, denser, more real. Like something incomplete had finally been finished.

I raised my hand and looked at my palm.

The Star of Origin responded.

A thin wisp of deathmist peeled away from it, flowing through the newly carved channels with perfect obedience. It gathered in my palm, slow at first, then faster, condensing, compressing.

A small sphere formed.

Black. Dense. Calm.

A spinning ball of deathmist burned inside it without flicker or instability, perfectly contained.

I closed my fingers slightly, feeling the weight of it.

A grin spread across my face.

I looked down and saw that the devouring portal was still active, still drinking in the deathmist from every corner of the core layer. Thick black streams flowed upward like reversed rain, vanishing into the Star of Origin within me. The pressure kept rising, steady and controlled.

With that handled, I shifted my focus.

The portals.

I raised my hand again and reached for the law of space. This time, I did not rush it. I spread my perception first, mapping the core layer in detail. Hundreds of portals were embedded into platforms, towers, and floating structures, some hidden behind shields, others left exposed because they had never been challenged before.

I moved my fingers slightly.

Invisible spatial fractures spread outward from me like cracks in glass, racing across the void. They struck the portals almost simultaneously. One by one, the structures began to fail. Space twisted. Anchors snapped. The portals split apart violently, collapsing inward and then exploding outward.

Abominations stationed near them were torn apart instantly. Phantoms tried to react, but the fractures cut through their defenses before they could retreat.

The destruction was clean. Final.

But then I noticed it.

Two portals remained.

They stood untouched amid the chaos, their surfaces rippling faintly, protected by something deeper than simple spatial reinforcement. The fractures slid around them instead of biting in, as if space itself refused to obey.

My eyes narrowed.

Just as I was about to move, both portals reacted at the same time.

A sharp buzzing sound spread through the void. The surfaces of the two portals, one positioned to the left of the tower and the other to the right, twisted violently.

Then they stepped out.

Two Eternals emerged from the portals. Their builds were similar to Upita’s, tall, lean, and perfectly proportioned, standing close to eight feet in height. Ash-gray, matte skin reflected no light. White hair fell neatly to the side, untouched by the raging deathmist around them. Their eyes were the same unsettling black, smooth and glass-like, without pupils or emotion.

The moment they arrived, the surrounding space seemed to quiet.

Their heads turned slowly, scanning the ruined core layer, the shattered portals, the collapsing structures, and the thinning deathmist. For a brief instant, they took in the destruction in silence.

Then, as if guided by instinct rather than sight, both of them turned at the same time.

Their black eyes locked directly onto me.

I felt it, the weight of their attention but something was different this time.

The Executor’s Halo did not react.

There was no pressure pushing outward from me. No sudden alignment of laws. No instinctive rejection from reality itself. The void remained still, as if waiting.