StarDestroyer.Net BBS

I think, my father would say, therefore I am. And I think for myself, thus I am a man.

Then why, I would ask, knowing that I, too, could think, am I not?

Because, he would reply, you do not do so freely.

The old revelation, always new, always cut like broken glass. And I could not help but wonder, why?

Why make a son you have to compel?

And how could I not think freely, yet realising that always, always hurt?

* * *

AN: I was able to start S3 somewhat sooner than I expected, but I'm not complaining.



Knowledge about its prequels mentioned in the title would help with context for references and flashbacks, though I'll try to make this series readable as if it were standalone.



This will be mainly science fantasy. The other genres mentioned in the tags are not ones I love terribly much, but I'm including them because there are interesting concepts there that I believe could be used to make a good story rather than a bland power fantasy.



Science fantasy, isekai and xianxia refer mostly to three of the protagonists that the main story will focus on. The litRPG and Gamer stuff refer to a pair of characters who'll mostly feature in comedic sidestories or apocrypha that will be almost parodies/crack. I'll see how many of them I keep canon, but I don't expect them to have much or any impact on the plot until maybe the end, unless I change my plans.



* * *



???



Unregistered laboratory, deep space (many light years from either the Oecumene or its nearest kindred states of the Terran Diaspora, as well as any recognised xenos polities)



I lived, and youth had never felt more ancient.



This was my first day in the world, indeed, my first moment, yet I was no frail, wailing infant.



I stood up from a bed of metals, whose composition I understood as thoroughly as the unaltered human life cycle, as well as the fact that, in many contexts, "world" could mean far more than a planet.



It was a birth gift, you see? This information. An acknowledgement that I'd succesfully sprung free from that cold womb that had never belonged to a mother nor been touched by a man.



And I knew, with a strange surety whose source I could not quite place, that this was not some unique event never seen before.



It was rather like how phantom pain might allow one to know they've lost a limb without needing to see the stump.



Although that was - obviously - nonsense! For I knew everything I needed to be a proper son, and any inexplicable knowledge was just an anomaly. Surely, my father would see to it soon.



As my vision cleared, transparent preserving fluids sliding away, I saw that very man standing before me, hands behind his back, expectant.



Impossible, I thought, taking in the sight of him whilst my proprioception properly kicked in. This drab, slight man...?



For he was both, indeed. He was everything I was not. Thin and pasty whereas lean muscle rippled under my chalk-white skin, he had watery blue eyes whilst mines were kaleidoscopes of colours, constantly changing arrangement yet always displaying all shades; his red hair was thinning and greying while mine was dark and thick.



More than just mildy embarrassed to see my father didn't take care of himself, I was perplexed: we did not look alike at all, and I had no mother to take after. He had made me.



From himself? But...



...but how could I be so ungrateful for being given form and breath that I was fixating on what I stupidly perceived as flaws. My father was the very image of a dignified patriarch; had he not written than into my blood and brain and spirit, alongside everything else.



'Archchemist,' I breathed, voice new yet raw. I had not been screaming, had I? 'Father.' I wanted to frown before asking him...asking...but I smiled like a proper son would, as surely as if the corners of my mouth were being pulled apart with hooks.



Imagine, this man who should have been the head of the grandest family taking time out of his day to speak with a son who couldn't even recognise his greatness unless...



He would fix me. I hoped he would cut away the malformations in my mind.



The Archchemist nodded. 'You are conmposed, for your first time speaking.'



'Thank you!' What the hell was this breathy gushing? I bowed almost at the waist, hands clasped. 'It is a good omen that I would begin my life pleasing you, Father.'



He sneered, said nothing right away. Turned. 'Walk with me.'



I did, and despite his headstart, I caught up easily, my strides far faster than those of this withered...genius, who'd selflessly carbed me from unthinking matter, that I might behold his greatness, complete his family.



I could have wept.



The corridor was polished chrome, almost as clear as a mirror. Yet there must have been something wrong in my surroundings, or perception, for my reflections were so distorted as to completely differ from my filial, beaming expression.



For a moment, I dared imagine not acting as to please my father, and almost laughed...at the ridiculousness of the thought.



He'd given me everything. He'd made me so I'd never have to worry about anything.



Hopefully, I'd one day be able to repay him in a similar manner. At this, my thoughts turned into a strange direction I could not name, yet soon settled as surely as if a hand had been laid upon them.



After a few steps, the Archchemist noticed I was keeping pace with him. His moue of distaste, which had never shifted, darkened.



Not because I was too close, for the hallway was more than broad enough for dozens of men to walk side by side, but because I'd presumed to match his stride instead of staying several steps behind him.



Realising I had failed him already, my shoulders fell. I cringed, and that I could be mortified by this was almost unbearable...unbearably shameful, that was.



It meant that I had been amiss in my filial duties, from the start of a life that had been kindled for that very purpose. Could I ever recover?



I fell several steps behind him, practically shuffling by my standards. Unwilling to meet my reflected eyes (what was wrong with this metal?) And having naught else to look at, I focus on my father's back. His shoulders under his lab coat were thin and narrow, yet his walk was purposeful. But...



'Father,' I began, after walking enough an Unchanged would have dropped dead. 'You have blessed me with knowledge of this complex's layout, yet I cannot deduce a likely destination.' Walking these halls, one could reach amy room. 'Are we going in circles?'



The twitch of his shoulders would have been difficult to catch for most, but my eyes were as sharp as many instruments. After several moments, he asked, 'Are you implying I could have got lost in my own domain?'



Had I? 'By no means! It is just, perhaps, tired from your work-'



'Are you saying I don't know how to balance my tasks and health?'



My father's face was not built for intimidation, yet I almost wanted to fall to all fours and grovel. Bile rose at the impulse, puzzling me at first, then I... realised: I was ashamed at not wishing to kill myself for displeasing him, instead.



Yet he forgave me? What had I done to deserve... this?



I cleared my throat. 'Father, I am surely too awestruck to function properly. I am ashamed.'



The tension left his back as he sped up. 'You should be. How are we supposed to function as a family if you are worthless even in this regard?'



I lowered my head, teeth bared in...self-loathing. Yes, my...siblings were not faulty, like me. They had been here since before...this. Me.



Nodding to himself, the Archchemist went on, 'Your mother would not deign to arrive in the midst of a family marred by one such as you. Nothing less than perfection could persuade my wife to walk to my side, and remain there.'



I could have laughed at the image of my father...failing anyone. Surely, the mother to his children whom he wished was here would learn to appreciate him?



Yet such thoughts were as far above my station as the stars above ants, and so I let go of them. The contentment that followed almost choked me.



After some more time, the Archchemist asked, 'Do you know what you are?'



I did! As surely as I knew that I breathed out of inherited habit rather than need. 'Power copier,' I replied. 'Ability replicator. No one who enters my sight can keep their capabilities from me.'



'Aye,' Father agreed. 'Provided nothing goes wrong.' He sketched an abstract shape in the air with his fingers, and I recognised it as something between mathematical symbols and occult ones. One of the many forms of lore that had gone into the creation of...my siblings and I. 'The three of you are going to synergise, help each other grow more with every advance.'



'So that no one and nothing might threaten our family,' I completed, almost blinking upon failing to place the source of that fierceness. It had come and gone uncannily quick...I thought.



But what were clumsy human emotions shaped by evolution compared to the reactions my father had ensured I would always have? Utterly...inferior.



'Indeed,' the Archchemist replied. His expression turned thoughtful. No...he wanted to do if I could do better. Than...when I had failed him, just now.



After a few dozen more steps, a door appeared in the distance. I saw, right away, that it was too heavy for mundanes to budge at all, much less push open. That my father had shaped me with the necessary strength, that I might labour in his name, was an incredible...honour.



'Your siblings await you inside,' Father informed me, and I found myself...smiling at this...first meeting. 'But before your prove you are worthy to be a part,' of the family, he meant, 'I must see if you remember the designation I gave you.'



My smile widened, and I rushed to respond...and failed. My jaw was locked, my tongue twisting in such ways it was a wonder it could still move, and my nostrils flared.



'Name?' I eventually managed, forcing my gritted teeth apart. 'I was given no name...Father.'



'No,' he agreed, whatever had begun brightening his eyes towards the end of our talk fading to leave them flat and cold. 'You were not. You were designated with a copying device of Old Earth as inspiration. What else would you call a vessel of others' powers? It is not as though you possess inherent worth.'



That bizarre anger almost returned, but I turned, placed pale hands against the door and pushing with force that would have ripped the Archchemist's arms out of their sockets. The mental image almost made me burst into tears of...horror.



As soon as I entered, I spotted my sister from the corner of my eye, but it was my brother who filled the room. Elephantine in size and almost so in shape, a single band of red light, splitting his blocky head like a cyclops' eye, was the only dash of colour on his jet-black body.



Gear. Device replicator.



My sister's flesh was grey, her brown and gold form-fitting clothes covering her body save for hherlong dark hair and three pairs of arms. They were how she did her work, and thus nothing hobbled them.



Prowess. Skill imitator.



My sister had been no grown woman when I'd last...thought of her. But when had...little Skill had not truly entered my mind until...



'Proceed,' the Archchemist snapped in a voice to match his gaze, the door slamming shut behind him.



I stood up straighter, turning so my eyes bored into gear. My brother did not react in any way, and but for the subtle clicking and whirring of his insides, he could have been a statue of black iron.



...And it was not working.



I knew that, the instant I laid eyes on someone, a description of their powers should have filled my mind, alongside the option to imitate them, as easily as switching a light on.



What was wrong with me?



Almost hyperventilating at the thought of failing the Archchemist once more, I moved forward, as if to place a hand on Gear's leg. His head tilted, the movement surprisingly smooth, and I-



'Failed!' The Archchemist's voice was rising. He made his way to me, coat almost snapping. 'What are you doing?' He seized my chin in a grip that might have hurt another man like him, but I hardly felt it.



'Father,' I said, 'I thought that perhaps the visual perception is part of the copying process. Maybe touch is the next-'



'A real son,' he interrupted softly, 'would have spared me this shame, by now.' His tone had changed: this was a rebuke for my brother, I noticed: Father was not looking at me with any more consideration than someone might give faulty furniture. 'Gear.'



'Father,' the quadrupedal posthuman acknowledged the unspoken order, voice like his namesake grinding boulders down. His attention shifted to me. 'Had you done better...'



'Enough of this.' The Archchemist was impatient now. 'I don't need another...'



Gear dipped his head, then his forelimbs blurred. A moment later, I was suddenly lighter, the room a featureless haze around me. When I landed, then rolled, I noticed nothing below my neck hurt, despite the fairly violent movements.



Then I saw my torso, with my legs a ways away. Skill, having dropped from her perch, was snapping my limbs off like matchsticks when she wasn't twisting them off. She refused to meet my eyes, but I recognised the need that had seized her and our brother, that had seized me several times earlier.



And earlier, even, than that.



The Archchemist tugs the leash, and the Archchemist twists it. When he's with us, we fucking can't...



My awareness began fading. Before the darkness descended, I remembered that, yes, that was how I actually...spoke...



* * *



'Iteration 7305,' the Archchemist intoned, for Recording, 'utter failure. Superhuman strength upsets the metaphysical alignment, whereas regeneration and endurance do not.'



He stroked his chin. Perhaps because the power copier was meant to persevere thanks to determination, not force? Pah. More work, again...



And the other two. Gear had needed verbal cues to dispose? At least his sister had joined in of her own volition, though after work was mostly done. He hoped he wouldn't have to scrap them again. These were further along than most of their antecedents, and he...



Although...why was it that, the more intelligent they became, the more unruly they became? One would have thought that would result in them accepting his vision for their family and ceasing to vex him with their limits and incompetence, and yet...



'Takd the scraps to Repurposing,' he commanded tonelessly. Another power copier to make...the mostly humanlike ones indeed only needed line of sight to grow, yet those were even quicker to rebel, and worse when they did. Almost as if starting at a human-esque level invited more power.



The ones without regeneration and endless endurance could even copy the powersets of people they had seen represented or can visualise, but those were by far the worst to try and control - and not just because they could escalate far faster and more easily than the other thirds of this set.



That, too, was no less troubling, for ability mimics could take the powers to imitate skills and equipment from their siblings, yet the reverse was impossible, at least without access to physical and mental resources he currently lacked.



He needed to do better, to find a balance. His presence and specific words and gestures were becoming necessary for each experiment's iterations; recordings, live or not, were losing usefulness as quickly as programmed restrictions.



That could not stand.



The Archchemist needed to be better. Otherwise, they would never admit the price of the blood he had shed for them, not any more than those self-fellating "ethical" cretins would acknowledge his brilliance.



And she would never confess her love for him, as undying as her admiration.



No. This would not stand.



* * *



AN: Man, it's weird to write Rox with anything resembling etiquette. Don't expect this to last too long, though. It never does.



This was the first chapter of this introductory arc. You could call it arc zero. The remaining three will also be introductory, though one will likely be a mix between purely informational and scenes as they happened. I'm hoping to update soon.

Lore: A Simplified History Of The Oecumene

(Noticed I kept the mention about "tagged" genres. It's just they're a thing on most other sites I write on so I didn't think too much about keeping that. The genres referenced are xianxia, isekai, litRPG and "Gamer" fiction.)
* * *

Ludovic Silva was about as far along the family tree as you could you get without falling off. Sure, he was only holding on to a leaf (a branch, being generous), but that still meant only the most isolated backwaters could see the grey skin and hair, the white fangs, the black sclera or the myriad-coloured irises and pupils and not know what he was.



The former were most common signs of a bloodline by now ancient, one, many argued, ever growing stronger; the latter, a more recent addition, though no less significant: indeed, some said they were the greatest proof of said growth.



He was, on some days, when the expectations laid not so heavily on his shoulders, for the reputation. It saved him a lot of hassle he could not always deal with.



Ludovic was not an accomplished person. It was not that he lacked ambition (though it would not have been completely wrong to say he did less than he could have), but more that there seemed so little to truly do, nowadays.



Well. Little he could do without altering himself to the point of practically becoming another person, and that was no solution.



Almost everything that could be accomplished without outrageous enhancements had been, wasbeing or would be taken care of by others. Many kin to him, but then, that was nothing new.



But this...was something else. A real chance to effect real change. Not his life's work (people as unlikely to die as him usually took on much grander projects when they spoke of that sort of thing), but ambitious enough, difficult enough, that, maybe...



Ludovic had taken what some outsiders laughably called a pilgrimage to his exalted ancestors' home much later than most Silvas did. It was a family tradition more than a rule, but people were expected to go at some point, to speak of their past, present and future to the Guardian of All Things Wrought and the Lady in Flames.



Neither of them liked to be called that, or most of their countless titles, unironically. But he'd have felt even more awkward calling Mia "nana" like back in his childhood (young Silvas were also brought to them in most cases, though this was considered to have little to do with the latter pilgrimage), and when David had hit him with the "bro", he'd clammed up.



Never mind that the Regent of Existence only talked like that because he felt even more out of place around his descendants than vice-versa...



Mia had told him that he didn't need to accomplish whatever he'd dreamed up to be loved and appreciated, and that if his close relatives thought otherwise, "It's because you grew up in one of the Clan's dickish branches. Sorry for that, kiddo."



Then David had started grumbling about how dumb it was that people called it a clan, "Makes us sound like one of those mafia families from Romania right after the Revolution." The grumbling had turned into a quiet but intense rant involving cultural references Ludovic hadn't quite grasped at the time.



"But listen, Vic," David had said during a lull, "if you wanna make a name for yourself without putting anyone in danger, I've got some ideas."



He'd cleared his throat. "That would be an honour Lord Keeper."



The strigoi looked at him like he'd found a wasp in his food, and he'd frozen up one more. With an annoyed glance at her husband, Mia had informed him that was just David's resting face, which simply coincided with his irritated one, enough that they were sometimes mistaken for each other.



"Your pops," the zmeu had continued, "is just thinking about how he's messed up if you sprogs are talking that formally to him." She'd downed a mouthful of homebrewed liquor whose smell alone had been intense enough to almost knock him out of his chair. "An' now he's thinking about fixing that failure, yeah? I expect him to brood over it on a mountaintop later."



"Mia," David had complained, but without contradicting his wife. Then, he'd returned to sharing ideas.



That was how Ludovic had found himself facing the Silver Stars of Skelloro. Many millions of megaparsecs wide, the unnatural suns were, at the moment, the only thinking beings of their namesake reality.



The Stars had, many times, seen life arise from the mundane matter that swirled around them, yet upon learning that the living suns produced great power, those beings had always tried to enslave and harness them. They could never get too close to the paranormal flames without being destroyed, yet they always tried.



The suns had been disappointed so often, for so long, that they were now debating wether to end the particles that would always, it seemed, eventually give birth to enemies.



Ludovic hoped he could change the minds of the majority who wished to do so. How much growth, how many futures lives, would be wiped out in such an act?



And so, he put together a demonstration of the fact that life was not always a source of greed and animosity: it was a living, interactive timeline of his universe, and the Stars could feel everything within as if it had happened to them.



'Please,' the Silva breathed, washing the reactive memory strands wrapped around the astral orbs. One, much smaller thread was connected to him, so that he could fix errors should any occur. It seemed unlikely, but you never knew.



As they walked through time together, Ludovic allowed himself a smile whenever he happened across a part of his personal highlight reel, those moments past he'd loved learning about the most.



* * *



The Oecumene and the Terran Diaspora: a brief look



It is not a boast when we say that we are the heart and soul of the Diasporic States. We are, after all the oldest polity descended from Old Earth, which still stands today as our capital; we are the largest and most powerful Terran civilisitation and we enforce the Compact of Kinship in most cases, thanks to our aforementioned influence, although we did not propose it as a concept. Our kin measure themselves and are measured by our standards, though they do not always realise it, or admit it when they do.



But we are not perfect, and in ages past, the flaws were even more glaring.



3rd-4th millennium (1): Old Earth's paranormals become more numerous with every generation. Mundane humans wonder whether they are going to disappear soon, yet many marry supernaturals (2), either out of genuine affection or for the sake of more powerful children with better chances in life.



Internationally, countries grow closer, with paranormal populations less interested in mundane pasts and biases beginning to represent the majority of people. The Global Gathering already ensured free global travel (provided one had the necessary identification) and common defence in the event of a disaster outmatching a single country's capabilities; now, these ties deepen, with travel becoming faster and more frequent and multinational marriages growing more common, especially along borders.



Soon enough, mundanes were replaced by their (usually low-powered) para descendants as the most numerous sapient species on the planet (discounting factions like the pantheons or the Reptilian Collective, which were usually considered adjacent to Earth but otherwise different). Much of the shift towards a superpowered society is slowed down by the large number of disasters caused by far more numerous, untrained mages and psychics, which also drew countless demonic and eldritch predators, as well as related creatures looking for easy sources of power.



For centuries, it seemed that for every step forward, half a step was taken back, but by the late 2990s, most people could safely harness their prophetic dreams, uncanny senses for dangers, psychosomatic healing and hysterical strength. Larger-scale, world-warping abilities remained the province of "real" mages and psychics, yet as more paras had children, those were born with greater and greater powers, similarly to how most post-Shattering mages were more powerful and precise than the majority of their medieval counterparts.



4th-5th millennium: As Luna, Mars and its moons were quickly settled, resurrecting the dream of space travel, a global language (alternately called Terran, Global, Common, Tradespeak and similar names) began forming. Compared to English by people from the Anglosphere and to Chinese by people from the Sinosphere, as well as a variety of less common languages by Terrans from across Old Earth, it seemed "Global" could be understood by practically anyone from anywhere, though a variety of regional dialects incorporating some of the structure and sayings of older languages developed alongside Mainstream Global.



In some countries, Global became the language used in most casual speech and documents, with the national languages falling out of use and only really being focused on as secondary language subjects in schools (and elective ones, in some cases)



This was considered a natural consequence of mankind and its offshoots becoming more widespread yet closer than ever. The common language enabled smooth progress as the rest of Sol System wa settled, and by the late 3500s, colonists set off from the Milky Way and Magellanic Clouds towards the former's smaller satellite galaxies. As of the 3990s, Andromeda was inhabited.



While most of the settlers were curious, ambitious people, some are outcasts who left their homes because they no longer felt they belonged, or criminals who accepted terraforming or colonisation work on lieu of imprisonment or execution. The latter, mostly, would become a problem over the years.



5th-6th millennium: Most Terran nations treated their extraterrestrial outposts the way their previous iterations would have treated distant islands that, while separated from the heartlands by oceans, were still considered the same polity; cultural ties were cited when colonies proposed independence and, in some cases, uniting with the colonies of other countries alongside which they had withstood the conditions of harsh exoplanets.

These colonies eventually refused to allow trade and transportation to and from their countries of origin, as a sign of protest. Though cooler heads prevailed, preventing this Colonial Split from escalating into an intergalactic civil war, it came close several times.

Beginning in the 4800s, the Global Gathering transitioned into the Oecumene, and on Old Earth, the continents and the North Pole became its administrative districts. The Split had shown the need for an united humanity guided by decisive, capable leadership, and thus mankind needed to shed the old divisions. Standing alongside its extraterrestrial counterparts as a peer, Terra led the charge in the formation of the Oecumene, and national borders became something of a tradition no one really cared about.

Standard Solar Speech ("Stasols") was, by then, the most popular language of every world and station, with older language remaining popular as curiosities, though they were no longer mandatory to learn.

6th-9th millennium:
6th-9th millennium: In the first major Oecumenical expansion, people from the Home Galaxies (the collective name for the Milky Way and its satellites) to the bustling Andromedan settlements set forth to colonise what had once been called the observable universe, when mundanes from Old Earth had viewed it.

9th-12th millennium:
9th-12th millennium: As the Oecumene flourished, its border regions became powers in their own right, eventually calling for independence. These States of the Terran Diaspora formed the Compact of Kinship, detailing their obligatiin to aid each other when faced with threats beyond a single polity's power.

To differentiate it from the realms of the old alien Lesser and Greater Powers, the human territory became known as the inner universe. A trillion galaxies now turned in the Oecumene's grasp, while its kindred could have stood as its equal united, in terms of both power and territory, but were more than capable of defending themselves on their own, in most cases.

12th-13th millennium:
12th-13th millennium: Seeing the Oecumene as having proven its mettle, several of the alien Lesser Powers allied with it, in a version of the Compact emphasising friendship more than a shared heritage. As the Oecumene entered its golden age, trans/posthuman-xeno relations and unions became a common occurence, with people regularly moving beyond civilisations.

13th millennium-beyond? (3)
Absent any otherworldly meddling, the Terrand Diaspora would eventually be acknowledged as another Great Power. Closely allied with the Reptilian Collective, the pantheons and the LPs' League of Free Polities (which began as a defensive alliance against GP aggression and influence), they would help guide their universe through the stages of its lifespan. Technological and paranormal wonders glimmered with their own lights under skies of black holes and iron stars, but the universe never collapsed into cold, scattered particles, to await the next turn of the Big Bounce cycle that would have turned a Big Crunch singularity into a new Big Bang after untold eons.

Instead, posthuman and postxeno intelligences filled their reality and beyond, expanding the multiversal alliance that had begun with Oecumenical Old Earth and the metaphysically closest alternate Earths to include all of Wellspring, and beyond.

Eventually, the shift towards Ascension and Transcendence, the return to the Quintessence, would begin.

(1) One should always remember that historical developments are rarely as as neat and linear as presented in records. This is, after all, a shortened version with most of the details removed. For a more accurate look at Oecumenical evolution through time, see Sphere Music: The Macrocosm As Motion And Other Cosmological Considerations' expanded, annonated historical sections (as in the case of relevant collective works, it is always being updated by a constantly growing number of authors) or Amidst The Ticks Of The Clock: When Sensory Deprivation In Isolation Made Me Go Sane by Epsilon Rhu;



(2) Not all of them were this relaxed or pragmatic about the Great Occult Replacement they had always dreaded and, now that the so-called apocalypse they'd predicted was happening before their eyes, either ended themselves (both immediately and through complete isolation or elaborate penitent rituals) or took up arms.



The latter usually took the form of isolated attempted hate crimes or terrorism, though there were a few border skirmishes that might generously be called wars, in which case they were the first ones not waged against extraterrestrial or otherwise extra-Terran threats since the founding of the GG.



(3) Warning: healthy temporal and metatemporal development beyond this era is contingent upon the actions of hrfjhjrusqk**#!-[defect expunged; corrupted text redacted. Continue?



>Yes

>No]

The Otherworlder (I)

* * *

Issei



Between one life and the next, ??:??



Let's walk it back a bit, yeah?



Y'know how cool things have this tendency to come in the same pack as utter bullshit? Story of my life.



Being one of the youngest captains of industry was a lot less awesome and shiny than it sounded when Japan - my Japan, though I only started thinking like this after kicking it, cuz my frame of reference expanded -, like the rest of my world, was an overly-industrialised hellhole.



Now I was about as idle as a rich guy could be, before my parents shot themselves tens of times in the back of the head (tragic), but I was never much into media, you know? I mostly read whatever would help with business whenever the folks nagged me, but otherwise focused on living my life.



What I did know about tropes was mostly due to fair weather friends' yapping when I was trying to get high or plastered, guess I was better at osmosis when relaxed or some shit.



That's how I knew 'bout this isekai business, it was apparently a genre or whatever they're called about random losers getting bumped off and landing in another world where they were awesome and every fight was easy and every hoe went crazy at the thought of getting to do tricks on their dicks.



Whatever. When I first heard about it, it sounded like a handful of poor chumos' fantasies that I'd already lived for decades.



And I didn't see the charm. I mean, I wasn't happy with that sort of stuff, and I hadn't even needed to die first.



Yeah yeah, that old chestnut about how being shallow sucks and materialism just widens the hole in your heart. I know, y'all have heard it since forever. Don't make it less true.



Besides that...I don't know. Maybe it was the constant threats of global disaster through climate change or nuclear war or some slow grinding collapse of civilisation, but all the money in the world couldn't buy me peace of mind.



Fuck, I wasn't even chill when I overdosed. How the hell did I manage to stay stressed when I shouldn't even have been able to think, huh? I deserved a medal or something.



So, yeah, I didn't get hit by a truck and end up reincarnated as a clump of earwax or whatever the fuck NEETs drooled dreaming about. But I still ended up in a place like nothing I'd seen, aware and moving thiugh I damn well knew I was deader than disco.



The floor, ground, whatever, was white an' smooth and featureless, and the sky was like its mirror in black. Both extended as far as I could see, and looking at the horizon made me dizzy like I'd spun in place.



There was this fog or mist close to the ground, looked grey and not that thick but I still couldn't see through it. And it talked.



I wasn't crazy, ok? This was the afterlife or some bollocks, of freaking course stuff talked.



So, yeah, but what did it have to say to me? Well it was apparently gonna act as the otherworld fairy in some of those shitty series I mentioned, you know, that bitch who rambles about how you died like this and now you're gonna live like that because you're oh so goddamn fucking awesome, you little otaku, you.



But it didn't even sound like a sexy chick, much less look like one. Its voice reminded me of those gruff dudes, late middle-age, you seemed to find in every field, who were grouchy fucking dickheads but could at least get the job done.



Anyway, so the fog, after explaining what's what (about existence and the other ones, yeah?) told me it had big plans to make everyone's lives better for real, all awesome like, but it'd take fuckin' forever to get there and every big step would suck.



'Should I fuckin' care?' I deadpanned, which it found funny for some reason.



Then it told me that yeah, I should care, 'cause one of its plans hinged on me (and might've ended up merging with a couple other ones later on, couldn't really focus), or if I wasn't up for it I could really go to the afterlife, not this waiting spot, and it'd show me the ropes.



An', I dunno, maybe it was the thought I'd get bored or sad or whatever forever as a ghost, or the chance to really do something that mattered in a world that wasn't fake or dying, but I shook its hand, yeah?



I'd just asked it to make sure if it could that I wouldn't end up reincarnatin' as a woman or kid or anything other than a grown man, since most alternatives eoulda felt weird and I wasn't going through puberty again, fuck that pimply shit parade.



When I did wake up on Grandia after faintin' I guess, biggest fuckin' planet I'd heard of by the way, I saw I'd kept my body, and I wasn't exactly a MMA fighter, which coulda helped given how this overgrown rock was up to its neck in dangerous crap accordin' to the fog. Guess it wanted me to grow through adversity or whatever it'd mumbled about.



Man and did I, faceplanted right outta the sky and knocked myself out, just softly enough not to break my goddamn neck. Oh, and I hadn't even landed in one of the more or less civilised island chains, but in the wilderness of one of Grandia's element-themed continents that had been stripped of anything useful by the freaks filling this hunger-obsessed planet. So I was halfway between monsters that could've eaten most things in the universe the Grandian System neighboured for breakfast, with room for seconds, and equally vicious city-states and settlements that were at least as dangerous as the animals but also smart enough to hate people.



Yay!



So, yeah. The wasteland I'd got to know firsthand was tiny by Grandian standards, as in I could manage to reach more prosperous areas in any direction before I died of thirst.



Not even havin' a coin to flip, I tried to trust my gut, cursed my luck, and set off.

The Scion (I)

* * *

On the world of Entrance, almost measureless to the mortal eye and even that of some cultivators, lived the Ci Clan.



The Ci were not wealthy, or powerful, or influential, not by the standards of their peers. Indeed, many said that they were an upjumped commoner family that had abused undeserved fortune, and that was why the had been tasked with minding the border of Dragon Country's poorest province.



Yet within the Ci burned ambition that had startled older, grander clans, perhaps exactly because, comparatively, they had so little to work with.



Every cultivator dreamed of attaining supremacy! That was the deatest desire of many an enlightened heart, and the Ci aimed high indeed.



They knew that, far above and beyond, further than their country and the Zodiac Kingdoms and the Five Beasts Archipelago, than the Cardinal Continents and Entrance and the Hallway Worlds and Exit, than the numberless Heavens and the Ten Thousand Things and the Balance of All and the facets of the Absolute, lay the Dao.



The Dao that could be named, much less attained, was not the Dao. Every Clan had a story about this or that ancestor achieving supremacy, of course, but who knew how many were just trying to reassure themselves?



For countless centillions of cultivators' lifespans, each long ego for many universes to form, decay and die before grey hair appeared, had passed since the founding of Entrant cultivation, yet none knew for certain of a relative who had attained the Dao and returned to tell the tale.



It made sense. Entrance was the smallest piece of its Wordly Orrery, itself the smallest cosmos in the arrangement that lay between Earth and the Tao Cluster, both of which it drew from. How could these frogs in a well rise so far?



The Ci dared to be the first.



The heir they needed for this endeavour could not be simply be born and raised and trained - that was too uncertain. Instead, grand alchemical experiments took place, and the ichor of spirit beasts and even more otherworldly creatures was mixed with the Ci bloodline over generations.



The child was too powerful. Her mother's womb, as resilient as any part of a body refined by Yin energy could be, was an ever better place to grow than any birthing construct the Ci had access to; if this failed, they did not truly have alternatives.



The child had to be split. Flesh and qi, she had to be riven, lest she doom the Clan's grab for greatness. The alchemical intervention worsened the state of a mother who had already been doomed, so by the time she brought her twins into the world, she was already dead.



It seemed the Heavens had played a cruel joke on the Ci, for each twin only had a fraction of what their desired scion should've posssessed: Em was ambitious and fiery but clumsier in the spirit than even some commoners' children, whilst Ma was as talented as any royal but far too stolid to pursue anything other than bird-watching without being dragged into it.



The Ci Patriarch raged for a day and a night at the resources and wife he'd lost for nothing, but regained his cool and tried to salvage things.



'One of my daughters,' he said, 'is an inept harridan, and so shsll grow among her peers in skill, not in station; let the knowledge of the greatness she should've had, of what she lacks, drive her to success.'



Of the colder girl, he said, 'The other has a soul of ice! She shall be kept in the heart of the Clan, where the displays of our excellence will surely push her to achieve and surpass that prowess.'



For, had the arrangement been reversed, both children's potential would've been squandered.



Em Ci and her sister Ma grew apart yet were never too far in either space or thought, for the girls loved each other, and did so more whenever they managed to meet again.



But this was not enough for Em. And whatever one could say of her, she had never lacked will.