HP: god of potions

Chapter 142

Grey grabbed one of its tendrils—an appendage that should not be graspable by anything in existence—and pulled. With a monstrous roar, he hurled the entity across the cosmic expanse, sending it hurtling through dimensions, shattering realms in its wake. He pursued, warping space with each movement, appearing before the horror as if reality bent to his will. He reared back a fist, the runes across his body pulsing. He struck, and an entire segment of Y'thural-Zog's being was obliterated. Its once-maddening cacophony of existence became a discordant, desperate wail.

Still, it fought. It brought forth every secret it possessed, every forbidden technique, every abominable force beyond human reckoning. Yet Grey continued his assault, weathering its might as though it were nothing. His body bled, wounds appearing only to seal instantly, his regeneration rendering injury meaningless. Then, finally, Grey sighed. He had learned what he wanted. The Horror lay before him, a broken, writhing abomination. It was not dead—beings like Y'thural-Zog did not die in any conventional sense—but it was humbled, its pride as an eldritch entity shattered.

But Grey was not satisfied with mere victory. His expression was impassive as he clenched his hand into a fist once more. Not at the Horror. Not at the universe. At himself. With one final, decisive motion, he thrust his own hand through his chest, piercing his heart. Death was instant. The cycle would begin anew. The void was silent. And then, time reset.

-scene change 40 million death later-

In the master bedroom, rachel woke up in the master bed, feeling the presence of a great cosmic horror approaching. She went to where Grey was and found him outside the TARDIS, staring in the direction of the horror. "Grey, what is happening?" she asked as she appeared beside him, looking ahead, but she received no response—nothing. "GREY." She quickly turned towards him, and that was when she noticed something was off. The usual Grey she knew was no more. His face was a mask of apathy, his once bright grey eyes now hollow voids, drained of warmth and wonder. The deep-set lines on his face told a story of endless repetition, each crease a silent scream of monotony. His expression was neutral, neither happy nor sad—just empty, as if emotions were distant memories, foreign and irrelevant.

He sighed as he lifted his hand. His movements were precise yet sluggish, as if every action was predetermined, a script he had acted out millions of times before. He did not fidget, did not hesitate; every step was mechanical, every breath measured. His posture was straight, not out of confidence, but out of muscle memory. There was no urgency, no fear, no excitement. His voice, if he even spoke, was flat, devoid of inflection. He did not smile, nor did he frown. He simply existed, as if he was trapped in the eternity of a single day. That was when Rachel realized something was wrong—something was gravely wrong. "Grey," she called out in a tone she only used when she was concerned. But they didn't have time to react, as in front of them was the cosmic horror.

The cosmic horror was an amorphous, ever-shifting mass of writhing tendrils, each the size of planetary rings, lined with countless eyes that saw across dimensions. Its true form could not be comprehended, as it existed in multiple layers of reality at once. Those who gazed upon it directly had their minds shattered into an infinite recursion of themselves, looping through the horrors they most feared. When it manifested in the physical plane, it appeared as a gargantuan void in the shape of a grotesque, pulsating mouth, large enough to swallow celestial bodies whole and went even beyond. Rachel was attempting to manifest her domain when suddenly, Grey's domain manifested, and for the first time, Rachel was terrified—not out of fear of dying, no, but out of fear for Grey. 

She knew Grey's domain of alchemy; she had seen his domain. However, the domain he currently expanded was so vast that it encompassed an entire galaxy—an entire galaxy, including the great cosmic horror, which was helplessly dragged into the domain, now its own actual pocket universe, where the laws of existence were written by Grey. Grey's form shifted, ever-changing, transforming from materials of every kind—solid, liquid, gas, organic, inorganic, material, or mystical—all kinds of materials, and so was the domain.

 The cosmic horror was caught off guard, it seemed, as Grey watched it struggle to escape. He finally spoke, his voice once again devoid of emotion, like he was a blank being. "This will be our final interaction, The Eternal Maw Y'thural-Zog," much to the shock of both Rachel and the cosmic horror, which wanted to ask why Grey knew its true name. But before it could react, it was transformed—no, it would be more accurate to say it was transmuted into a ball of cosmic horror right in front of Rachel's eyes as Grey then retracted his domain.

-memory end-

After the memory ended, with both of them mostly skipping the boring ones, Gray effortlessly retrieved the memories and balled them up into a sphere, which he then put away. They were silent, both of them, until Gray finally spoke. "That was something," he said, chuckling idiotically while scratching the back of his hand, only to be punched in the face by Rachel, causing him to fall down as she then mounted him. "This is your idea of training? THIS?" It was safe to say that she was royally pissed. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Gray could have left the loop much earlier if he wanted, but he stayed—not only to experiment with his magic but also with his physical strength. Most of the loop he spent perfecting his recipes and memorizing them, so it was safe to say that Rachel was furious. She was mostly angry at him for putting himself through this torture, but Gray then pulled her into a hug. "It's okay. I don't feel any emotional connection to those memories, okay?" he said as she hugged him back.

"That is not the point. You are not allowed to die without my permission, do you hear me?" she demanded, as Gray chuckled. "Yes, next time I want to die, I will ask for your permission," he said, causing Rachel to sigh as she mumbled. They just lay there, silently hugging each other, as Rachel said quietly, "Forty million times 365 is roughly 110 thousand years." She made Gray smile mischievously. "I am very, very, very old now," he said, as Rachel, still mounting him, lifted her head and looked at him. "Yes, yes, you are," she said before kissing him, longer than a minute this time, as things got more heated. It eventually ended with them furiously exercising for several hours without rest, and on this day, Gray finally met the passionate Rachel Roth, and he was thoroughly satisfied.

Inside the large house under the world in Pangea, who was once again alive and happy, Gray, who had finally escaped the clutches of Rachel, decided to organize the memories, bringing forth recipes that he had perfected to perfection, as well as other notes and ideas. It was safe to say that an entire library needed to be constructed for all the notes and books. The library was bewitched to no end, allowing him to categorize every little inch of it, and he did the same to Pangea as well. As he sighed, he thought, "The world's upper echelons of power are getting impatient." He could feel the gazes of not only divine beings but also conceptual ones, and one particular gaze felt terrifying to think about. But Gray, despite having his emotions back, was not afraid. In fact, he even sneered at that particular gaze as he then cut off Pangea from Rachel's world effortlessly. Casting spells felt like moving his own body now, and he thought, "Looks like I will need to recreate most of my potions that I crafted in the loop." He smiled as he outstretched his domain, which was its own pocket dimension.