No omen, no sound—only a weightless sensation, as though you had been uprooted from the ground. It was as if an invisible hand had reached deep into your mind and given a gentle tug, tearing you loose from the anchor known as "reality."
What lay before your eyes was no longer an image, but a torrent of pure color. Scarlet and deep blue clashed like boiling oil and water, erupting in silent screams, while emerald green and gilded gold twisted into the grotesque shape of a Klein bottle, spiraling endlessly inward.
These colors had no temperature and no meaning. They were nothing more than a brutal, purely visual existence, scouring the boundaries of your cognition.
Fortunately, Gao Gong was already accustomed to this. His expression did not change in the slightest.
Of course, in his current state, he no longer had a face.
Within the "simulated timeline," Gao Gong became a line.
Then he "felt" the other lines—countless lines, hundreds of millions of them.
They were not lines in the visual sense, but fibers of possibility, the threads of causality.
They emerged from nothingness and extended into nothingness, radiating a faint glow.
Some were thick and sturdy, like tightly wound cables. Others were slender and flickering, like spider silk on the verge of snapping.
Gao Gong's consciousness was like a drop of mercury falling onto one of the lines. Its weight made the line sag slightly, creating subtle gravitational ripples with countless others.
"Having a gravity divinity really is convenient. At least the different timelines won't get tangled."
Within the "simulated timeline," the most troublesome thing was the entanglement of timelines heading in different directions.
That meant different points in time had overlapped.
It was like going in to have your appendix removed, only to discover that it had become