Eternal Master: Path to Godlike Status-Chapter 9: ENDLESS PART
The shockwave tore through reinforced cement as though the material had never been anything but chalk.
Crack-Thud.
He didn’t stop. His other fist followed instantly.
Punch after punch, he worked with the relentless speed of a piston engine, each strike landing with the force of a demolition charge.
Roughly three minutes later, he drove the final blow.
The last slab fractured and gave way, collapsing inward to reveal a chamber that had no business existing inside a military base.
He lowered his fists and stepped through the breach.
The room breathed old air — dry, close, carrying the faint mineral bite of stone that hadn’t seen light in decades.
The rock formations were ancient, shaped by human hands. Carved walls. Deliberate angles. A room built to keep something.
At the far end, an altar rose from the floor.
It was hewn from the same dark stone as the walls, its surface rough in patches and worn smooth in others.
The base was wide, tapering upward to a flat top clearly designed to cradle something specific.
Rain stepped closer, reading the wear patterns the way a tracker reads ground.
A body had rested here. Not long ago, either — a year, perhaps two. The indentations were still crisp at their edges.
He reached out and touched the stone.
The moment his fingertips grazed the surface, what had been a distant vibration ignited into something more powerful.
His skin darkened along his hand and forearm, the color draining to a sickly grey before the tissue began to flake and separate at the cellular level.
"Interesting." He smiled. "Hyper-cellular degeneration. I wonder what an hour would do."
Unfortunately, his regeneration pushed back, knitting new tissue even as the altar tore it apart — a slow war between creation and entropy, playing out beneath the skin of one forearm.
Gradually, the regeneration completely adapted. The color returned to his hand.
He exhaled through his nose — very disappointed.
Then he removed his clothing, folded it neatly at the base of the altar, and lay down on the stone.
The decay came back with renewed forced, tearing through him. This time, the regeneration labored to keep pace.
His eyelids grew heavy, resisting the pull of sleep.
Shapes and colors swirled at his vision, forming fleeting images as his mind finally drifted into dreams rather than shutting down.
He curled into the center of the cold stone, welcoming the darkness.
"Am I dreaming now?"
Rain sat upon a limestone precipice, the air tasting of unpolluted Earth.
Below him, a valley stretched into the distance, a sea of trees and winding rivers. There were no engines, only the distant roar of a waterfall and the raw cry of creatures that had not yet been named.
He looked down at his arms. These were the hands of a hunter, built for the grip of a spear and the cold reality of survival.
There was no "efficiency" here, only the brutal, honest necessity of living.
The dream accelerated. The emerald valleys were paved over with grey concrete, then choked by the neon sprawl of steel and glass
Rain watched as the rivers he once drank from were redirected into industrial veins, and the prehistoric cries were replaced by the sound of anti-gravity engines.
He watched it all—the rise of empires, the peak of technology, and the inevitable, silent collapse.
Finally, the sky turned to ash. The flying cars fell like dead beetles. The lights went out. The atmosphere itself seemed to retreat, leaving behind a dead planet.
Rain stood alone on the same cliff.
’How predictable,’ he thought, the observation as dry as the dust around him. ’So, my nightmare is outliving everything.’
