The sensation of falling didn’t end; it simply transitioned into a sensation of becoming.
Fang Yi felt his consciousness being shredded and rewoven. He was no longer a single point in space; he was the space itself. He was the cold vacuum between stars, the friction of gas clouds, and the silent vibration of atoms waiting for a purpose. The "Admin" had ported his data, but the destination wasn't a pre-built world. It was a blank canvas—an unformatted drive.
Then, the pressure returned.
Fang Yi gasped, his lungs suddenly filling with air that tasted of sulfur and ozone. He felt the impact of solid ground against his back. It wasn't the soft grass of the canal or the jagged rock of the mountains; it was a surface of smooth, warm obsidian.
He opened his eyes.
The sky was not blue, nor wh
