Chapter 176: His Genesis

The gray void ripped open in the air inches from Raziel’s face.

Elector Mordecai swiped his bare left hand and deleted the physical space inside the Founder’s room on Level -6.

The unrendered hole expanded toward Raziel’s boots and chewed on the cold stone floor.

Raziel bit his already bleeding left thumb and burned his own physical blood to activate Anchor Blood.

He fueled his corrupted core with raw, volatile power.

He forced Chronoperception and Soul Resonance inward at maximum amplified capacity

[90%…]

[99%…]

[EXTRACTION COMPLETE.]

Raziel screamed from the sudden, massive absence of feeling. The interface wiped away twenty percent of his humanity in a single micro-second.

[EMPATHY LEVEL: 50% (LOCKED).]

Raziel opened his eyes.

He stood inside the Founder’s room on Level -6.

The cell looked exactly the same but the room did not feel abandoned.

A man sat in the wooden chair in front of the desk.

He wore a simple, unadorned gray tunic.

He lacked the heavy silver breastplates of the Inquisition and the pristine white robes of the Exarchs.

Raziel stepped closer to the desk.

The man sitting in the chair possessed messy blue hair and piercing blue eyes.

Raziel recognized the distinct physical traits immediately.

He saw his own reflection in the mirror every single morning. The man belonged to the Bluebird tribe from the freezing northern provinces.

The Church treated their bloodline like dirt, and the Exarchs looked down on them as feral outsiders.

Raziel stared at the Founder of St. Celeste.

The Founder did not look at Raziel.

He stared at the blank stone wall above the desk and held a thick piece of white chalk in his right hand.

The Founder did not possess the Umbral Paragon core. He lacked the black rot of the Shadow Parasite.

He just carried the pure, blinding gold light of the original Paragon prophecy.

He raised the chalk and started writing on the stone wall.

He did not use the ancient geometric syntax of the Primordial Pantheon. He wrote in common language.

“I built this academy over the ruins of the Nine to protect what they left behind,” the Founder muttered the words aloud as he carved them into the rock.

Raziel stood behind the chair and listened to the man speak.

“The Church arrived and turned my sanctuary into a cage,” the Founder continued writing. “I could not stop them. I could only hide the keys.”

The Founder stopped carving the stone. He dropped his hand and stared at the chalk.

“The game is rigged,” the Founder whispered to the empty room.

Raziel tightened his jaw.

The Founder understood the reality of Phaedra five centuries ago.

He recognized the Architect pulling the strings and forcing the world into a continuous, violent loop.

The Founder placed his left hand flat against his own chest.

“The Nine gave me the virus,” the Founder explained to himself. “They forged a piece of code designed to infect the Architect’s system. It does not burn buildings or kill soldiers. It rewrites the rules of the board.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his gray tunic tight.

“But I cannot open it.”

Raziel watched the Founder struggle.

The man possessed the six Forbidden Gifts and the pure Paragon light. He built the entire underground maze to protect the ancient magic from the Church.

He held the ultimate weapon right inside his own soul.

The Founder dropped the chalk onto the wooden desk. The white cylinder rolled across the timber and stopped next to the dry inkwell.

“The virus requires a corrupted vessel to activate the code,” the Founder stated. He opened his blue eyes and stared at the stone wall.

“It requires a soul broken by the cycle. It requires a Player who remembers the resets.”

The Founder leaned back in his chair and let out a long, defeated breath.

“I do not remember,” he confessed. “I only lived one life. I lack the weight of the previous deaths. I lack the darkness required to force the lock open.”

Raziel absorbed the words. He understood the tragedy of the man sitting in the chair.

The Founder carried the bomb, but he lacked the explosive primer to detonate the charge.

He needed the accumulated trauma of the Eternal Regression and the black rot of the Shadow Parasite to trigger the virus.

He needed a fifteen-year-old kid from the Bluebird tribe who died on the chapel floor and woke up four years in the past to finish the job.

The Founder stood up from the chair.

He looked at the unfinished message carved into the stone wall.

He raised his hand and channeled his pure gold Paragon light

He used his raw magic to burn the final instructions directly into the rock.

“If you found this room, you have already mastered two Gifts,” the Founder burned the words into the wall.

“The third Gift is not here. The third Gift rests in the person standing next to you.”

He finished the message about Bond Forging and absolute honesty. He lowered his hand and stepped back to admire his work.

“I leave the virus to you,” the Founder spoke to the empty air.

“I built the vault and hid the six keys. You must provide the trauma.”

The Founder turned around and walked toward the heavy wooden door of the cell.

“Break the server,” the Founder ordered.

He opened the door and walked out into the dark hydraulic tunnel. The memory faded into gray mist and dissolved entirely.

Raziel opened his eyes.

He did not stand in the Founder’s room on Level -6.

He stood inside his own mind.

He floated in a massive, endless expanse of pure white light.

A massive, complex geometric structure hovered right in front of his face.

It did not look like the structured blue magic of the Church or the raw black energy of the Shadow Parasite.

It looked like raw source code.

The structure consisted of millions of tiny, shifting white polygons and lines of text. It hummed with a deep, vibrating frequency that resonated directly inside Raziel’s bones.

The blue interface materialized in the white void.

[REQUIREMENTS MET.]

[ACCESSING THE SEVENTH GIFT.]

Raziel reached out his scarred right hand.

He just reached forward and touched the floating source code.

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