The panel brightened, and the Grid's voice echoed within the silent house, calm yet carrying an almost sacred resonance.
[The first thing to know is this: the Infinity Stones are not the most powerful treasures in this multiverse. Their power pales in comparison to another artifact — the Book of Magic.]
Zayne blinked. His brows shot upward. "Uhn… what book of magic?"
[Yes, Master. The Mystic Force Book of Magic.]
For a mont, his mind refused to process it. He shot to his feet, the chair scraping faintly across the floor.
"Wait. Wait, wait, wait!" He held up his hands as if he could physically halt the Grid's words. "You don't an that grimoire from Mystic Force… the one that gave the Rangers their abilities through magic? That thing? It wasn't even shown to be that powerful in the series!"
His voice cracked slightly with disbelief. He could accept powerful artifacts, sure. But that book? That was supposed to be little more than a glorified spell source.
The Grid, unfazed, continued.
[Master, this is not a series. This is not fiction. This is a living, breathing reality. The Book of Magic is no ordinary relic — it is the primordial artifact responsible for governing all sources of pure magic in this world. It is unmatched, created by the Tree of Life itself.]
Zayne froze. His pulse thudded in his ears.
The Tree of Life. A concept older than myth itself. Even in the fragnted knowledge he carried, the idea of such an origin was staggering. The implications settled over him like a suffocating blanket.
The Grid pressed on, its words sharp and unyielding.
[Unlike other magical conduits, the Book of Magic gives… and never takes back. Its nature is absolute, akin to the fundantal entities of the Marvel Universe. It holds reality- and fate-altering abilities. Every known elent of magic flows through its pages.]
[It has been coveted by the highest races and gods alike. Wars have been waged for its ownership. At one point, its existence was the catalyst for the destruction of an entire universe.]
[Furthermore, within its pages dwell the primal laws: Life, Ti, Space, and Death. It is an artifact bordering on omniscience. To be chosen by it is to wield creation itself.]
The Grid's voice quieted slightly, though no less heavy.
[Finally, should one gain its approval, they would be granted the Laws of Creation.]
Silence.
Utter silence.
Zayne's mouth hung slightly open, his thoughts spiraling out of control. He staggered back a step, sinking into the chair again. His hand pressed against his forehead, as though grounding himself against the onslaught of revelations.
"…Damn," he whispered. Then louder, his voice breaking into disbelief: "Damn, what the fuck? Who allowed this? The OOA? Grid masters?"
His laugh ca out harsh and unsteady, more a bark than anything. "For so protagonist, this is an overpowered cheat. This… this is the kind of thing that breaks entire stories!"
He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling as if it could offer him answers. His chest rose and fell rapidly, the sheer absurdity crashing over him.
And yet, beneath his sarcasm and frustration, there was fear. A deep, gnawing unease.
"Grid," he said slowly, forcing his voice calm. "Where is that artifact now?"
The answer ca swift and rciless.
[It is being protected by the Mystic Force magicians.]
Zayne rubbed his chin, his brows drawn tight. His sharp expression returned, replacing his montary panic with calculation.
"The Mystic Force… right. They've got the Rangers and Udonna. But that's it, right? Can they really protect sothing that powerful?"
[Yes. They can. Currently, they have over five thousand students in magical training.]
Zayne's eyes widened again. His jaw nearly dropped.
"Over five thousand?!" He shot upright. "You're telling Udonna's not just running a quaint little academy in the forest anymore… she's running an army of magicians?"
He paced the room, running both hands through his hair. The image ford in his mind — not the handful of Mystic Force mbers he rembered, but legions of robes and staffs, chanting in unison, the earth trembling under their combined will.
"…Oh wow," he muttered. "Over five thousand. That makes sense, though. This isn't the clean cut little Power Rangers series anymore. This is the Marvel universe stitched together with their world. Of course they'd expand. They'd need numbers. Hell, they'd need everyone."
He exhaled, pacing back and forth, mind racing.
The Book of Magic. An artifact that could bend life and death, rewrite ti, alter fate itself. Protected by thousands of magicians. Desired by gods and demons alike.
And it was sitting there, sowhere in this fragile reality, waiting.
Zayne stopped pacing. He braced both hands on the back of the chair, his head lowered, his shoulders tense. His lips pressed into a thin line.
This was bigger than him. Bigger than anything he had expected to face this early on. But it was reality — his reality now.
"…So, is that all the information?" he asked finally, his voice steady but quieter. "Or is there more?"
The panel pulsed once, and the Grid answered.
[There is one more piece of information. It will help Master prepare for future invasions and the protection of this reality.]
Zayne lifted his head, eyes narrowing. His heartbeat quickened, not from excitent but from a sense of looming crisis.
"…Go on."
Then the Grid's voice deepened, each word echoing like thunder across the silent room.
The Grid's voice carried an authority that seed to press against the very air of the room.
[Currently, the factions in this universe are divided into five dominant forces: Humans, Machina, Zerg, Demons, and Gods. Each faction has its own leaders, armies, and territories — governing the balance of the entire cosmos.]
Zayne's body stilled. He focused completely, every trace of fatigue vanishing under the sharp edge of tension.
[The Human race,] the Grid continued, [is the weakest of the five… yet the one with the greatest potential. They exist not only on Earth, but also scattered across multiple planets. Terra Venture on Mirinoi. Corinth, a planet plagued by the Venjix Virus. Countless colonies tucked away in corners of the galaxy.]
[The Machina race stands as a faction of cold, chanical order. Their armies stretch across countless star systems, their technology evolving without end. One of their high generals is Venjix — a virus that once consud an entire world and now commands legions.]
Zayne inhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing. "Venjix… of course he'd be part of sothing bigger."
The Grid pressed on, its words heavy.
[The Zerg are a swarm unlike any other. Insectoid, hive-minded, relentless. Their numbers blot out the stars when they march. They consu, assimilate, and adapt at terrifying speeds. Alone, they rival empires. Together, they can shatter worlds.]
Images flared in Zayne's mind, unbidden: skies darkened by wings, entire planets stripped bare, screams drowned in the endless chittering of the swarm. His fists clenched at his sides.
[The Demon race is older than most stars. They thrive on corruption and destruction, their leaders ancient beyond comprehension. They command armies forged in the pits of countless hells. Their cruelty knows no limit.]
A bitter taste coated Zayne's tongue. He didn't need much imagination for that — he had already seen glimpses of Marvel's hell dinsions, and adding Power Rangers demons into the mix was a recipe for absolute chaos.
[Finally, the God race. Beings who walk above mortals, drenched in power that defies logic. So rule with benevolence, others with tyranny. Together with the Demon race, they hold the top spot in this cosmic hierarchy.]
The Grid's tone dropped, colder, graver.
[These races are led by supre beings of unimaginable strength. Their combat power transcends mortal scales. Each one possesses might capable of sundering civilizations with a gesture. And they have set their sights… on Earth.]
The final words hung like a guillotine above Zayne's head.
He sat there, eyes closed, his face composed — but inside, a storm raged. His thoughts crashed into one another, flashes of scenarios, probabilities, strategies, failures.
To say he wasn't anxious would have been a lie. His body felt taut, stretched thin under the sheer enormity of what lay ahead.
Humans. The weakest of the factions. A race scattered and unprepared. Even with their terrifying potential, what good was potential without ti? Without ti to grow, to prepare, to unify, humanity was a lamb thrown into a pit of wolves.
His jaw tightened. He knew the truth too well. Talent and willpower could only carry you so far. Without enough ti to mature, even the brightest fla could be snuffed out before it had the chance to ignite the world.
The Grid's voice softened.
[For now, they cannot act. Their hands are stayed by two pillars: the Ancient One, and the Mystic Force's supre leader, Udonna.]
That na again. Udonna. Protectress, sorceress, teacher. She stood like a lone mountain against the crashing tide of cosmic predators.
Zayne opened his eyes slowly. They were steady, calm, but behind them flickered a weight he couldn't fully conceal.
"…So that's how it is," he whispered.
His heart pounded in his chest, but his voice carried only quiet resolve.
"Grid… thanks. For the information." He exhaled deeply, shoulders loosening slightly. "This shows just how hard I'll have to work in the future."
There was no sarcasm, no forced grin. Just sincerity.
[It is my duty, Master.]
The panel dimd, leaving only the faint glow of the night outside. Zayne stood, walking toward the door. His steps were slow, deliberate, each one grounding him against the maelstrom of thoughts in his mind.
The door creaked open, and the cool night air embraced him.
Above, the sky stretched wide, endless and jeweled with countless stars. They shimred faintly, like eternal watchers, uncaring and yet achingly beautiful.
Zayne lifted a hand, stretching it toward the heavens. His fingers curled, as if trying to grasp the distant lights.
His voice was soft, almost a prayer.
"I hope Earth can always be as silent and beautiful as this… no matter what happens in the future."
He let his hand fall, shaking his head with a helpless smile. The stars glittered on, indifferent to his hopes, but he clung to them anyway.
Because in their silence, in their cold, unreachable brilliance, he found a reason to keep going.
A reason to fight.
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