Silas began the cycle.
Thin strands of spiritual energy drifting through the bedroom were pulled inward, sinking through his crown in cold, steady streams.
Guiding the energy directly into his cranial cavity, he began dissolving and rebuilding the biological tissue of his brain.
The process went smoothly.
Two hours of intense focus, and the transformation locked into place.
When Silas opened his eyes, the physical mass of his brain had dissolved into a thick, churning cloud of grey vapor.
Will Fog.
Silas inspected the swirling mist and smiled.
The density was incredible, thick enough that droplets were beginning to condense on the edges, a state that normally only appeared in the second stage of cultivation.
The reason was obvious.
His consciousness had survived a million years of isolation and study.
His mental endurance outstripped anything a mortal novice could muster.
Still, this was just the doorway.
For the first time in this life, Silas was free from biological tyranny.
His heart kept beating, his lungs drew air, and his blood coursed through his veins, but every organ now answered directly to his Will.
If he wanted his pulse to drop to zero, a single thought would stop it.
The barrier between voluntary and involuntary biology was gone.
His mortal body functioned naturally only because his Will permitted it.
Silas clenched his hand, relishing the steady power humming in his fingers.
Only one crucial step remained: he had to define his core conviction, the immutable purpose that would anchor his Path.
This choice would unleash his path’s true strength.
But anchoring it would also seal Earth’s destiny, starting a ten-year evolutionary clock before the planet broke into the True Universe.
Silas glanced out the bedroom window at the sunlit street.
Ten years will do, assuming the World Spirit develops according to my models.
The mist in his head was merely an internal technique; it did not make him a recognized Path until he anchored it.
But once he drove that stake into reality, everything would change.
It was a massive gamble, but he had no alternative.
Without power, he was just an unusually clever ten-year-old boy, completely vulnerable to the heavy weapons of this era.
Will Fog gave him internal mastery, but against artillery shells, cruise missiles, and atomic warheads, his soft flesh would still vaporize.
Silas closed his eyes, centering his thoughts on his deepest purpose.
Within his skull, the grey Will Fog boiled.
A warm, golden hue bled into the cloud, transmuting the dull vapor into brilliant, shimmering gold.
Knowledge flashed across his mind: the structure of his innate Will Ability.
Every Mentalist awakened an ability matching their personal Will.
Advancing through the lower ranks required a practitioner to deepen their philosophical mastery of this trait, using that insight to temper their physical vessel until reaching Rank 4.
Silas did not waste time analyzing the details yet, as the Path needed to be anchored.
The moment the conviction settled in his soul, a deep, subterranean groan shook the ground.
The floorboards rattled.
Across the planet, the crust shuddered as Earth’s dormant planetary core awoke, beginning its evolution into a Path World.
Silas did not hesitate.
Drawing a thick thread of golden Will Fog from his brow, he slapped his palm against the floorboards and forced the energy into the earth.
The golden mist drilled through soil, bedrock, and mantle at terrifying speed, diving straight into the churning liquid iron at the center of the world.
A heavy click resonated in his chest.
Silas opened his eyes.
Earth was now his Life Will Weapon.
Every Mentalist could bind a single object to their soul as a Life Will Weapon, an artifact that grew alongside its wielder.
Silas looked down at the floor beneath his knees.
What weapon forged by hands could compare to an entire planet?
A standard Mentalist could never bond with a world, but Silas was the Path Ancestor who had triggered the planet’s awakening.
His authority over Earth’s evolutionary sequence was absolute, forging a bond far tighter than any mortal contract.
Through that link, Silas could feel the broad movements of the city around him.
It was not a blinding flood of noise; when he directed his focus toward a specific quarter, the ground beneath it fed the information straight into his awareness.
This was merely the raw framework of the bond, distinct from the active techniques of a fully matured Life Will Weapon.
As time passed and his grasp over Earth deepened, the planetary consciousness would condense into an independent World Spirit, a living World Will.
For now, the countdown had begun.
The clock was running.
Silas walked to the window, staring at the mortal city stretching out to the horizon.
The shortsightedness of these people never ceases to amaze me.
A thin, cold smile crossed his face.
They dig up dense spiritual crystals, call them diamonds, and stick them on gold rings for vanity.
They burn filthy sludge and coal to turn turbines, poisoning the air they need to live.
His eyes cooled to flint.
And they build enough atomic warheads to turn their own biosphere to glass.
Nuclear weapons.
Silas turned from the window.
No matter.
It is time I show them how real power is built.
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