Restarting From Level 1... As A Tiny Blonde Swordsman!? (SI as Ais Wallenstein)

[Femto]

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Restarting From Level 1... As A Tiny Blonde Swordsman!? ​

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Zenith - Throne of the Godking

The problem with reaching the top is that there's nothing left to climb. No mountains. No struggle. No weight pressing down, forcing me to push back. I thought that was godhood. I thought that was divinity. I thought that was the ultimate truth.

But now, I wonder – what does that even mean?

I have everything. I see everything. I know everything. And yet, I feel nothing. No hunger. No fear. No drive. No reason to move forward except for the simple fact that I exist. Is that godhood? Is that what it means to be divine? To sit upon a throne built of victory and wither? Because this is not power. This is not greatness. This is not supremacy. This is stagnation. This is emptiness. This is the slow, creeping realization that I have already won.

Or did I truly?

And if I have already won, then what is left? What is left when there are no more battles? What is left when there is no more struggle? What is left when even time itself bends to my will?

Nothing. Nothing but stillness. Nothing but silence. Nothing but the hollow weight of a throne I no longer want to sit on. Because power means nothing without struggle. Because knowledge means nothing without discovery. Because eternity means nothing without purpose.

Nothing but void. So I made my own distractions.

Crunch.

Cheese dust clung to my fingers. Salt burned the cracks of my lips. The aftertaste was sharp, artificial – human. I wiped my hands against my sweats, leaving streaks of orange behind.

Click.

My mortal fingers – soft, clumsy – pressed the controller. The Dragonborn stood victorious, the final boss reduced to dust. Another game finished. Another story consumed. I stared at the screen. No reaction. No rush of triumph. No sense of completion. Just the dull, creeping awareness that I was still bored.

A long breath. A slow exhale. My other hand reached for the can beside me. The soda hissed as I cracked it open. The scent of chemicals and syrup filled my lungs. Cold carbonation burned against my tongue. Everything was sharper in a mortal body. Every taste. Every ache. Every fleeting moment of something. I had never speedrun a game before. Never felt the pull of optimization. Never chased the high of a perfect run. I had played, sure, but always as a distraction. Never as a challenge. Never as a test.

I tapped my fingers against the desk.

The second monitor played DanMachi. Gods watching from above. Mortals fighting below. Strength built through struggle, not predestination. A world with rules. A world with stakes. A world with a finish line. I sat forward. My fingers tightened around the controller. A voice cut through the air. Smooth as cut stone, heavy as deep space.

"You have done it again, my Lord."

I smirked. "What, took a break? Lived a little?"

Sebastian did not answer immediately. He never did.

"You lower yourself again."

I wiped the cheese dust off my fingers, licking the last of the salt from my lips. "I choose to lower myself."

"Choice is an illusion for those who believe in limits."

I smirked, leaning back in my chair. "Limits make the game interesting."

"Limits make the game a cage."

I tapped my fingers against the can. Fsst. The last of the carbonation fizzled against my tongue.

"And yet mortals thrive in cages. They struggle, they claw, they reach for something beyond themselves. They break their own chains."

Sebastian remained silent.

I gestured to the screen, where Bell Cranel fought, bled, grew.

"Tell me, what's more impressive? A man born into power, or a man who earns it?"

"Power is power. Whether inherited or earned, the strong remain strong."

I laughed. "And yet you serve me, a God King who strips himself down to nothing just to see what happens."

"Because you are you. In the vastness of the Multiverse you help me give meaning."

I leaned forward. "But what if I don't?"

The room was silent. Sebastian, ever-composed, ever-unshaken, hesitated. A fraction of a second, but I caught it.

I grinned. "There it is."

"Recklessness is not the same as wisdom."

"And wisdom is not the same as experience." I gestured to the screen, where Bell lay broken, where Ais stood above him, stronger, faster, beyond him. "You believe power is absolute. I believe power is achieved."

"You believe in struggle."

"I believe in earning my place."

"How are they?"

Sebastian stood, hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable. "You wished to see?"

I leaned forward, rubbing my temple as the flood of memories settled. "And now I have."

Gine's defiance. Abiel's hunger. Their struggles. Their triumphs. Their lives – full, painful, fleeting, real.

I exhaled sharply. "Why does it feel unfair?"

Sebastian tilted his head slightly. "Define 'unfair.'"

I scowled. "You know exactly what I mean."

"Indulge me."

I pressed my fingers to my temple, the weight of experience – not mine, but theirs – still lingering.

"They struggle. They earn. They fight against fate, against gods, against the limits of their own existence. And me?" My voice darkened. "I sit here, infinite, untouched, unchallenged. I have everything, and yet they – they – have lived more in a handful of years than I have in eternity."

Sebastian remained still. "So you envy them."

"Envy?" I scoffed. "No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know."

"You know."

Silence stretched between us.

I clenched my jaw. "Why do they get everything?"

Sebastian blinked. "They do not have 'everything.' They have 'struggle.' You have 'everything.' And now, you resent it."

I clicked my tongue. "No. I resent what it means. I resent that they get to break their chains, that they get to claw their way up, that they get to feel that rush of victory." I exhaled. "I was born at the peak. What is there left to climb?"

Sebastian's expression did not change. "And yet, you always look downward. Never forward. Never beyond."

"Because forward is more of the same. More eternity. More nothing. More – " I gestured, grasping for the right word. "Stagnation."

Sebastian's gaze sharpened. "Then why not make something new?"

I let out a dry laugh. "You think I haven't tried? I've built empires, I've forged realms, I've bent reality in ways even the greatest of gods couldn't comprehend. And yet, none of it – "none of it" – felt real." I gritted my teeth. "Because I always knew. Always knew I'd win. Always knew the outcome. Always knew that no matter what happened, I was above it all."

Sebastian did not flinch. "So the problem is not 'having everything.' The problem is 'never having to earn it.'"

I exhaled, dragging a hand down my face. "Yes.

Sebastian studied me for a long moment. "Then… perhaps the solution is simple."

I frowned. "Oh? Enlighten me."

"Start from nothing."

I blinked.

Sebastian's voice was smooth, even. "Strip yourself of advantage. Of knowledge. Of power. Cast yourself into the struggle you admire so much. Become the thing you envy."

I stared at him.

Sebastian stood at his usual place – hands clasped, expression unreadable, a monument of unwavering patience.

I swallowed. "A speedrun?"

"A test." His voice carried no hesitation, no uncertainty. "A true challenge."

I scoffed, waving a hand. "A speedrun is an optimized challenge. Not just difficulty for difficulty's sake. It's about efficiency. Precision. Stripping away the unnecessary and cutting straight to the goal." I gestured toward the screen. "I've seen mortals do it. They don't play the game. They break it."

Sebastian's lips barely twitched. "And yet, you've never attempted one yourself."

I rolled my eyes. "Why would I? I know the game. I know the mechanics. I know the optimal path. Where's the fun in running a race when you've already memorized the finish line?"

Sebastian tilted his head. "Then erase the finish line."

I frowned. "What?"

"Erase the knowledge. Erase the advantages. Cast yourself into the unknown, without your godhood, without your foresight. Start from nothing. And for once, earn your victory."

I stared at him. "You're talking about a blind speedrun."

"I am talking about a real experience."

The chip in my hand crumbled between my fingers. I barely noticed.

Sebastian's voice was steady, unwavering. "You sit upon your throne of eternity and speak of struggle as if it is some distant spectacle. You admire those beneath you, envy their trials, yet refuse to step down and face them yourself. This is your answer. This is your path. Start from nothing. No memory. No meta-knowledge. No safety nets. No escape. No divine power."

I clenched my jaw. "No guarantees."

"No guarantees."

I exhaled slowly, letting the weight of it sink in. I had conquered realms. Bent the laws of existence to my will. What challenge was left when the only thing greater than me… was me? This. I tapped my fingers against the desk. Once. Twice. A steady rhythm against the wood. A habit. A thinking habit. A habit that meant I was considering something.

"So where?"

Sebastian, ever composed, ever certain, gestured toward the screen. "It is before you."

I followed his hand. The flickering menu. The title screen. The loading buffer of a random anime episode playing in the background. Danmachi.

I narrowed my eyes. "That?"

"That."

I leaned back. Arms crossed. Mind working.

"You expect me to throw myself into a world of those so-called gods and mortals?"

Sebastian did not blink. "You expect me to believe you are not already considering it?"

I exhaled sharply. "That's not the point."

There were better choices. Stronger choices. Elder Scrolls. Elden Ring. Xianxias. Real worlds. Worlds built for conquest, for power, for ascension. A world of levels. A world of restrictions. A world where gods played at war, and mortals played at being gods.

"It's rigid." I shook my head. "It's structured. It has a cap. A limit. I have no interest in a world where my ceiling is predetermined."

Sebastian remained unshaken. "Then break the ceiling."

I paused. I studied him. His posture. His certainty. His unwavering belief that this was the path.

"You expect me to achieve godhood in a world where divinity is locked behind celestial shits? Where power is dictated by blessings and the whims of existing gods?"

Sebastian clasped his hands behind his back. "Figure it out."

I clicked my tongue. "That's not an answer."

"It is the only answer that matters."

I let out a short laugh. "So you're throwing me into a random point in the timeline, in a random body, with no advantages, no meta-knowledge, and expect me to not just survive, but ascend?"

"You are the one who requested a challenge."

I drummed my fingers against the desk. Faster now. More restless.

"It's still low in power scaling."

"Then change the scale."

"And it's full of gods that can crush me the moment I step out of line."

"Then do not step out of line."

"And the system is rigid. It follows rules. It obeys mechanics."

"Then find the cracks."

I frowned.

Sebastian remained still. Poised. Confident.

He wasn't wrong. I did ask for a challenge. I did ask for something new. I did grow bored of worlds that handed me power on a silver platter.

But this?

"You think it's interesting?"

Sebastian finally smiled. "I think the better question is – do you find it?"

"Fine."

Sebastian inclined his head, ever so slightly. "Then it is decided."

"Use my full soul."

Silence.

Sebastian did not move. Did not blink. Did not even breathe. He simply stared, expression unreadable, posture rigid.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

His fingers twitched. A rare reaction. A rare sign of frustration.

"You are being reckless."

"I am being thorough."

"You are being foolish."

"I am being interested."

Sebastian's gaze sharpened. "You would gamble your entire divine existence for a mere game?"

"A game is only interesting when you have something to lose."

His lips pressed into a thin line. "You underestimate the risks."

"And you underestimate the thrill."

Sebastian let out a slow breath. "Your logic is flawed. This is not some fleeting mortal indulgence. This is your soul. Your full self. Your entire being. If you fail – "

"Then I fail completely."

Sebastian's voice lowered. "And if you die – "

"Then I die completely."

A pause. A silence thick enough to cut.

Sebastian's fingers curled behind his back, his stance stiff, controlled. "That is not acceptable."

"That is not your choice to make."

"As your steward, it is precisely my choice to make."

"As the one who commands you, it is mine."

Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "You would willingly enter a world with no advantages, no knowledge, no safeguards?"

"That is what makes it a challenge."

"That is what makes it suicidal."

"Then so be it."

"You cannot be serious."

"Oh, I am." I smiled. "What is a speedrun without stakes? What is a challenge without consequences? If I fail, I fail completely. That makes every decision matter. That makes every action weighty. That makes this – " I gestured to the screen. "Real."

Sebastian's voice was cold, clipped. "This is not the logic of a ruler."

"No." I leaned forward, grinning. "It is the logic of a player."

Another silence.

Sebastian exhaled through his nose, controlled, contained. "If you insist on doing this, at the very least, use only a fraction of your soul. You need not wager everything."

"That would make it dull."

"That would make it sane."

"And since when have I ever been interested in sanity?"

Sebastian's hands clenched behind his back. "You play too much with the concept of risk. Even a gambler knows when to fold."

"Ah, but I am not a gambler, am I? I am something else entirely. I am not playing to win. I am playing to earn the win."

Sebastian's expression did not change, but the weight of his presence pressed heavier against the air. "If you lose yourself in this world, there will be no coming back."

"Then I suppose I'll have to make sure I don't lose."

Sebastian studied me for a long moment. Then, with a slow motion, he raised his hand. Energy crackled, reality twisted, the air vibrated with unseen power.

"Then so be it."

Sebas inclined his head, the ever-present glint of amusement lurking beneath his composed expression.

"Good luck in your adventure, my lord."

I scoffed, arms crossing as I leaned back. "Don't act like I won't succeed. I always do."

"Of course. You always do."

My eyes narrowed. "That sounded sarcastic."

"Perish the thought."

A sharp exhale. Annoyance flaring. I waved a hand dismissively. "Tch. Whatever. Just send me already."

Divine energy crackled at his fingertips, reality itself bending under his will. But just as the spell took hold, he hesitated, watching me with that same unreadable expression.

"Oh, and do try to enjoy yourself this time, my lord. After all – what's the point of a game if you don't?"

---

Light swallowed everything. The world shattered. And I fell.

I felt restricted.

In eons, this is the first time I have ever felt it – this weight, this suffocating stillness. My body, so limited. So weak. So fragile. My mind, so slow. So dull. So unbearably mortal. Every thought is like wading through thickened tar, every sensation wrapped in layers of numbness. I reach, but I cannot grasp. I push, but I cannot move.

I am bound. I cannot move. I cannot struggle. I cannot breathe.

I feel the cold first, pressing against my skin like an old, forgotten lover. It seeps into me, into this new and foreign flesh, burrowing into bones that feel too small, too fragile, too human. It is not the cold of space, not the comforting emptiness of the void, but something else – something damp, something heavy. It carries the scent of stone and stagnant air, of dust that has settled for centuries, undisturbed by life. A dungeon. A prison. A crypt.

I try to move again. Nothing. I try to speak. Nothing. I reach for my power. Nothing.

I reach for my name – my true name.

Nothing.

I have been sealed. Banished. Exiled. My strength, my divinity, my will – ripped from me, shackled, buried in the abyss. What remains is weak. What remains is small. What remains is nothing more than this fragile shell, this dying ember of a once-blazing star.

So this is what it means to be mortal, huh?

Interesting.

I turn inward. I search. I dig through the remnants of what I was, what I am, what I must be. There is something there, something left to grasp. My memories. My memories are still mine. Sebastian. He must have allowed this. Of course, he did. He always spoils me. Even when he disapproves. Even when he warns me. Even when he tells me that this is foolish, that this is dangerous, that I am playing with something I do not fully understand. But he still left me something. He still left me this. So I search. And I search. And I search. Time does not move. Or perhaps I do not move within it. There is only the cold, the frigid, the stillness. But my mind – my mind still works. It still functions. But I cannot change. I am stagnant. I am trapped. I am mortal. I think, therefore I am.

I racked through my memories. Sifting. Sorting. Searching. I dug through the remnants of my mind, picking through the scraps of what was left to me. Not much. Not enough. I cursed – if I could. I clicked my tongue – if I could. But my body remained still, locked, frozen in this endless moment.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

No sound, but I imagined it anyway. A clock with no hands. A second that never ended. A prison with no walls, no doors, no air, no breath. Stasis. I kept counting. One. Two. Three.

Nothing changed. Nothing shifted.

Four. Five. Six.

No movement. No decay. No escape.

I narrowed my thoughts, compressed them, focused on the one thing I could still control. My mind. I reached for my power. Aura Manipulation. The words rose from the fog, floating to the surface of my consciousness. A field of energy. A reflection of the self. A force shaped by will. I clicked my tongue – or I would have, if I could. Useless. Incomplete. Weak.

Not paralyzed. Not restrained. Frozen. Not in ice. Not in stone. In time.

And yet, I was aware. Aware of the silence. Aware of the weightless void pressing in from every side. Aware of the absence of sensation, the absence of warmth, the absence of time itself. Thoughts came slowly. Sluggish. Like they had to fight their way through mud. Thick, heavy, suffocating. But they came. And if I could think, then I was not completely frozen. If I was not completely frozen, then there had to be a way out.

Panic was useless. Struggle was meaningless. I had to understand. I reached, not with my hands, not with my body, but with something deeper. Something innate. Something fundamental. Aura.

A pulse. Faint. Weak. Sluggish. But there. Aura was me. My essence. My presence. The invisible weight of my existence pressing against reality. It was the one thing in this frozen moment that still flowed, still shifted, still responded.

So I pushed it outward.

And it vanished.

Aura manipulation worked by sensing, by mirroring, by adapting. But the moment it touched the stasis, it was devoured. No reaction. No resistance. Like throwing a stone into a bottomless abyss.

I tried again. Same result.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Each attempt yielded nothing. Each push was swallowed whole. No feedback. No seams. No weak points. No flaws. I was trapped in a prison without walls, without locks, without openings. But a prison was still a structure. And a structure had rules. If this was magic, then it was not perfect. No magic was. No spell could hold forever without sustaining itself. So I stopped pushing. I started listening. Aura extended. Not to break the spell. Not to resist it. But to understand it. And then, I realized. Time was not stopped.

It was looping. Not a wall, but a wheel. Not a cage, but a circuit. An infinite loop of reinforcement, resetting every fraction of a second before change could occur. But a system like that? It had to move. And movement, no matter how small, meant flaws.

I focused. I matched my aura to the spell's frequency, riding the loop instead of resisting it. There. A hesitation. A ripple so tiny it could barely be called real. I adjusted. Shifted. Slipped into the rhythm. The spell did not recognize me as foreign anymore. I was part of it. And then, I disrupted it. A single shift out of sync. The loop skipped. Another. The circuit stuttered. A third. And the entire system collapsed.

CRACK.

Time snapped back into place.

Sound rushed in. Deafening. Chaotic. The distant drip, drip of water. The groan of shifting stone. The echo of something ancient stirring in the dark. Air slammed into my lungs. Cold and damp and heavy with the scent of earth and rot. I gasped, a ragged, choking breath, my body convulsing as sensation returned all at once.

Pain. Sharp. Immediate. Real.

My chest burned. My limbs ached. My head throbbed, as if my skull had been cracked open and filled with fire.

I was free.

My fingers twitched - instinct, memory, something buried deep, something old. Light surged. Not blinding. Not weak. A glow, steady and firm, forming from nothing, from nowhere, yet it had always been there. A presence waiting to be called. I reached. It answered. Weight slammed into my palm—solid, dense, real. Warm against the dungeon's lifeless chill. A presence, not just an object. A thing that remembered.

A tome. Not leather. Not parchment. Something greater. Something forged, bound not by hands, but by will. Its cover, black as abyss, pulsed with silver veins, shifting like living circuits, like liquid metal frozen mid-flow. Symbols coiled across its surface - unreadable, yet I understood.

It knew me. It had always known me. My fingers traced the edge—smooth, cold, ancient. It felt neither dead nor alive, something in between, something that waited.

I exhaled.

FLIP. Pages turned - no wind, no hand, just will. Not paper. Not ink. Each page was a tapestry of shifting knowledge, a living thing, words that formed and reformed, diagrams that pulsed like heartbeats.

Temporal Control

Type: Major Ability (Active/Passive)

Range: Self / Up to 10 ft (Expands with Mastery)

Duration: Variable (Aura-Dependent)

Cooldown: None (Excessive use destabilizes aura)

Effect:

Manipulate time's flow within a controlled radius. Accelerate, decelerate, or halt movement—but no rewinding or altering the past.

Mechanics:

By syncing aura with natural time fluctuations, the wielder can amplify or disrupt motion. Precision, energy, and experience determine effectiveness.

Abilities:

• Time Shift: Speeds up or slows a target's actions.

• Momentary Freeze: Halts movement in a small area, draining aura heavily.

• Temporal Surge (Locked): ???

System Notes:

A high-precision aura ability suited for control and reaction-based combat. Overuse causes perception lag, aura fatigue, or temporal desynchronization.

Pages turned. Ink shifted. The grimoire unveiled another inscription, this one deeper, more intrinsic, more me. My main power.

Aura Adaptation

Type: Core Ability (Passive/Active)

Range: Self

Duration: Permanent

Cooldown: None (Gradual Mastery)

Effect:

The ability to integrate, assimilate, and refine external energies into personal use. Any aura, magic, or supernatural force encountered can be analyzed, deconstructed, and reconstructed into a compatible form. Growth is cumulative—each successful adaptation expands potential.

Mechanics:

• External Energy Integration: Identifies and breaks down foreign auras, extracting core principles.

• Reconstruction: Rebuilds extracted properties into personal aura, modified for compatibility.

• Refinement: Repeated exposure sharpens efficiency, reducing energy loss in adaptation.

• Cross-Application: Allows fusion of multiple learned energies, creating hybrid effects.

Abilities:

• Mimicry: Temporarily replicates external aura techniques with reduced efficiency.

• Permanent Assimilation (Cooldown): ???

• Singularity Construct (Locked): ???

System Notes:

A walking paradox—every battle, every encounter, is a step forward. A skill with no peak, no ceiling—only evolution.

Nice.

The first thing I noticed was the weight - or the lack of it. I was too light. Too frail. My limbs lacked the strength I had always taken for granted, the quiet, effortless power that once hummed beneath my skin. Now? Gone. Stolen. Replaced with something smaller, something weaker. My balance was off. My movements, unfamiliar. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, and the difference was wrong in a way that sent a sharp prickle of unease through my spine.

I breathe. The air was thick. Stale. Damp. It carried the scent of old stone, of rot seeping through the cracks of a world that had long forgotten the touch of the sun. Dust. Mold. Something deeper, something older. It clung to my throat, scratching, itching, like the remnants of a dead thing too stubborn to fade.

I listened.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Water. Slow, steady, distant. A heartbeat in the silence, counting time in drops. But beyond that? Nothing. No wind, no whispers of movement, no rustle of unseen things lurking just out of sight. I swallowed. My mouth was dry. Tasted wrong. Metallic, almost. Like the aftermath of biting my own tongue, but without the pain. I took another step. My foot brushed against something—loose gravel shifting beneath my weight, crunching, grinding. The sound echoed, swallowed by the oppressive stillness around me. Where was I? A cavern? A ruin?

A dungeon.

The word slid into place, clicking against fragmented memories. A dungeon. I turned. Something caught my eye. A glint. A shimmer. A reflection. A crystal jutted from the ground, fractured yet smooth, its surface catching the dim, eerie glow that bled from the stone around me. And within it—

A girl.

I stilled.

She did the same.

Golden eyes stared back at me, wide with something raw. Blonde hair, short and messy, fell over a face that wasn't mine. The frame was small. Petite. Delicate. Seven? Eight years old? A child.

No.

I reached out, fingers trembling.

The girl mirrored me, her own small hands pressing against the surface of the crystal. I felt nothing but cold stone.

No. No, no, no.

This wasn't right.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

I was supposed to be the Main Character. The protagonist. The chosen one. The Dovahkiin, standing atop the Throat of the World, Thu'um shaking the heavens. The Supreme Overlord, commanding legions from my throne of obsidian. The Overpowered Reincarnator, a walking force of nature. The Irregular, defying the laws of whatever world I stepped into. The Lone Survivor, carving my legend into history.

Not this. Not a child.

Not a girl.

A laugh clawed its way up my throat. It came out choked, hollow. Disbelieving. I touched my face again. Smaller. Softer. Not mine.

Sebastian, you dog.

What have you done?

---

Note: Even though MC managed to break free from the time stasis, she wasn't released at the exact moment she wanted. The spell that sealed Ais had been in place for nearly a thousand years, and even after breaking through, MC was still late. She emerged only a year before the Loki Familia would find her, meaning that despite her efforts, she's still bound to a similar timeline as canon Ais.

 

[Raphiel]

I actually really like the character of both Sebastian and "Ais".

Sebastian is wise in interpreting the perspective of lower beings in spite of what he believes about strength and truly cares for "Ais", and "Ais" absolutely trusts Sebastian despite his original status over him in addition to considering what Sebastian says.

 

[Femto]

I actually really like the character of both Sebastian and "Ais".

Sebastian is wise in interpreting the perspective of lower beings in spite of what he believes about strength and truly cares for "Ais", and "Ais" absolutely trusts Sebastian despite his original status over him in addition to considering what Sebastian says.

Click to shrink...

Sheesh - let's see how the Gods will react to these creatures called God Kings.

 

[Femto]

A new kind of wonder.

This was struggle. True, raw, unfiltered. Not the effortless dominance of a god, but the desperate fight of the weak. The kind of fight I had never once experienced, never once needed to endure. There was no certainty, no predetermined victory written in the stars. Only blood, sweat, and the sheer will to claw forward, inch by inch, strike by strike.

Not the serene drifting of celestial bodies, not the slow, inevitable shifting of the cosmos. No, this movement is frantic. Chaotic. It is my own. My body stumbles, feet slapping against damp stone. My breath comes shallow, sharp, uneven. Something is after me. Something fast. It is amusing. Really amusing. That a GodKing like me would be reduced to this. Running. Dodging. Evading like a cornered beast. I twist, narrowly avoiding a blur of claws that carve through the air where my head had been a moment ago. The movement is clumsy. Sluggish. This body is weak.

But I am not annoyed. No, the absurdity of my situation nearly makes me laugh. What does annoy me, however, is that it could have been better. Should have been better. Even in this frail shell, I should not struggle this much. Perhaps… perhaps this is what it means to be normal human being. To feel annoyed.

I duck beneath an overhead strike, my instincts screaming at me – too slow, too slow, too slow. I roll, feeling the rough dungeon floor scrape against my skin. The scent of stone, damp and cold, fills my lungs. The walls pulse faintly, painted in eerie light blue. I laugh. The sound is breathless, bitter. If I had to estimate – roughly I have but less than 0.0000001% of my knowledge and power. A mere tiny bits of what I once wielded. My domain, my authority, my essence – gone. Stripped away, leaving only this fragile existence behind.

Yet, I exist. Yet, I remain. Wait. Where did Sebastian put me again? I try to remember. I should remember. But I do not. My mind reels, reaching, grasping at empty spaces where knowledge should be.

Nothing. I cannot remember. Good. Good. This is good.

Temporal Control. My edge in speed. The one thing that should have turned the fight in my favor.

And it failed. Fuck.

The instant I activated it, my body seized up. A sharp stuck in my breath, a violent lurch in my vision – like the world had been split apart and haphazardly stitched back together. My limbs stuttered, moving in disjointed fragments, a marionette on tangled strings. Thoughts lagged behind actions, instincts firing too late. A single heartbeat stretched unnaturally, elongating into a moment of unbearable stillness – only to snap back like a frayed cord, slamming me into reality.

I reeled. I staggered. I was slow.

The Kobold lunged. A blur of brown fur, a rippling wave of muscle, a flash of red, burning eyes. Its maw gaped, yellow fangs, jagged and slick, dripping saliva. A breath, one single, rancid breath, washed over me. The stench of rotting flesh, the thick, coppery tang of dried blood, and something musky, something primal, something animal, coated my senses.

I twisted. A rush of air, the sharp hiss of claws tearing through the emptiness where I'd been a heartbeat before. Close. Too close. I stumbled back, boots scraping against the uneven stone. The dungeon, damp, humid, heavy with the acrid scent of mold and decay. The walls pulsed, a faint, bluish light, the glow. Not enough. Not enough to see clearly. Not enough to run.

The Kobold snarled. A guttural growl, a hacking cough of a sound, vibrations rippling through the cavern walls. It struck again. A blur of motion. I ducked. The claws missed, a hair's breadth. A shallow gust of wind, hot and fetid, brushed my cheek, the beast's stink wrapping around me, suffocating.

I moved. Dodge. Evade. Keep running. But the Kobold kept coming.

It hounded me. Pressed forward. Relentless. Every step back, two steps forward. Each miss, closer than the last. The dungeon's cold air, thick, clinging, suffocating. My heart pounded, faster, frantic. Then my foot caught. A loose stone. A fraction of a second. A single heartbeat. I tripped. The Kobold pounced. A shadow loomed. Claws gleamed, sharp in the faint blue light. I twisted. Instinct. Desperation. My fist shot out, a pitiful attempt to strike back.

I hit its chest. Tap. A sound so weak, so laughably light, a child knocking on a door. The Kobold didn't even flinch. Pain. A sudden, unbearable heat exploded in my side. A sharp, tearing sensation. Something wet sprayed my skin, warm, thick. The iron tang of blood, my blood, filled the air.

The Kobold's claws had pierced me. A heavy foot slammed into my stomach. My body lifted, weightless, powerless. Stone met flesh. My skull rattled. Limbs flopped, a broken doll. A sharp crack. A blinding flash of white. I gasped – Nothing. No air. I choked. I wheezed. My lungs collapsed, convulsing, clawing for breath. My body shuddered. Fingers twitched, grasping at nothing. Pain. Real pain. Not the distant concept. Raw. Here. Mine. My ribs throbbed. My stomach twisted. The warmth of blood seeped into the stone, heavy, pungent. I laughed. A small, wheezing sound. A broken sound.

So this is pain. So this is fear. Not the theoretical kind. This pain was raw. This fear was real.

This is fear. This is pain. And one more mistake – just one – it's over. The grimoire emerged. A whisper of power, a tremor in the air. A force, neither light nor shadow, raw, mine. It did not ask. It simply was. And the moment it appeared, my body changed. A pulse, a hum in my bones. A shift, an unseen weight settling into place. Aura Adaptation activated.

The pain in my side dulled. Not gone. Not healed. Distant. Muted. Nerves wrapped in a thick, numbing fog. But I still felt the wound. Torn flesh. Warm blood, thick and sluggish. The iron scent, sharp, metallic, overwhelming. I was still bleeding. I was still dying.

But my aura didn't care.

A ripple spread outward, ten meters. My domain unfolded. Not visible. Not tangible. Felt. The space around me sharpened. Details emerged, dim room to daylight. I felt everything. The damp air, heavy with musk, sweat, rancid breath. Distant drip, drip, drip. Low, guttural growl, vibrating. The Kobold. I felt it. Tension in limbs. Clawed feet, digging into stone. Muscle twitch. Weight shift. Hot, foul breath. Old kills. Raw hunger.

The click. Everything aligned.

I understood. Not numbers. Not calculations. Instinct. My aura adapted. Not just movements, but everything. Strength. Speed. Weight. Presence. It flowed into me, through me. Muscles tightened. Breath synced. Heart pounded, rhythm with the beast. The dungeon floor, no longer foreign. Part of me.

For a fleeting second, I was the Kobold. And yet – Something was wrong. My body. Small. Fragile. Untrained. No talent. No instincts. No balance. Power, waiting, but off. Awkward. Mismatched. A greatsword with a child's hands. The Kobold moved. I moved. A perfect mirror. A perfect imitation.

The Kobold lunged again, claws slashing downward in a brutal arc. I twisted to the side, my small body barely slipping past its reach. The force of its strike tore through the air, a sharp whoosh followed by the crack of claws scraping against the dungeon floor.

I countered. My fist shot forward, aiming for its ribs – but my footing was off. My weight was wrong. The strike connected, but weakly, nothing more than a dull thud against its thick hide.

The Kobold didn't flinch.

It snarled and drove its knee toward my stomach. I barely had time to react. My hands shot down, bracing against the impact, but the force still sent me stumbling back, my breath hitching in my throat. My vision blurred for a second, pain flaring where the blow had landed.

I gritted my teeth. No. I couldn't let it overwhelm me.

Aura Adaptation surged. I could feel it working – my body syncing with the Kobold's movements, my muscles adjusting to match its speed, its power, its flow. My stance shifted, my weight settling lower, more stable. The Kobold rushed in again, but this time –

I met it. It slashed. I swayed just past its reach, my body moving on its own. It stepped forward to close the gap. I stepped in first. I ducked under a wild claw swipe and slammed my elbow into its exposed ribs. Crack. A sharp exhale burst from the beast's throat, its balance breaking for just a moment.

I drove a fist toward its gut, my speed now matching its own. The punch landed solidly, forcing the Kobold back a step – but not enough. It recovered fast, eyes blazing with renewed fury.

It came again.

Claws lashed out. I blocked with my forearm, wincing as sharp edges scraped against skin, but I pushed through the pain. I twisted, swinging a kick toward its knee, aiming to break its stance. The Kobold jumped back – too slow. My foot clipped the joint, sending a shudder through its leg.

Cracks were forming. My aura continued to refine, absorbing every movement, every reaction. The more we fought, the more I adapted. Its growl deepened, breath ragged. It wasn't just fighting me anymore – it was desperately trying to stay ahead.

The Kobold lunged. Claws slashed downward, a brutal arc. I twisted. My small frame slipped past its reach, a whisper of space between us. The force of the strike tore through the air – whoosh! – followed by the crack of claws scraping stone.

I countered. My fist shot forward, aiming for its ribs. But my footing was off. My weight, wrong. The strike landed, a dull thud, nothing more than a tap against thick hide.

The Kobold didn't flinch. It snarled, a guttural rasp, and drove its knee toward my stomach. I barely reacted. Hands shot down, bracing, but the force sent me stumbling back. Breath hitched. Vision blurred, pain flaring.

No. I gritted my teeth. Couldn't let it overwhelm me.

Aura Adaptation surged. I felt it, syncing my body, adjusting my muscles, matching its speed, its power, its flow. My stance shifted, lower, stable. The Kobold rushed in. This time, I met it.

It slashed. I swayed. Just past its reach. My body moved on its own, a phantom dance. It stepped forward. I stepped in first. I ducked under a wild claw swipe. Crack. Elbow slammed into exposed ribs. A sharp exhale, its balance broken. I pressed forward. Fist drove toward its gut, my speed now its equal. The punch landed solidly, forcing it back a step. But not enough. It recovered fast, eyes blazing, renewed fury.

Claws lashed out. I blocked. Forearm scraped, pain lanced, but I pushed through. I twisted. Kick swung toward its knee, aiming to break its stance. The Kobold jumped back. Too slow. My foot clipped the joint, a shudder through its leg. Cracks were forming.

My aura refined, absorbing every movement, every reaction. The more we fought, the more I adapted. The Kobold knew it. Growl deepened, breath ragged. Not just fighting me, trying to stay ahead.

The Kobold lunged, a snarling, furred blur erupting from the shadows. I sidestepped, a desperate maneuver born of dwindling energy, but the beast was too swift. Claws, tipped with grime and past kills, slashed my side. Fabric tore. Flesh burned. Pain flared, a searing brand against the dim dungeon air, but I forced it back, buried it beneath the urgent symphony of survival.

The creature pivoted, a fluid motion of coiled muscle and predatory intent. It came again, a relentless tide of bestial aggression. I ducked. Spun. Struck out, fist driving into its ribs – weak, useless, a whisper of resistance against its thick hide. The Kobold barely flinched. Yellow eyes gleamed, and then, with brutal finality, its clawed hand arced down.

Air fled my lungs, stolen by an impact that sent me careening, weightless, into the unforgiving stone. My body hit hard, ribs screaming, nerves ablaze. A shockwave of agony. A constellation of pain. I rolled, a broken thing coughing, gasping, scrambling for breath. But the Kobold – ruthless, relentless – descended like a storm.

Teeth snapped. Fangs gleamed inches from my face, hot breath thick with rot washing over me. I heaved, shoved, fought – a feeble struggle against the monstrous weight pinning me down. Claws, obsidian-sharp, sank into my shoulders, anchoring me, locking me in place. I wasn't winning. I was delaying the inevitable.

Then – Aura Adaptation flared. Power surged. The Kobold's stance, its movements, its killing intent bled into me, knowledge forced into my veins like fire. My knee shot up, a desperate, instinctive strike. A grunt. A moment of hesitation. I twisted, rolled, wrenched it off. For a heartbeat, I was free.

I staggered back, breath ragged, vision swimming. Blood – too much, far too much – dripped down my ribs, my arms, my flesh unraveling in crimson threads. The Kobold rose, unbothered, undeterred. It wasn't hurt. Not like me. I was a broken vessel spilling life onto cold stone.

It charged. I feinted left. Claws carved the air, a whisper of death past my ear. I countered – desperate, reckless – a fist snapping up, Aura Adaptation weaving the predator's rhythm into my own. My knuckles struck home, a solid impact against its jaw. The Kobold reeled. I surged forward, elbow slamming into its throat. It choked. I kicked. It staggered. A moment's victory.

Something changed. No more testing. No more games. It moved, a blur, too fast, too strong. The strike landed before I could react. Claws – deep, brutal, tearing through flesh and muscle. I choked, gasped, warmth spilling down my side, my blood painting the floor. Then the kick. A shattering, concussive force against my chest. The world spun, the dungeon tilted, my body lifted.

Impact.

Stone met flesh. Pain. Pain. PAIN. Everything screamed. My ribs. My arms. My lungs, starved and failing. Something was broken. Everything was broken. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Limbs unresponsive, dead weight on the cold ground. The Kobold loomed, a monstrous shadow in the dim light.

No strength. No speed. No tricks left to play. Aura Adaptation had prolonged the fight. But not to blitz win. Sebastian had ensured that for sure. I laughed, a weak, broken sound, a ghost of defiance. The Kobold lunged, finality in its strike. I didn't dodge. Couldn't dodge. So I gambled.

Fingers shot out. Small. Weak. Insignificant. But precise. My hand found its throat. And I bit. Teeth sank deep. Hot, thick blood filled my mouth. Metallic. Disgusting. The Kobold screeched. Convulsed. Twitched. I ripped, a savage, primal motion.

The weight collapsed atop me. Heavy. Warm. Dead. A victory. A Pyrrhic thing, bought with agony and blood. I tried to move. Nothing. My arm – numb. My leg – gone. My body – a ruin. Thirsty. So thirsty. A parched fire in my throat. Blood pooled, mine and the Kobold's, dark rivers merging into the stone.

I tilted my head back. Laughed, hollow, empty, madness curling in the sound. No regrets. Only satisfaction. I had fought. I had bled. I had survived. A broken, bloodied thing. But alive.

The taste of iron.

It clung to my tongue, thick and metallic, bitter with something that didn't belong. My breath came sharp, ragged, too fast. My body screamed – aching, throbbing, alive. My fingers, curled tight in the coarse fur of the creature beneath me, trembled.

The kobold twitched. A final spasm. A fading spark. Stillness. Silence. The only sound left was my breathing. Slowly, I uncurled my fingers. My arms ached from holding on too long. My legs shook from exertion. My ribs burned where the claws had torn through my side. But I didn't move. I didn't stand. Not yet.

I waited. One second. Two. Three.

The body beneath me collapsed inward. Like dust caught in the wind, it crumbled – flesh and fur dissolving, fading, disappearing as if it had never existed. Gone. In its place, something fell. Clink. A dull sound against stone. Small, insignificant, yet more real than anything else at that moment.

I exhaled, the breath shaky, uneven. My hands, raw and bloodied, reached forward. My fingers brushed against something rough. Jagged. Sharp.

A kobold nail.

My fingers curled around it. Warm. Solid. Proof. Next to it, something cool. Smooth. Light pulsed beneath my touch – a faint purple glow, flickering in the dimness of the Dungeon. A magic stone.

The realization sank in.

I had won. I had won.

Against something bigger. Against something faster. Against something stronger. I was weak. I had no sword. No magic. No armor. I should've lost. Though I have used my core ability. But I had won. My arms still ached. My ribs still throbbed. My wounds still bled. I clutched the kobold nail tighter, feeling the roughness bite into my palm. Feeling the sting, the pain, the exhaustion.

---

Canoe Belway

"Tch. That damn brat had nothing."

Canoe clicked his tongue, stuffing his hands into his worn leather coat pockets as he wandered the labyrinthine upper floors of the Dungeon. The cold air carried the metallic tang of blood and the musty scent of ancient stone. Another day, another waste of time. That Pallum runt, Lily, had been too damn slippery, too broke to squeeze anything worthwhile from. Quick fingers, quicker feet, and an irritating knack for disappearing just when he thought he had her cornered.

Waste of time. All of it. Just like everything else these days.

He kicked at a small rock, watching it skitter across the uneven floor, listening to the hollow echo as it bounced away into darkness. The sound reminded him of empty pockets. Empty promises. The Soma Familia had been feeding him scraps for too long, dangling the promise of real work while keeping him on these petty shakedowns.

His eyes swept across the vast cavern – searching, hunting, predatory – until they landed on her.

A kid.

Small. No older than ten. She was slumped against the cold stone floor, arms limp at her sides, legs awkwardly folded beneath her like broken twigs. Blood – both hers and something else – stained her simple clothes. The flickering blue of the dungeon's natural light cast eerie shadows across her face, making her look like something not quite real. Not quite living. She wasn't trembling. She wasn't gasping. She wasn't crying out for help like most children would.

She just sat there – still. Unnervingly still. Like a doll someone had wound too tight, let run until the gears snapped with a violent wrench, and then abandoned without a second thought. Her hair, golden as sunlight filtering through autumn leaves. Her skin, pale as if carved from porcelain, now smudged with dirt and that telling crimson.

Canoe felt something cold slither down his spine. Recognition. Opportunity. Danger.

Too young. Too small. Too alone. The Dungeon didn't spare children. The Dungeon didn't care about innocence or fairness. So what was she doing here?

He had no clue what the hell she was doing down here – dressed in rags that had once been finer clothes, barehanded with torn knuckles, looking like she had absolutely no right to survive in this place that chewed up and spat out newbie adventurers daily.

Sword Princess? No. Impossible.

A doll. A perfect copy. The golden hair that caught what little light existed down here. The delicate features that should have been soft with childhood but were already sharpening with something harder. The intensity in her expression, even now, exhausted and bloodied. Canoe's practiced grin faltered for just a second before he forced it back into place. She wasn't the Sword Princess. He knew that much. The real one was older, stronger, a walking nightmare in battle that even hardened criminals spoke of with grudging respect. The kind of adventurer whose name alone made people step aside, make way, avert their eyes.

But this girl – this girl had to be related. The resemblance was too strong, too specific to be coincidence.

A sister? Hidden daughter?

Whatever the case, she wasn't a nobody. And that meant she was valuable. His first thought, immediate and instinctive as breathing? Sell her.

The Soma Familia had connections. Deep, dark, twisted connections that wormed their way through Orario's underbelly. Smugglers, slavers, traders who specialized in making people disappear from one place and reappear in another. No questions asked, no traces left behind, no paperwork to follow. They excelled at turning people into commodities.

But – no. Not just yet.

Canoe wasn't stupid. He knew how this game was played. If he handed the girl over to his superiors, he'd never see a single val of the deal – they'd pocket everything and he'd be left with nothing but the knowledge he'd been used. Worse, he'd be a loose end. And Canoe had seen enough people vanish after outliving their usefulness to know he had no intention of being erased the moment he stopped being convenient.

Think bigger. Think smarter. This isn't just a payday. This is THE payday.

No – this had to be bigger. Riskier. Because there was one person who'd pay even more than Ishtar or any other buyer in the flesh markets.

The Sword Princess herself.

Canoe nearly laughed out loud, the sound catching in his throat as the pieces clicked together in his mind. If this girl really was her sister – and she had to be, the resemblance was too uncanny – then that woman would pay anything to get her back. What would a Level 5 adventurer, one of Orario's elite, sacrifice for family? Money? Certainly. Favors? Likely. Information? Possibly.

The possibilities expanded before him like the Dungeon itself, vast and filled with potential reward.

The problem? Getting to her without getting himself killed in the process. He couldn't just waltz into Loki Familia's home and demand a ransom. That was suicide – they'd cut him down where he stood and take the girl without a second thought, or worse, they'd turn him over to the Guild for attempting to extort one of their most valuable members.

He needed an in. A middleman. Someone with just enough pull to make the exchange without alerting the wrong people, someone who could guarantee his safety while maintaining enough distance to keep both parties satisfied.

A broker? A go-between? Someone with nothing to gain from betraying either side?

Maybe a broker from the Guild itself? Maybe an intermediary through Soma Familia who didn't know the full scope of what they were arranging? Didn't matter. He'd figure it out. What mattered was the opportunity that had quite literally collapsed at his feet. And this? This was the kind of prize that could change a man's life.

Never again. Never again scrabbling for scraps.

One job. One exchange. One perfect moment of leverage, and he could buy his way out of the gutters, out of the Soma Familia's grip, maybe even out of Orario itself. Start fresh somewhere else, somewhere people didn't know his name or his debts or his past. Canoe's grin widened as he approached the girl, crouching down to her level. Time to be charming. Time to be helpful. Time to be exactly the kind of savior a lost child would trust without question.

"Hey there, kid," he said, voice softened to hide the sharp edges of his thoughts. "Looks like you could use some help."

And I could use a ticket out of this hellhole.

The girl's golden eyes shifted to meet his, and for a moment – just a moment – Canoe felt a chill of uncertainty. Those weren't a child's eyes staring back at him. They were too old, too knowing, too... something. But the moment passed, and his confidence returned. After all, what could one exhausted child do against a man who'd survived the streets of Orario and the depths of the Dungeon? Canoe reached out a hand, already calculating how much the Sword Princess might pay for something so precious. Already imagining a life far from here, built on the foundation of this single, perfect stroke of luck.

"Let's get you somewhere safe,"

He said, the lie tasting sweet on his tongue.

---

Canoe Belway - Lvl 1 Adventure Soma Familia

 

[MysticHater420]

To be honest I'm kinda disappointed, I would've preferred he take Aiz's place entirely than just be some younger copy. The premise of an Ais SI has never been explored from what I can tell (especially one where said SI is a cosmic God wanting to try out mortality) and it's a bummer that this is the direction your taking it, can you even call all it an SI since Canon Ais is there at the same time?

I'd still read the fic but it takes some of my interest out of it

 

[Femto]

To be honest I'm kinda disappointed, I would've preferred he take Aiz's place entirely than just be some younger copy. The premise of an Ais SI has never been explored from what I can tell (especially one where said SI is a cosmic God wanting to try out mortality) and it's a bummer that this is the direction your taking it, can you even call all it an SI since Canon Ais is there at the same time?

I'd still read the fic but it takes some of my interest out of it

Click to shrink...

I've realized that writing in Aiz's takes away a lot of stakes - as we've known - she's the actual protagonist alongside Bell (Sword Oratoria) I found it more interesting to write in a perspective of a random backdrop to make progressing feel earned and domino effects compelling.

 

[MysticHater420]

I found it more interesting to write in a perspective of a random backdrop to make progressing feel earned and domino effects compelling

Click to shrink...

That's been done before many times on this site and him being an Ais clone at this point in canon means it's impossible for him to be a random backdrop cause there is no way Loki Familia doesn't pick up the Ais clone and the whole city especially the Gods would be very interested that there is another Aiz with her own unique power set

 

[Femto]

That's been done before many times on this site and him being an Ais clone at this point in canon means it's impossible for him to be a random backdrop cause there is no way Loki Familia doesn't pick up the Ais clone and the whole city especially the Gods would be very interested that there is another Aiz with her own unique power set

Click to shrink...

Fair enough man. No need to be pressured. I just love to explore the interaction of clone and the current danmachi people. Also I want to explore this route - giving the MC trash talent - no god king status proof - more dangers of having the same look. Imagine how she struggled so much against a mob despite power set.

 

[MysticHater420]

Fair enough man. No need to be pressured

Click to shrink...

Don't get the wrong idea I'm not pressured or frustrated with you, I know it's hard tell without actually speaking face to face

Also I want to explore this route - giving the MC trash talent - no god king status proof - more dangers of having the same look

Click to shrink...

Actually I'd say him being an Ais clone should give him the same amount talent she has, if you wanted the trash talent route Raul would be better. In fact him being able to beat a Kobold in a child's body with no training and just some form of Aura Enhancement just reinforce's that he does have Ais's talent

I just love to explore the interaction of clone and the current danmachi people

Click to shrink...

That does sound interesting

 

[Femto]

In fact him being able to beat a Kobold in a child's body with no training and just some form of Aura Enhancement just reinforce's that he does have Ais's talent

Click to shrink...

The God King fragmented memories despite being heavily nerfed so bad still plays a role in this fight. He might have became worse than a human kid without the Aura Adaptation - but the crucial variable here for me is that speck of God King Fragment gives a bit of edge.

 

[Femto]

That does sound interesting

Click to shrink...

A bit of spoilers here - but I don't see to seeing myself writing the clone to be part of Familia though.

 

[Femto]

I needed this sheet to clearly outline the current abilities—especially Temporal Control and Aura Adaptation—and to reduce confusion among forum readers by providing a consistent reference point. The detailed breakdown helps everyone understand not only what each power does but also how it integrates with the God King's overall combat strategy and narrative growth.

---

Name: God King (Currently Mortal)

Race: Mortal Human/Spirit?
Age: 8 (Physical)
Level: 1

---

Core Abilities

Temporal Control (Major Ability – Active/Passive)

• Effect: Manipulates the flow of time in a controlled radius—accelerating, decelerating, or stopping movement within its influence.
• Limitations:
  • Requires absolute synchronization between aura, mind, and body—failure to maintain this leads to catastrophic self-inflicted damage.
  • Physical Backlash: If the God King's body is too weak or untrained, attempting to speed up will result in torn muscles, broken bones, or complete loss of control.
  • Mental Overload: Perception lag or temporal desynchronization occurs if his mind cannot keep up with the manipulated time flow.
• Abilities:
  • Time Shift: Alters the speed of targets based on aura control.
  • Momentary Freeze: Halts movement in a small area at high aura cost.
  • Temporal Surge (Locked): Advanced manipulation yet to be unlocked.

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Aura Adaptation (Core Ability – Passive/Active)

• Effect: The God King's essence of time bypasses normal limitations, allowing him to integrate external energies, techniques, and combat instincts at an accelerated rate.
• Mechanics:
  • Instantaneous Integration: Instead of requiring years of training, the God King absorbs and refines external auras at an unnatural speed.
  • Instinctual Mimicry: In combat, he can analyze an opponent's aura and temporarily replicate their instincts, movements, and combat style.
  • Permanent Assimilation (Cooldown): With extended exposure, techniques and abilities can become a permanent part of his arsenal.
• Example Application:
  • When fighting a Kobold, the God King's aura synchronizes with its primal aggression, allowing him to mimic its feral instincts, movement patterns, and attack timing—effectively learning its way of fighting in moments rather than years.

---

Notes on Power Progression

• Non-Magical Origin: The God King does NOT use magic. His abilities stem purely from his aura, a degraded remnant of his once-divine essence.
• Reliance on Experience: Due to his limited mortal talent, he must rely on experience and adaptation rather than raw power or inherent skill.
• Integration Complexity: The stronger the foe, the more challenging it is to integrate their abilities. More refined techniques require deeper synchronization to master.