Chapter 380: Codex Eternal

The void was still. Gold shimmered faintly around him, silver whispered at the edges of perception. Ethan’s form was almost complete — almost.

But then, something stirred in the depths of his chest.

A book. The Grimoire.

Its cover was bound in shifting gold and black, its pages endless, each inscribed with glyphs that changed as they were read. This was not merely parchment and ink — it was the codex of his existence, once the System that had guided him, measured him, bound him in rules of growth and ascension. Now, it had shed the guise of tool and revealed itself as relic.

The Grimoire opened.

Pages flipped rapidly, ink spilling outward like liquid gold. Equations of existence. Names of gods. Hidden laws written before time. The true architecture of reality, line by line.

And then, the book shattered — not into dust, but into letters of fire. Each letter whirled around him, etching themselves into his veins, his bones, his soul. The Grimoire was not lost. It was being rewritten into him.

His head lifted. His right eye blazed, transforming into the Eye of Truth. Golden, luminous, ringed with a second pupil like a sun within a sun. To look into it was to see all pretenses stripped away — lies, illusions, falsehoods reduced to ash. It was the gavel given sight. The power to not just judge, but to know.

And his other eye shifted too. What had once flickered faint silver with the veil of Mysticism now bloomed into brilliance — a perfect silver iris, crystalline and infinite. Where gold pierced, silver revealed. Where the golden eye demanded truth, the silver one whispered of hidden meaning.

Together, they were unbearable.

The Eye of Truth burned with the clarity of Order. The Silver Eye shimmered with the infinity of Mysticism.

The balance was terrifying — law and mystery, decree and riddle, finality and endlessness.

The whispering voice rose once more, not from the void, but from the very fabric of the rewritten Grimoire now etched into him:

“The book is no longer written. The book writes Him. He is the Codex Eternal, the Judge who sees with Gold, the Prophet who sees with Silver. All truths are revealed; all lies undone. To stand before Him is to be known in fullness, to be seen in both what you are and what you may become.”

And with that, Ethan’s eyes opened fully.

Gold blazed like judgmental fire. Silver glowed like eternal mystery.

The fusion was complete. The Grimoire was no longer separate. It was his very sight, his very perception of reality.

…

The instant Ethan’s eyes opened, existence itself shuddered.

The golden Eye of Truth blazed, and the cosmos convulsed under its weight. Everywhere, illusions were stripped away. Masks cracked. Falsehoods dissolved like mist before sunlight.

On distant planes, gods and kings alike recoiled as their hidden sins, their buried weaknesses, their concealed ambitions all rose, dragged screaming into the open by a gaze that had no mercy. Veils of glamour fell from fae courts, curses were seen for their true nature, even the bindings on ancient beasts groaned as their concealed sigils burned in golden fire.

And then — the silver Eye of Mysticism opened.

Where the golden eye judged, the silver revealed. The infinite shimmered, laced through the multiverse like threads of moonlight. With its gaze, the unknowable became visible, if only for a moment — the paths between worlds, the skeleton of time, the mysteries that no priest, no scholar, no god had ever touched. It was unbearable, beautiful, terrifying.

Those who felt it fell to their knees. Not because of pain, but because of exposure. To be seen by both eyes was to be known entirely — the self that had been, the self that was, and the self that could be.

The mortal realms quaked under the revelation. Entire temples split open as idols cracked, their false divinity revealed. Archangels in heaven trembled, wings dimming as their true loyalties flickered bare. In the abyss, devils screamed — not from pain, but from being laid bare, their darkest truths made manifest before their own kind.

Across all, the declaration resounded:

“There is no hiding.”

The universe itself seemed to breathe those words, not as a threat, but as a law.

And then silence.

Ethan lowered his head, his dual gaze simmering, not blazing. The cosmos exhaled in relief, yet nothing could forget what had just happened. Every being that had lived through this moment would forever remember the sensation of being seen in absolute truth and endless possibility.

The Codex Eternal had opened its eyes.

…

The multiverse lingered in silence, as if holding its breath after the unveiling of Ethan’s dual gaze.

The echoes of revelation still rippled through creation. Entire kingdoms were hushed. Priests whispered in trembling awe, not daring to finish their prayers. Kings and emperors sat hollow-eyed on their thrones, stripped of their illusions of control. Even the beasts of the Old Gassendi prowled in confusion, their primal instincts screaming that a higher predator now roamed existence.

Some fell to worship. Others to despair. But none could pretend ignorance.

Above them all, Ethan remained suspended in the crucible of fire and essence, his form no longer bound by the simple mortal vessel he once bore. Around him drifted the last of his truths — the remnants of his essences, each awaiting its final calling. They pulsed, each with its own story, its own beginning.

The golden gavel of Order still shimmered faintly, echoing the coronation that had reshaped law across the stars. The silver sigils of Mysticism danced faintly like constellations in orbit, whispering secrets in tongues no one had ever spoken before.

And then, there was the grimoire — no longer just a book, no longer just a system, but now part of him. Its weight had not disappeared. It had merely moved inward. Ethan’s gaze proved that much.

Yet this was not the end.

Because beyond revelation, beyond judgment, beyond even truth and mystery, there was still the matter of convergence.

The essences had aligned. The codex of his being was written. The flames had forged him, and the Primogenitors had yielded their fragments.

Now the question remained, one that the stars themselves seemed to whisper:

Would he truly ascend? Or would the collision of so many beginnings tear him apart, leaving only ruin where promise once shone?

The multiverse did not know. Perhaps it could not know.

All it could do was wait.

Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!

Creation is hard, cheer me up!

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