Infinite Ascension: 100,000x Amplified-Chapter 35: Genesis Will

Nova’s eyes snapped open before his alarm could trigger.

He looked at his body, he didn’t need to take a shower because he was an energy lifeform, and form of dirt that attaches to him would be devoured and used as fuel for his cultivation no matter how miniscule it was, so he would always look perfect and neat. He thought to him self "that was convenient."

But more importantly, something had shifted while he slept. He lay still, feeling the change ripple through his marrow. The Ancient Chaotic Origin Qi circulating through his veins was no longer a restless stream; it had thickened, turning dense and cold like liquid diamond. The Chaotic Origin Flame in his core didn’t flicker anymore—it pulsed with a low, heavy thrum that made his ribs ache with newfound power. His body felt solid, as if a thousand loose threads had finally been pulled taut into a single, unbreakable knot.

He pulled up his panel.

[Status Panel]

[Character: Nova Stern] [Race: Human (Chaotic Origin Energy Lifeform — Stage 2, Early)] [Age: 17] [Level: LV2 — Tier 1 Warrior] [Profession: Martial Cultivation God (Mythical) — Unique]

[Talents:]

Unlimited Amplification (Primordial Origin) Absolute Insight (Divine-Tier) Primordial Emberwood Concept (EX-Rank) Spatial Control (S-Rank) Eternal Shadow Dominion (EX-Rank)

[Physical Strength: 9,247] [Strength: 9,247] [Speed: 9,247] [Spirit: 9,247] [Energy (Ancient Chaotic Origin Qi): 9,247] [Luck: 14]

[Laws — Selected Peak:] Plasma Law — 9% | Shadow Law — 9% | Fire Law — 9% | Lightning Law — 7% | Crystal Law — 7% | Law of Resonance — 7% | Sound Law — 7% | Emberwood Law — 8% | Law of Geometric Order — 7% | Law of Umbral Space — 7% (All other laws active at 4-6%)

[Passive Special Essence: Limit Break — All attributes x10 permanently. Near-death: x30] [Active Skills: Phantom Step | Celestial Annihilation | Infinite Velocity | Eternal Shadow Clone] [Practice Methods: Eternal Chaotic Origin Scripture (Divine-Rank Peak — COMPLETE) | Soul Etching Technique (S-Rank) | Vibrational Force Technique | Basic Martial Arts (Perfect Mastery)] [Equipment: Sovereign Spiralblade (Legendary) | Void Jian (Supreme) | Combat Suit (Tier 9 rated)] [Space Ring: Loaded] [Battle Power: 924,700 base (Tier 5+) | ~9,247,000 with Limit Break active (Tier 7+)] [Evaluation: An impossibility given form. Classification system inadequate. Recommend immediate re-evaluation of fundamental assumptions about cultivation.]

Stage 2. The breakthrough had happened passively during sleep, the Eternal Chaotic Origin Scripture continuing its work even in rest, the passive cultivation from each breath accumulating until the threshold crossed on its own, drawing in the air from his every breath until the cup finally overflowed.

He flexed his hand, watching the way his skin seemed to hum with energy.

He noted the energy quality with particular interest. The Ancient Chaotic Origin Qi his technique produced was categorically superior to what demigod-tier warriors worked with — the purification depth, the law-resonance properties woven into it, the way it carried all four fundamental properties simultaneously. A demigod’s Qi was powerful by virtue of quantity accumulated over decades or centuries of cultivation. Nova’s Qi was qualitatively different at the molecular level, the Eternal Chaotic Origin Scripture producing something that operated on a frequency they couldn’t even touch.

The quantity, though, was nowhere near demigod levels yet. He had not been cultivating for decades. His reserves were genuinely vast for his tier but he had no illusions about that comparison — quality was not quantity, and quantity had its own advantages in sustained combat.

Something to address through continued cultivation.

He created a shadow clone with a thought, left it to maintain his presence at the residence, he already knew the spatial coordinate of the Crimsonpeak martial hall.

He locked the coordinates of Crimsonpeak Martial Hall, fed the Space Law a trace of Ancient Chaotic Origin Qi, and stepped.

Crimsonpeak Martial Hall — Early Morning

Tory looked up from her desk, her eyes widening as the door hissed open. She checked the clock.

"You’re here before dawn," she said.

"The gravity chamber worked well yesterday."

Tory studied him. Having run the hall for two years, she had an eye for the subtle shifts in a warrior’s posture. Yesterday, Nova had looked like a storm gathering energy; this morning, he looked like the mountain that remained after the storm had passed. There was a stillness to him that made the air in the lobby feel thin.

"Twice in under twenty-four hours," she said. "You’re incredibly dedicated."

"The results speak for themselves."

She led him to the chamber and left him to it.

The six-times gravity engaged.

As the weight slammed down, Nova sank into the lotus position. The Scripture roared to life. His Stage 2 body didn’t just endure the pressure; it drank it in. The gravity acted like a whetstone, grinding against his refined cellular structure and forcing the Chaotic Origin Flame to burn even hotter to compensate.

He lost himself in it.

Ten hours. Twelve. Fourteen.

He pushed two hours past the previous session. Stage 2 provided more endurance than Stage 1 had, his energy reserves deeper, his tolerance for sustained refinement pressure higher.

When he finally surfaced, his body was trembling with a bone-deep exhaustion. His reserves were a dry well, but the gains were undeniable.

He pulled up the panel update.

[Panel Update]

Physical Strength: 9,247 → 11,892 Battle Power: ~11,892,000 with Limit Break (Tier 7+)

Over 2,600 points per attribute from fourteen hours. With Limit Break’s amplification, effective stats exceeding 118,000 across the board.

He was LV2. Tier 1 on paper. His battle power was sitting at nearly twelve million with Limit Break active — comfortably into territory that most Tier 7 warriors would find concerning.

He stood up, his legs shaking. He forced them into stillness by sheer grit. In the training wall’s mirror, his reflection stared back—golden eyes glowing faintly, silver-white hair damp with sweat. He looked lean, but he radiated a presence that felt too big for the small room to contain.

"With my talents, my profession, and the cultivation technique I’m practicing," he said to his reflection, not performing anything, just stating what was true, "even among the top geniuses globally, I’m already standing somewhere that matters."

It wasn’t a boast. It was a cold statement of fact.

He let the thought settle.

"Give it time — not just to match the established powerhouses. To surpass them."

The words carried the specific weight of absolute certainty rather than ambition. He wasn’t declaring a goal. He was stating an expected outcome.

Something shifted.

In that moment, the air in the chamber didn’t just change—it died. A sudden, freezing weight radiated from Nova, pressing against the reinforced walls with the patient, terrifying authority of a predator that had finally stopped hiding.

[Ding! Spiritual sublimation detected]

[Martial Will awakened!]

[Genesis Will — Stage 1, Level 9 Peak]

Information flooded his consciousness.

Martial Will. The manifestation of a warrior’s spiritual essence given tangible form — conviction and determination and sense of self made real enough to affect the world rather than just the person holding it. Most warriors didn’t touch this until Tier 5, and even then, they spent decades crawling through the levels. Nova had jumped to the peak of the first stage in a single heartbeat.

Nova had multiple peak-level intent masteries now converted to laws. He had the Eternal Chaotic Origin Scripture running continuously. He had Absolute Insight as his comprehension foundation. All of it had converged in that single moment of stated certainty and produced what would have taken most warriors years to approach for the first time.

Stage 1, Level 9. Peak of the first stage. From nothing, in one moment.

He read through the stage descriptions with Absolute Insight analyzing each one.

Genesis Will at Level 9 — passive intimidation aura capable of triggering instinctive fear and hesitation in warriors with weaker will, paralysis or panic in those significantly below his spiritual strength, mental interference in combat slowing enemy reactions, attacks carrying weight beyond physical force against those with inferior spirit, perfect control of intensity and direction, complete concealment when desired.

He spent several minutes experimenting. Focusing the will into a narrow beam at one wall. Dispersing it evenly across the chamber. Cycling through intensities. Running different qualities through it — the calm authority of someone who had already decided, the focused weight of someone in motion, the specific pressure of something that had looked at you and made a calculation.

Within minutes the control was clean.

He suppressed the aura until it was a mere shadow of itself—less than one percent—and stepped out.

The door opened.

The scene in the main hall had developed while he was inside.

The main hall was no longer empty.

Tory stood in the center of the floor, her shoulders locked and her knuckles white. She looked like a spring wound too tight, her eyes burning with a fury she was forcing herself to swallow.

Across from her stood a portly man with a greasy, frozen smile: Wang Thornbeak, director of the rival Thunder Martial Hall. Behind him stood three young thugs, smirking with the casual cruelty of people who knew they held the high ground.

"Wang Thornbeak," Tory said, her voice like cracking ice. "You again."

"Director Tory. Still holding onto this graveyard?" Wang strolled through the hall, eyes darting around as if he were already measuring the floor for his own mats. "I’m here for the alloy weapon your father ’borrowed’, the B-Grade alloy weapon before he tucked tail and ran. It’s time to pay up or return it."

"That’s a lie." Tory’s voice stayed controlled. "My father never borrowed anything from you. You’re slandering him."

"Denying it won’t change the facts." Wang’s eyes moved across the facility with the satisfied assessment of someone taking inventory. "This place was so much more alive when Master Roderic was here. Such a shame, his disappearance. Without proper guidance the hall has become somewhat..." He paused to let the word land. "Derelict."

"Watch your mouth." The temperature in Tory’s voice dropped further. "My father isn’t dead. He will return."

Wang’s smile remained. "Of course. In the meantime — you either close this hall permanently or hand over your family’s Heaven-Splitting Spear technique. Payment in lieu of the debt."

"There is no debt."

"Alternatively," Wang continued as though she hadn’t spoken, his small eyes moving over her with an expression that made the air in the room feel like it needed cleaning, "there’s my previous offer. Join the Wang family. Bring the technique as dowry. Both halls merge. Everything is forgiven."

Tory looked at him. "You’re delusional."

Wang shrugged, his expression shifting from the performance of reasonableness to something with teeth. "Then the debt stands. Return the weapon or close the hall." His eyes moved over her again with naked want that he wasn’t bothering to disguise. "Or — one night with me. I’ll extend the deadline a month."

One of the warriors behind him snickered. "Director Wang is giving you face. With his background he could have anyone."

"No matter how strong a woman gets, if she’s just guarding a broken-down hall—" another started.

Wang and his people laughed.

Tory’s jaw tightened. She was a peak Tier 2 warrior. She was confident she could defeat Wang in single combat — he was officially Tier 3 but everyone who had watched him knew the rank was built entirely on supplements rather than genuine cultivation, his foundation hollow. She was not afraid of him.

She was afraid of his father. Wang Magnus. Thunder Martial Hall’s true master. Tier 6.

And she didn’t want to drag Crimson Rose into this over her personal situation. Not yet.

"I remember this," she said quietly, her voice carrying the specific weight of a promise rather than a threat. "Don’t give me the opportunity to repay it."

Wang opened his mouth to laugh, but the sound died in his throat.

But suddenly a pressure arrived.

The pressure hit the room like a falling ceiling. It wasn’t a wind or a sound; it was an instinctive shiver, the sudden, paralyzing realization that they were no longer the most dangerous things in the room. It felt as if a giant had reached into the hall and placed a thumb over everyone’s heart.

The chamber doors slid open.

Wang’s laughter stopped mid-sound. The warriors behind him went pale with a speed that had nothing to do with conscious decision, their bodies responding to something their cultivator instincts were flagging as a category of threat they were not equipped to handle. One of them took a step backward without appearing to know he had done it. Another’s hand went to his weapon and stopped there, the reflex firing before the rational assessment caught up to inform him that the weapon would not help.

"What—" Wang’s voice came out wrong, the confidence stripped from it. His eyes swept the room, looking for the source of something his Tier 3 spiritual sense was telling him he fundamentally did not want to be near.

Tory was staring at the gravity chamber door.

The metallic doors fully opened and Nova stepped through, his golden eyes dim with fourteen hours of cultivation exhaustion, his frame carrying the specific heaviness of a body that had been pushed past its reserves and was running on will rather than energy. He looked like someone who needed to sleep for approximately one week.

The pressure still radiated from him at less than one percent suppressed.

His eyes moved across the room. Tory’s controlled fury. The portly man with the calculating eyes that were now carrying something different in them — a wariness his body had decided on before his mind got there. The three warriors behind him who were having varying degrees of difficulty pretending they weren’t affected by being in this room.

Nova’s gaze settled on Wang Thornbeak.

"Who are you," he said.

The words were quiet and without performance. They carried the pressure of his Genesis Will beneath them the way deep water carried its weight — not announced, just present.

Wang Thornbeak was a man who had spent thirty years building a position of local dominance through his father’s power and his own willingness to take what he wanted from people who couldn’t stop him. He was accustomed to being the most dangerous thing in any room he entered.

He was not accustomed to looking at an exhausted teenager and feeling a primal, staggering fear—the certainty that this boy could erase him from the floor without breaking a sweat.

"I—" Wang stopped. Cleared his throat. Tried again. "This is none of your concern, young man."

Nova looked at him for a moment longer.

Then he looked at Tory. "Is there a problem?"