I Somehow Became The Almighty Creator, l can create anything: Be Ware
Chapter 50

Chapter 50: Chapter 50

The storm raged on, an unrelenting tempest of darkness and death. The wind howled with the voices of countless lost souls, each gust a cry of despair that pierced the planet.

Lightning forked across the heavens, casting brief, strobing illumination over a world on the brink of ruin.

Watts stood motionless, his breath ragged as he surveyed the devastation.

The ground beneath him oozed with a thick, tar-like substance that had once been fertile soil.

Trees burned with black flames, their twisted forms like skeletal fingers clawing at the ashen sky.

The stench of decay was suffocating, and the cries of animals—few and far between—spoke of a world in agony

The weight of countless deaths pressed against his very being, each one feeding the unholy storm that consumed the world.

With trembling hands, he activated the Eyes of the Universe again.

His irises shimmered with a celestial brilliance, and suddenly, he was no longer merely standing in the storm.

The world shifted into an ethereal landscape. Veins of death coursed through everything—the earth, the water, the trees, and the air.

However he wanted more, he wanted reach the source, not this ethereal plane.

So he willed to go beyond it, going into the Void—a boundless realm where the fabric of existence unraveled, exposing the threads of reality itself.

The world around him flickered, the storm’s cacophony fading into an eerie silence.

The ground dissolved beneath his feet, replaced by a dark endless expanse that stretched endlessly.

Veins of dark energy snaked through the void, pulsating with the fading life force of the world.

Each thread whispered a story—of a bird’s final flight, of a tree succumbing to decay, of a river drying to dust.

He felt the pull of the void, a gravitational force of nothingness that threatened to consume his mind.

Shadows writhed and whispered around him, the air thick with an oppressive weight. He could sense the presence of entities—creatures of death.

Dark skeletal forms with hollow eyes loomed just out of reach, their skeletal wings spreading like a plague across the empty expanse.

And then he saw it. Far in the distance, standing at the edge of infinity, was a figure cloaked in darkness.

At first, it was a shadow, distant and formless, a flicker at the edge of perception. But as Watts focused, it took shape—a towering figure cloaked in darkness, its scythe gleaming with an otherworldly light

And somehow deep down he knew who this was, even when he couldn’t make out its face.

The Grim Reaper.

It didn’t move, yet its presence pressed against Watts like a tidal wave, crushing him with an aura of quiet authority.

He couldn’t see its face, but he felt its gaze—a piercing, all-seeing judgment that stripped him bare. His knees buckled, but he forced himself to stand, meeting its stare.

The whisper returned, not a sound but a feeling etched into his very soul: ’Learn.’"

Watts realized he wasn’t just facing death; he was becoming death. To control it, he had to embrace it.

He couldn’t falter now. So he forced himself to focus, diving deeper into the currents of death.

His Eyes of the Universe processed it all—the interplay of life and demise, the cyclical nature of existence.

He began to grasp the truth: Death wasn’t just an end. It was transformation, an inevitable passage that returned essence to the cosmos.

But here, in this broken state, Death was unchecked, reduced to annihilation without renewal.

This wasn’t balance. This was corruption.

His gaze settled on the writhing entities in the Void. Each represented an aspect of death: decay, despair, erasure, entropy.

They weren’t malevolent, but their chaos was a reflection of his inability to wield his power.

Watts steeled himself and reached out mentally, trying to merge with the chaotic threads.

The moment he touched them, pain tore through him. His body convulsed, his soul felt like it was being ripped apart.

Still, he pushed forward. He couldn’t allow himself to stop now.

The creatures resisted, their forms shifting as they lashed out at his intrusion. He saw their stories—the myriad ways life ended: disease, famine, age, violence, despair.

It was overwhelming, yet as the Eyes of the Universe processed each fragment, he began to see patterns.

Laws.

Death was inevitable, but it was not cruel. It wasn’t an enemy to be fought but a force to be understood.

The first concept he grasped was Release. Death freed beings from suffering, a mercy that allowed for rest.

He visualized this as a great chain, one link breaking to liberate another. As he absorbed this understanding, one of the Void creatures ceased its resistance, merging into him like a wisp of shadow.

The second concept was Balance. Death ensured that life did not overrun the cosmos, maintaining equilibrium.

It wasn’t the destroyer, but the regulator. This was a delicate dance, and in the storm’s chaos, that dance had been broken.

He saw this as a set of scales, each life lost tipping the balance further. Another creature dissolved into him.

The third was Renewal. What died returned to the earth, the energy recycled into the cosmos.

Something many mat know as reincarnation, because without death, then no more souls would be available for the birth of new life.

Death was not the end; it was the beginning of something else. This felt like a wheel turning endlessly.

The third entity melded into him, its essence a calming presence within his storm-tossed soul.

Each revelation brought clarity and pain in equal measure. The storm outside mirrored his inner turmoil, the winds screaming as the storm’s rage fed on the planet’s dying energy.

Then came the final concept: Choice. Death was a force, but it wasn’t mindless.

Life had to have the choice to resist, to persevere, to endure against odds. Death’s power was absolute, but it wasn’t cruel or greedy—it was patient.

The final creature also merged into his essence. And the moment even this creature melted into him, a dark mark of a scythe radiating dark aura appeared on his forehead.

And then Watts gasped as he was thrust back into the real world. The storm was still raging, stronger than ever.

The wind tore at the trees, ripping them from their roots. Rivers churned with blackened waters, the fish floating lifeless on the surface.

The air was thick with ash, blotting out the sun. Every breath was a struggle as the world screamed its agony.

He looked down at his hands, now darkened with the mark of Death. He understood now.

To stop this, he had to reclaim the energy of death, to absorb it into himself and balance the scales.

He extended his will into the threads of death, commanding them to halt their rampage. However it wasn’t easy—the energy fought against him, wild and untamed.

The storm resisted, its winds howling with fury, the ground splitting apart as if rejecting his interference.

So he extended his hand, focusing on the storm’s chaos. The air around him thickened, shadows coalescing as the death energy began to spiral toward him.

The mark on his forehead increased in intensity as black miasma started surrounding him, his eyes turning black.

It was like drinking poison—every particle burned as it entered him, threatening to tear him apart from the inside.

The storm fought back. Lightning struck dangerously close, and the ground beneath him split, but Watts held firm.

The Eyes of the Universe glowed brighter, processing every fragment of death that entered him, turning chaos into comprehension.

With each fragment absorbed, the storm weakened, the winds lessening, the lightning becoming sporadic.

Watts’ body trembled. He could feel the weight of the world’s death within him, a crushing force that threatened to shatter him entirely.

But he pressed on. He visualized the scales, tipping them back toward balance. He saw the wheel of renewal, turning once more.

The storm’s fury peaked, the sky a boiling cauldron of black clouds and crimson light.

The ground quaked violently, and the world seemed poised to break apart. Watts fell to his knees but didn’t release his hold. His voice was a roar against the storm’s din.

"I am not destruction! I am balance! And I... will... stop you!"

The final surge of death energy rushed toward him, and as he absorbed it, the storm’s rage reached its crescendo.

Death wasn’t just an ending—it was a choice.

With that realization, he focused his will, not on stopping the storm but on reversing its effects. He channeled the absorbed energy back into the world, not as death but as life.

The storm stilled for a brief moment, as if in disbelief. Then, with one final surge of effort, Watts unleashed the energy in a wave of light, washing over the desolate land.

Watts collapsed, his body trembling as the mark of Death dimmed. He looked at his hands, now lined with cracks of faint, glowing light.

He was no longer simply human. He was the vessel of balance, the arbiter of life and death.

And his journey was far from over.