The morning sunlight cutting through the dusty window did nothing to ease the gnawing emptiness in Oscar's stomach. After savoring those precious moments of silence—of simply existing again—the primal need for sustenance could no longer be ignored. His body might be young and frail now, but the mind occupying it remembered endless eons of battle. And that mind knew priorities.
"Food first, universe-altering plans second," Oscar muttered, pushing himself to his feet.
The wooden floorboards creaked beneath his weight as he made his way to the tiny kitchenette tucked in the corner of his one-room apartment. Unlike the spacious quarters he vaguely remembered from another life, this cooking space barely deserved the name. A small sink with a dripping faucet. A cupboard hanging crookedly above, its hinges struggling against rust and time. Inside, he found what passed for food in the Commoner Ring—vacuum-sealed ration packs, nutrient bars designed for efficiency rather than taste, and a single cup, plate, and spoon that had seen better days.
Below the cupboard sat a small refrigerator that hummed loudly, fighting against the heat of the day. Opening it revealed more of the same bland fare—ration packs marked with government stamps, indicating they were subsidized for those occupying the outermost ring of Origin Hythos. A microwave perched precariously atop the fridge, its display flickering weakly.
"Seriously Synthos, just how far back did we come? Even from what I can remember, this is a tad bit too far, y'know," Oscar muttered, genuinely impressed at his regression's power. He grabbed an instant noodle pack, tore it open, and dumped the contents into his single bowl.
[Considering the amount of energy we used in those final moments... I think the other concepts understood what we were up to and made their own sacrifices, providing us with much more to work with,] Synthos replied, its mechanical voice resonating directly in his mind yet carrying warmth impossible for a mere machine.
Oscar filled the bowl with water from the sink, grimacing at the slightly yellowish tint. The water purification systems barely reached this far out in the Commoner Ring. He placed it in the microwave, pressed a few buttons, and watched as the ancient appliance whirred to life, its glow casting strange shadows across his gaunt face.
"How far back from the main starting points of events? Especially when that idiot appears?" Oscar asked, leaning against the counter while waiting for his meal. His thin arms crossed over an equally thin chest. The body he now inhabited hadn't seen proper nutrition in what looked like years.
[Based on the current time I'm sensing from temporal mana, it's roughly 1 week from now,] it replied.
A week. Oscar's lips twitched upward in a predatory smile. A week was an eternity for someone with his skills—even in this weakened state. Other regressors might panic at such a short preparation time, but not him. Not the bearer of the weakest skill of all time—a skill that, in the right hands, became the most terrifying power in existence.
The microwave beeped, announcing the completion of his culinary masterpiece. Oscar grabbed the steaming bowl, snatched a cup of water, and made his way to the small desk pushed against the wall beside his mattress. The wooden chair creaked ominously as he sat down, threatening to collapse under even his minimal weight.
He powered up the computer—an outdated model that seemed ancient even by the Commoner Ring's standards. The screen flickered to life with a dying whine, displaying a simple interface connected to what this world called the mana web—the evolved form of the primitive internet from Earth's distant past.
"Year 1296 After Mana. A millennia, huh? Things sure have progressed a lot with some tangents here and there," Oscar muttered, his fingers flying across the keyboard at speeds that should have been impossible for an Epsilon-ranked human.
He slurped the noodles mechanically, barely tasting them as his eyes devoured information at a frightening pace. Historical records. Current events. Political landscapes. Military deployments. Educational systems. All of it poured into his mind, filling gaps in his memory and painting a clearer picture of the world he'd returned to.
Synthos worked invisibly alongside him, connecting directly to the mana web and processing terabytes of data in microseconds, feeding Oscar only the most relevant information. Their silent coordination was the product of eons together—a dance perfected through countless battles and quiet moments alike.
Hours passed. The bowl of noodles was replaced four more times as Oscar's metabolism burned through the meager calories like wildfire. The afternoon sun drifted lazily across the sky, casting ever-changing patterns through the dirty window onto the floor of his small sanctuary.
By evening, his eyes burned from the strain, but his mind burned with something else entirely—purpose. A plan taking shape like a sword being forged in the fires of his intellect.
"The Federation is still in a territorial and conquest war at the far reaches of the Andromeda galaxy with the Qyria," he summarized aloud, leaning back in his chair until it balanced precariously on two legs. "The royal, nobility and high human politics are absurd as ever, and most importantly, the opening for the academy I enrolled in is a week away."
He sighed deeply, staring at the water-stained ceiling. "Great, just fucking great."
His next moves, despite his desire to remain inconspicuous, would inevitably attract attention in these times of war. The very nature of his skill made staying in the shadows almost impossible once he began to use it in earnest. But there was no choice—not with what was coming.
"Synth, show me my status again," he said using the nickname he and those who've used his specialized system preferred.
Without hesitation, the translucent golden window appeared before him, now transformed into something far more complex and ancient than the standard status panels other humans possessed:
[===]
Name: Oscar Sytoz
Age: 19
Race: Human
Bloodline: Primordial Creation
Rank: ε - 1
MU: 200/200
---
Talent:
[Primordial] Existential Regression [deactivated] (0/9)
– Pending conditions to met to activate once more
– Conditions: unknown
---
Skills:
[Primordial] Synthesis [MAX]
[===]
Oscar frowned, his eyes narrowing at one specific entry. Something wasn't right.
"Uuh…, why is the regression talent back again? I thought it would be gone once we used up its last chance?" he asked, genuine confusion coloring his tone.
[Even I don't know why, master. I've scanned your soul more than 2 billion times, and every time I can still see the talent signature on you with the details I've shown. This leads to show that what we made that time was something really broken, which makes me be more amazed each time...] it replied, its tone filled with wonder.
Oscar nodded slowly, understanding the sentiment. Unlike other regression talents possessed by powerful beings beyond this small universe, his was unique. Where others created ripples that could be detected by those with similar abilities or by reality itself, his left no trace. It focused solely on him, regardless of karma connections or causality.
Such an unfair advantage came with costs, of course. He had limited himself to nine major regressions, each triggered only under specific conditions. Between those nine chances, he might have gone through trillions of smaller regressions without even knowing it—resets that followed different rules and offered less control.
But what truly set his ability apart was its origin. He hadn't been gifted this talent like others. He had created it himself, using the very Synthesis skill that everyone dismissed as worthless. It was a secret he would guard with his life, sharing it only with those few he truly trusted—his wives.
The thought of them sent a knife of longing and panic twisting in his gut. His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms until tiny crescents of blood appeared. Where were they now? What conditions were they in? His possessiveness—a trait he usually kept carefully controlled—roared to life like a beast breaking its chains.
"Haaah, I need to get stronger..." he muttered, still gazing at the ceiling from his desk chair. The words carried the weight of eons, of failures and victories beyond counting. "I need mana, and a whole lot of it."
The shadows lengthened across his small room as the sun began to set, casting the Commoner Ring into a twilight that did little to hide its poverty and desperation. Through his window, Oscar could hear the evening activities beginning—vendors closing shops, workers returning home, the occasional shout or laugh cutting through the ambient noise of humanity packed too tightly together.
"Synth, what's the concentration of mana in the outer ring?" he asked while running complex calculations in his mind—thoughts no ordinary Epsilon-ranked being should be capable of contemplating.
[Currently it's at 1.59MU/area. Since we're in the commoner ring where it's 99% mortals, the use of mana here is very scarce despite mana being present in the atmosphere. If we go with the plan we have in your head, we might as well tell the whole world you've gone through a second awakening.] it replied.
And Synthos was right. What Oscar needed was to abuse his one skill—Synthesis—to catapult himself to the peak of this universe's power structure as quickly as possible. Only then could he reach his wives before they were corrupted or worse. Should that happen, his rage would be the least of the universe's problems.
'Is there truly no other way?' he thought, desperately seeking an immediate solution that would spare him the pain of losing even one of his seven beloved partners.
[Master, did you really forget what we achieved?] Synthos asked suddenly, cutting through his spiraling thoughts.
"What are you talking about?" Oscar asked, confusion evident in his furrowed brow.
[We did it, master! We got there! We achieved primordial conceptuality! Why do you think I'm able to talk with you directly instead of broken words like a fake system?] it retorted with ire in its voice—but with a hint of teasing as well.
The words struck Oscar like a physical blow. His eyes widened, and for a moment, his breath caught in his throat.
"Fuck, I'm an idiot," he said, his worries and growing anguish vanishing like smoke in a strong wind.
[Seriously, master, did the process turn you retarded or what?] it taunted.
"Okay, now you're being cheeky," Oscar said with a chuckle, grateful for the immense support his companion provided. Though he had developed Synthos as a means to an end, it had become one of the few entities he trusted implicitly.
[So? You want me to awaken them? The most I can do is make sure they inherit Synthesis at the divine level... 'cause... y'know...]
"Yeah, I know. I'm the only one meant to have it at primordial level," Oscar replied, nodding in understanding. "Either way, do it based on what they said in their last moments for the 8th turn."
[Aye aye, captain,] Synthos responded before falling silent.
The last rays of sunlight retreated from Oscar's room, leaving him in deepening twilight. He made no move to turn on a light. The darkness suited his mood as he collected his thoughts, feeling his mind regain its sharp, cold, calculating edge. His focus narrowed to the truly important matters—how to survive the coming chaos and create a safe haven with his wives.
The truth was, he no longer cared if reality itself crumbled. He had lost too much, given too much, and gained nothing in return. Only his wives had managed to change him, to give his existence meaning beyond mere survival. Only they would benefit when everything went to hell.
Oscar was done saving lives that didn't understand gratitude.
Done slaving away for an ungrateful reality.
Done being the side character that absorbed punishment as if he deserved it.
And most importantly, done being the hidden gem of a hero he was never meant to be.
For all he cared, the world could burn, and he wouldn't even blink.
[Master, I'm done, though it cost us quite the reserves of karma and causality points. They got everything. Yggy is actually going ballistic right now with worry and has even sent her branches an absolute order to search for you,] Synthos said with a chuckle.
Oscar responded with one of his own, a rare genuine smile softening his features. "Yeah, knowing her, she's going to scour quite the number of universes," he said, his voice thick with longing and reminiscence.
Outside his window, Origin Hythos transformed as night fell completely. Magical lights flickered to life across the cityscape, most concentrated in the inner rings where power and privilege resided. The outer ring where Oscar sat remained comparatively dim, with just enough illumination to prevent total darkness.
In the distance, the Moon Elevator gleamed like a silver thread stretching into the heavens, connecting humanity to its first conquered moon. Even from the Commoner Ring, its majesty was undeniable—a testament to what humans could achieve when they combined technology and magic. From certain angles, when the light hit it just right, it almost resembled the string of a bow drawn back, ready to launch an arrow into the cosmos.
"Haaah, fine, let's get to work then. Can't let my lovely wives get a head start now, can we?" Oscar said as he moved back to his mattress. He settled into a lotus position, his back straight despite the exhaustion tugging at his muscles.
His eyes drifted closed as he entered hibernation mode. With his wives' partial safety now ensured, he could afford to wait. The academy would open in a week, and he needed to conserve his strength for what was to come.
As consciousness faded, a final thought drifted through his mind, warm and certain amidst the cold calculations and harsh realities:
'See you all in a few, my dears.'
His vision went black, but unlike the nothingness he had fought for eons, this darkness held promise. This darkness held a future.
This darkness held hope.