September 15th, 2075.
The day had finally arrived. The morning sun rose with an ominous, heavy brightness, casting a thick blanket of light over the city streets.
Yet, the entire day, Jet did not do anything at all.
He didn’t even allow Inez to go to school. Long before her morning alarm could sound, he walked to the front entrance, turned the heavy iron deadbolt, and locked up the door completely.
When Inez stepped out of her room, rubbing her eyes in confusion while clutching her school uniform, Jet looked down at her with a calm, unyielding expression.
He simply told her that there was no school today, instructing her to stay in the living room and watch television. He didn’t offer a complex explanation, and Inez, sensing the strange, heavy shift in her brother’s demeanor, didn’t dare to argue.
Leaving his sister with a bowl of cereal in front of the screen, Jet walked down the narrow hallway and stepped into his private bathroom.
He closed the door behind him and locked it. The room was tightly confined, but it was fitted with two full-body mirrors, one mounted directly on the wall in front of him, and one mounted on the wall behind him.
Jet stepped out of his loose black clothes and stripped completely naked. He stood silently between the two glass panels, his breathing slow and measured as he turned his head to look at his reflection.
Looking at himself, he hardly recognized his own body.The pale, ordinary eighteen-year-old kid who had walked into a coffee shop a month ago was completely gone. In his place stood a living monument of ink.
The layout of the ten tattoos covered his entire skin with absolute, suffocating density. The only places on his entire frame that remained bare and untouched by Master Kuze’s needles were his penis, his front neck, and his entire face.
Everywhere else, the heavy, high-conductivity pigments had entirely rewritten his human canvas.Jet turned his back to the front mirror and looked over his shoulder, analyzing the massive, terrifying display captured by the dual glass panels.
The Eight-Armed Asura occupied Jet’s entire back. The war deity sat perfectly centered between Jet’s shoulder blades, its face rendered with a terrifying but almost divine expression of absolute wrath and frozen judgment. Spreading outward from the central spine, its eight powerful arms extended symmetrically across his shoulders, wrapped tightly around his rib cage, and descended toward his lower back. Master Kuze’s micro-precision was staggering; each of the Asura’s hands held a distinctly detailed weapon: a sword, spear, bow, axe, trident, jagged lightning of the vajra.
The final, eighth hand remained entirely empty, its fingers curled into a complex, ancient mudra over his lower spine. The lower body of the deity dissolved cleanly into dark, black-red clouds that swirled around Jet’s waist like a localized storm.
Directly above the war god, positioned at the base of his neck and upper spine, sat Samsara: The Eight-Spoked Dharma Wheel.
This specific tattoo was rendered with an extraordinarily clean, sharp line quality that contrasted with the chaotic clouds below it. The wheel sat perfectly at the base of his neck, its upper edge stopping right beneath his hairline while its lower frame extended smoothly between his shoulder blades.
When viewed from behind through the mirrors, the clean circle initially looked like a holy halo belonging to the Asura tattoo underneath it.
But Jet knew that it was a completely separate, independent tattoo.
Jet turned back around, facing the front mirror to examine his chest.
Ilios: The Undying Sun, dominated the center of his chest. This tattoo positioned directly over his heart, etched with hyper-dense, radiating gold-orange lines that seemed to pull toward his sternum.
Kuze had layered the pigment with such intense concentration that it looked as though there were actually a miniature, burning sun trapped underneath Jet’s skin.
Flanking the sun, his upper torso split into a gorgeous, terrifying visual duality.
On the right side, the Rakshasa occupied Jet’s right pectoral, wrapped over his right shoulder, and flowed down his entire right arm as a full sleeve. The design represented pure predatory violence, endless hunger, and raw, demonic physicality.
A monstrous, fanged face with wide, hollow eyes sat squarely on the meat of his shoulder, while the rest of its muscular, scaled body cascaded down his bicep and forearm. The creature’s jagged claws extended all the way to Jet’s wrist, tapering off into sharp points right above his hand.
On the left side, Yama perfectly mirrored the Rakshasa, covering his left pectoral, left shoulder, and his entire left arm. However, the visual language of this sleeve was completely different. While the Rakshasa on the right was wild, jagged, and chaotic, Yama on the left was entirely controlled, cold, and calculated. The King of Hell sat stoically upon a massive throne of bone, surrounded by structured underworld flames, heavy iron chains, and geometric symbols of absolute judgment.
A long, straight weapon of execution extended from the throne, tracing down Jet’s left forearm and stopping exactly at the wrist line. One arm represented predation; the other arm represented judgment.
One devours, and one condemns.
Jet lowered his gaze toward his midsection, tracing the seamless transition of the ink.
This was where Master Kuze had gotten incredibly creative with the structural constraints. He hadn’t simply tattooed a flat, standard circle on Jet’s stomach. Instead, the enormous serpent of Ouroboros wrapped completely around Jet’s waist and abdomen, its thick, scaled body biting its own tail somewhere near his navel.
The serpent’s frame circled around his sides, disappearing over his flanks and tracing across his lower back. The brilliant layout meant that a viewer could not see the entire Ouroboros from any single angle. It was thematically perfect for the concept it represented: no beginning, and no ending.
Directly beneath the coiled serpent, across his lower torso, sat Thanatos.
Master Kuze had slightly modified the initial placement to fit the biological lines of Jet’s body, giving Thanatos the lower abdomen and both sides of his pelvis, while keeping the central figure compact and contained.
The skeletal, robed figure of Death was positioned precisely beneath the Ouroboros navel line, with its enormous, feathered black wings extending outward toward both of Jet’s hips.
Jet stepped back slightly, taking in the deliberate vertical cosmology that now governed his entire torso. From his collarbones down to his pelvis, his skin mapped out the three great tiers of existence: Ilios, the Sun, sat on his chest; Ouroboros, Eternity, ruled his abdomen; and Thanatos, Death, anchored his lower torso. Life, eternity, and death.
There was a profound, calculated symbolism to the arrangement, completely avoiding the haphazard look of a random collection of tattoos. Every inch of ink was part of a singular, unified containment grid.
Finally, Jet looked down at his legs.
Lucifer: The Morning Star, claimed the entire right leg. The artwork began around his right hip and upper thigh, descending with absolute precision toward his ankle. Master Kuze had strictly followed Jet’s instructions, depicting Lucifer in his state before his legendary fall rather than making him look like a stereotypical, horned underworld demon.
The figure was beautiful, regal, and possessed six massive, sweeping wings. However, half of those wings were gradually darkening, their textures shifting from pristine feathers to a heavy, corrupted void as the design descended down Jet’s leg. Near the upper thigh, the imagery was almost angelic and pure; toward the calf and ankle, the lines became darker, increasingly corrupted, and jagged.
The artwork itself represented a literal narrative progression: Morning Star, rebellion, and the fall. A single, sharp star burned silently somewhere near the top of the hip, positioned as if it were hanging behind the entity’s head.
On his left leg, the Nine-Tailed Void Kitsune served as the perfect counterpart to the fallen angel. The mystical fox occupied Jet’s left thigh, sitting calmly and regally around his upper hip. Its nine enormous, sweeping tails twisted down and wrapped around his entire leg, descending toward his ankle.
Rather than being surrounded by ordinary foxfire, each individual tail was filled with tiny, star-like points of light and sharp, black spatial fractures that looked like cracks in a glass mirror. The calm posture of the fox at the top contrasted sharply with the violent, reality-breaking tails that dominated the lower artwork.
Jet slowly raised his head, his eyes locking onto the final, most critical piece of his engineered godhood.
The Primal Yin-Yang sat directly in the center of his brow, precisely between his eyebrows. This tattoo was the complete and absolute opposite of everything else on his body. It was tiny. There was no giant deity, no elaborate mural, and no enormous, sweeping creature covering his face. It was just a small, immaculate, and perfectly balanced Yin-Yang symbol.
At a casual glance, an ordinary person would assume it was the least impressive, least powerful of all his tattoos, a simple cosmetic dot compared to the massive gods on his back and limbs.
But Jet knew the truth. Unlike the Asura, Lucifer, Thanatos, or Ilios, the Primal Yin-Yang did not represent an individual god, a beast, or a localized creature. It represented a fundamental, universal principle. Yin and yang. Creation and destruction. Life and death. Light and darkness. Order and chaos.
It was the ultimate core, two opposing, world-shattering forces existing as one, designed to sit at the highest point of his meridian system to control, balance, and lock down the nine volatile gods etched below it.
Jet stared at his reflection for a few more minutes, his white pupils steady. The thirty days of agonizing pain were over. The canvas was complete.
He turned away from the mirrors, picked up his black clothes, and began to dress himself, hiding the gods beneath the fabric once more.