Dimensional Descent

What was once created can never truly be recreated.

It was a set of words, a phrase, a sentence... a knife through Leonel's heart.

He could vaguely feel what his father was trying to say. The path of Self Crafting might be as much his father's enlightenment as it was a lesson.

Maybe if his Dream Force was just the same he might have dismissed it. But right now, it felt like a final nail was being driven into a coffin. Whether it was his own or his father's, Leonel barely had the wherewithal to tell the difference.

Did the difference even matter?

It shouldn't be true.

How could life not be reproducible? Couldn't Anastasia copy his methods and remake perfect treasures based on his template every time? Couldn't he do the same with just an extra bit of effort?

But he knew it was bullshit. He knew his own thoughts were ridiculous.

Every time he picked up an ore, it would have a different set of characteristics. Part of the skill of a Life Crafter was that they could read and react to any materials they had, breathing life into them.

But no two Life Grade treasures could ever be identical. Every time one was created, it would have its own unique existence, its own unique path to follow. Even if it was just a minor deviation, it was a deviation nonetheless.

His father took a new route, diverting from the usual path of Life and creating the path of Self Crafting, one where the Crafter imposed their Will onto a treasure and forced it to mold into their chosen path.

stroke of genius, one no less fantastic than the creation of [Final Destruction]. And yet, Leonel could hardly see the beauty in

somewhat vacant. His pale violet irises had lost so much of their color

others could be used and wasted.

tablet to resurrect Ninth Dimensional experts on a whim if he wanted to. In fact, if it wasn't for the fact Clarence's soul had scattered, he could

was around, playing god, what was so hard about recreating human life? Even the people of the Dimensional Verse like Heira had been able

existences were almost quite literally immortal. Why wouldn't life

his own father back to life. He had to watch as his wife sobbed about her mother, completely unable to

was all a big

his eyes. He hated this feeling, he really

glasses. They emitted a familiar warmth, even a familiar

the point of

that the only morality she was beholden to were those tied to the people

to decipher, too

He would probably never find an answer that could satisfy his mind, not with the way it

he was still very much

slightly red, but more

onto the world... I quite like that.