98 System Hours until the end of the world

It seemed, then, that the only thing in his adolescence that could some close to equaling his pride was perhaps his luck.

It could have been said that during that period he could be regarded as a Son of Heaven, a protagonist, or even a hero. A fortunate confluence of worldly favor that had set the stage only for him to throw it all away.

At the time, thanks to the people he surrounded himself with, he believed it to be a work of providence rather than just blind luck, and perhaps that might very well have been the case.

The higher he got and the more he saw, the less he felt that things just happened out of “coincidence”. Ever the schemer himself, he recognized when things were too good to be true.

Sometimes, the dominoes just aligned too perfectly to have not had at least a little touch from a guiding hand.

Never more clearly had he perceived this ‘touch’ than when all the options in his home world were exhausted and his ‘little’ goal of immortality had grown to become an obsession.

He’d stumbled upon the prerequisites for the rare [Dimension Mage] subclass, which allowed him to travel via unstable rifts that connected to nearby worlds. It had been a series of coincidences that appeared wholly calculated no matter how he looked at it.

For one, it came at a time when he’d needed it most - running afoul with the world’s guardians after a ritual was a bit too successful.

He escaped cleanly with the newfound abilities. And, shocked by the power such a [Class] provided, believed that he would never need to forge lasting relationships again. The locals he’d passed by his as he began his world hopping journey were exploited however he pleased. In his ignorant mind, there would be no lasting consequences, anyways.

How foolish. Actions always had consequences. [Causality] was not a foundational Law entangling every world for nothing.

It was during those adventures that he’d come to learn of the vastness of the omniverse. Of how completely some worlds’ development eclipsed his own in some fields while they lagged hopelessly behind in others.

He’d dismissed many a world as primitive at first, whereas the only one that had a problem was himself. He was unable to see and appreciate the path in which they developed their power and technology. A few near-death experiences brought about by said outlook quickly forced him to put that insolence away, however.

These lessons learned through luck taught him to maddeningly hoard knowledge from every world, as he never knew when it could be applied. Even the most basic ones. Especially the basic ones.

Though this revelation came only after a number of blunders had been made. If there was anything he would redo, since he would choose not to change any major events, it would have to be to go back and properly catalog all those worlds he had failed to do so in his youth.

However, he would have to give himself some credit. The tools at his disposal were but a fraction of what he had now.

True perception was the most important thing to obtain, and that could only be gained via experience.

Nowhere did that principle apply more than in his reckless rift jumping. That period of brash world-hopping was very, very dangerous.

After centuries without major accidents, his luck would eventually run out, leaving his hubris shattered. His current modesty and conniving nature were learned the hard way, though luckily the tuition for that lesson was not enough to completely break him.

It was this careless world-hopping that ultimately led him to his first encounter with a [Detached] entity, for better or worse.

Of course, it was not the true body, else he would not be himself right now.

It was a reflection.

Or perhaps it was a reflection of a reflection.

In truth, he did not know. Even today, he still did not know for sure.

A mere image that bore the being’s great unfathomable likeness had warped his senses, tainting his whole reality in its color.

It was in this hell that he saw the sky above the sky, the heaven above heaven. Though perhaps that entity would be better described as the abyss below the abyss.

It was but a brief touch with a bringer of insanity.

That was all.

That was enough.

He was very fortunate to be experienced in matters of the soul beforehand, otherwise, things would have become a lot more… unpleasant.

The pollution still existed today, though sequestered and suppressed to more manageable levels. Had that not been the case, had he not taken prompt and decisive action, his existence - both body, spirit and soul - would have been irrevocably twisted into the indescribable entity’s shape.

They probably didn't even intend for this to happen. I just fell victim to "environmental effects". Truly, the weak have no say in the world, and disasters fall from the horizons beyond one's sight.

Over the millennia, adventures of a similar vein - though never to this extent - would teach him many lessons. The least of which being that “simple” forms of true immortality were "simply" dead ends.

Eternal life at the cost of one’s ego or living at the whims of some enigmatic being whose thoughts were impossible to divine was no immortality at all.

He was unwilling to lose himself, nor did he wish to play an endless game of cat and mouse throughout the multiverse, hiding in some forgotten corner as he hoped no one found him. He had experienced it once, and it had only stopped once he'd thoroughly exterminated his pursuer and both everything and everyone associated with them. Karma was something that proved difficult to sever, as every enemy slain only delivered another. It was a decidedly unpleasant experience that tied him down for hundreds of years and was something he did not wish to experience again. Especially so if the strength and scale of the pursuers were increased by several magnitudes.

Over time, he came to terms with the fact that every key to immortality had a price to be paid.

A shackle, a curse, a binding.

Whatever the method, there was always at least one factor that dissuaded him from using it.

If one knew how and where to look, inheritances that pointed toward some form of immortality or another were everywhere.

If each world had a few buried, then even if he’d missed most of them, by crossing into a new world every few years he’d have encountered hundreds after a few millennia.

After experiencing firsthand these ‘inheritances’ countless times, even a beast could recognize a pattern.

Of course, it wasn't as simple as just blindly accepting these inheritances. While each had the potential to contain the summation of a person’s path, it would be thoughtless to simply take them. Each of them held hidden pits, just waiting for some naive fool to blindly fall face first into them.

Old monsters that could bury inheritances worth his while always had a backhand prepared. He would know. Not only did he have firsthand experience as the victim, but he was also one of those that dug the pits as well. Fishing was a hobby shared by many elderly who looked for amusement.

Things that seemed free were never truly free. They merely cost something you could not perceive. Consequently, these ‘free’ gifts often have the highest cost. Without a proper understanding of the expense, one might only realize they had been robbed after they reached a higher Tier, realizing only all too late that something integral was missing.

Perhaps when they accepted such a ‘gracious’ gift they thanked their scammer with all their heart.

Nevertheless, despite the unfortunate twists and turns made while he grasped blindly in the dark, the path ahead was eventually made clear. While not perfect, as it meant giving up a large portion of his autonomy, it certainly beat the alternatives. It was a path wholly his own, at least. A few events did point otherwise - which made him wary - but he’d put his cognition through countless verifications and came to believe it was truly a result of his own thoughts.

A moment of inspiration, of enlightenment, that was what it would be remembered as. If he wasn’t able to convince himself of that fact, he would never be able to get anywhere, lost and paralyzed by his own paranoia, so it had to be the correct answer.

The solution?

Artificing.

What he had once picked up as a passing hobby would be the door he chose to endless life.

It’s quite ironic, really. Despite all that manic searching… and those unfortunate incidents… the solution was right there… right in front of me all along.

That dream from many millenniums ago had not diminished in the slightest.

In fact, with the knowledge gained, there existed a reason to fear death.

Well, if one valued what he valued, anyway.

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But that was all behind him.

Hopefully.

Now, he had confidence in his success. His eternity was at hand, and nothing would ruin this moment. The only thing now was to truly savor the experience.

It would be something truly novel, a sublimation unlike any before. To ensure that this momentous occasion went perfectly, he needed to get his mind in order. That included settling all his inner demons, no matter how minor, and making peace with his past. Even the slightest modicum of hesitation had to be wiped clean before he could begin, lest he give a chance for something untoward to happen.

Though powerful, he was not above the world’s more subtle influences. He would not go out like some brain-dead villain whose plans were foiled out of a sudden change of heart.

He would relish his part as he performed upon a grandiose stage, but that enjoyment can only come once he was certain of his success and had contingency after contingency ready to go.

The most tedious and difficult parts have been completed long ago. The core was finished carving yesterday, and I can only put the finishing touches on purifying my soul during the ritual. Everything is in place.

Now, a spark to set everything off… and a catalyst to keep things going.

The souls in this world will suffice. They’re on the weaker side of things, but that’s to be expected from a world like this. I’d hoped for them to develop more in the past few centuries but those dragons were more active than I anticipated. Their patron is the only god here, after all. Maybe I should have introduced some things to put a few checks on their actions... but that would make my actions much more overt.

Too much risk. No point in second guessing. What's done is done. I’ll just have to foot the difference myself.

Eldridge rose from his chair with a slight grunt. His skeletal arms pushed him up with great difficulty before he finally steadied himself. There was a reason why most mages after level 500, or Tier 6, preferred to use either a [Levitate], [Fly] or [Teleport] spell to get around. Eldridge had counted himself among their number for quite some time, which played a not-so-small part in his now atrophied legs. Though, no amount of exercise could reverse their decay at this age.

Here, he was alone, so there was no need to save face.

He decided to forgo this shortcut, letting himself savor what little time he had left with a physical, human body. Though, if anything, all it did was remind him of why he made this choice. Limbs like a desiccated corpse was cumbersome at best.

He could hear his bones pop with every step. Awkwardly trying to adopt a suitable posture, he found that every joint remained stiff, forcing his feeble muscles to work just a little harder.

Why did humans have to have bones instead of just fleshy tentacles? What am I thinking?

It was a strange feeling, being so vulnerable again. No longer surrounded by a dense coating of mana.

Not armed with a panoply of artifacts that improved his survivability.

He trusted himself enough to know that his tower was more than enough protection in such a world, but it was still an uncomfortable experience, nonetheless.

With shaky steps, Eldridge walked over to a gaudy mirror across the room. His gait was more fitting for a senior struggling to walk down the road than a powerful archmage. If he walked down the street of a crowded human city without wards no one would be able to tell the difference. Well, if he put away the robes, of course. Though, perhaps in another world, that kind of fashion might have been quite fitting for certain seniors.

As he looked at himself weakly approaching the mirror, with his reflection growing ever so slowly, he thought back to how he used to see himself. Gone were the days when he would carry himself with pride; Gone was his sturdy frame that put even dedicated warriors to shame. The unceasing march of time had eroded it all away.

Whether it be hubris, charm, excitement, or even warmth, an emaciated face with a long, unkempt beard was all that was left.

Despite the relative peace he'd experienced in the past few centuries, red, bloodshot eyes tinged with a hint of insanity still looked back at him.

The mirror showed a ghost of a man, bearing no resemblance to the bold figure in his memory. However, though a husk of his former glory, he was not broken by time. He was tempered by his age and all the more prudent for it. All of this wear was a testament to the determination that carried him through all those years.

The stare gave way to a bemused expression as he compared the two images closely. The one in the past from his mind and the one that was before him now. He did not feel disgusted by this transformation. Beauty and renown were both things he had consciously discarded for knowledge and wisdom, and if given the opportunity, he would do the same again now.

Even if his eyes did not reflect that kind of accumulation, he knew it in his heart and saw it in his soul.

Did I grow more unhinged during my time alone? No. That’s impossible. I can recognize and control my insanity now. That was not the case then.

Though loathe to admit it, that encounter was the catalyst that drove him to pursue the truth in earnest. He wished to say his will had always been iron, but this pursuit of immortality started only because he didn’t know what else to do.

To put it bluntly, he was simply a spoiled youth who saw the world as his oyster. Born at the peak, he did not care who or what he had stepped on to achieve his goals. Blindly confident in his destiny, he should have received a reality check early on. Sadly, his vanity could only be matched by his skill, allowing his attitude to continue unchecked for a long while. Long enough to meet It.

The encounter had fixed that outlook. It broadened his horizons far beyond the gaze of mortals and even most immortals, and for that, he was forever grateful.

Though the manner in which such a meeting was held was unpleasant, it could not be helped. It was only far after that he realized that it had been a complete miracle to even escape carrying but a few scars and a 'little' mental pollution.

Reaching the doorway, he could already feel his neglected body failing him.

Despite using it without the assistance of magic for only a few minutes, he was already starting to feel his knees buckle. Though knowing such a thing would happen, it disappointed him, nonetheless.

“[Levitate], [Form: Void].”

Forced to use magic, he could only get on with it. Upon cast, his surroundings immediately shifted. The target destination was the place where he usually did his tinkering - a hollowed-out area underneath the tower spanning nearly the entire iceberg.

He could have forced himself to walk there, tortured himself with multiple flights of stairs, and relived the ‘human’ experience, but he doubted his body could withstand such a monumental task. He still needed it for a little while longer. Not only because he still needed a tether to the living realm but also because it would be useful for the next step.

While not physically strong, millennia of use channeling mana made it into an unparalleled magic conductor. There is a reason people used the bodies of saints as magical foci.

The next part, after he had cheated a little using [Levitation], would still be done on foot.

What could he say? He had a heart for theater.

"[Form: Material]"

Before long, a spacious room filled with magi-tech apparatuses came into view. They were mounted on the walls, interspersed around the floor, or just floated stiffly in the air.

They all hummed softly in unison, like a choir of angels, each giving off a warm glow. Numerous as they were, they could only fade into the background of his attention. While integral for what was to come, something else's presence dwarfed all else.

At the center of the room was an altar, and around it was circles upon circles of gold, forming the bedrock of a massive ritual soon to be conducted. These golden lines ran like arteries, fanning out from the center and encompassing the entire room. Some even tunneled into the walls, no doubt going towards other prominent nodes of this great work.

They were made out of gold, the metal. Not some material that shared its likeness. Yes, the gold that was found in nearly every world in large quantities, though highly processed, of course. It was a wonder that such a common material could find use in magic so advanced, but it truly deserved to be a metal everyone loved.

Standing in front of this once more, on the eve of his sublimation into a higher being, a trace of nostalgia washed over him once again. And with it, an irresistible memory came over him.

It brought him back to the first time he attempted something similar, all 10,000 years ago. His first step towards immortality. His first step on the road of no return.

He quite literally sacrificed everyone he knew at that point for it to work.

Once, it was a memory that carried with it a touch of guilt. That was good. He was able to recognize it as guilt. A hidden danger, revealed, isolated and removed. What was once a hidden danger to this ritual, now long extinguished, replaced with only the purest of determination.

With firm eyes, he walked towards the center. However, his steps were still heavy, as though weighed down by the past he was unconsciously unwilling to let go. That it was his spirit controlling his movements through a [Levitation] spell only gave credence to that idea. This too, was calculated. It would not be his unconscious if it were easy to discern. Lingering regrets fragmented and locked deep within, brewed over ten thousand years. He'd done all he could, and now they were at a controllable level. Not enough to take hold of his mind.

He had made his peace.

Step by conscious step he approached. This in itself was a cleansing ritual, bringing to light the fragments that were unconvinced that this path was incorrect.

Every step seemed to lighten his load, becoming brisker and less weighty.

Until after what felt like ages, he stopped before the altar. Standing in front of his centuries of hard work, a whistling breath of relief escaped his lungs.

The journey from his room to here satisfied all attachments to this human body. Though moving in a manner akin to a puppet on strings, he relived the experience of walking with his own two legs for the last time.

Casting his eyes downward, his eyes settled on the core of the formation.

An unassuming thing, really. An orb no larger than a marble, and perhaps one might even mistake it for one at first glance. From the outside, it had no special features. That would be a woeful misidentification if anyone ever did assume so.

It is a World Core. Or rather, it was one. It was an object he’d come across during one of his many world-hopping adventures. The story of collecting this treasure in particular could only be described as a misadventure, however.

Stepping into an unstable rift, he’d almost died instantly from the chaotic ambient mana raging as far as he was able to perceive. The coordinates that had this thing were strange and messy, completely unlike anything he’d encountered before.

The world itself was long gone even before he got there. Well and truly annihilated until only this treasure among treasures was left. Apollyon. That was its name. The only whisper of what the world once was, preserved in this tiny core. What had happened to the world that became only a chaotic mana storm or why its destruction hadn’t affected the core was something Eldridge wasn’t able to pursue at the time. However, how could he possibly refuse such a priceless thing?

Even if it were not a natural occurrence, if such destruction was deliberate, it was meaningless for him to refuse. He was unworthy of someone able to destroy a world to scheme against, so he took it without a second thought. After all, when fishing, the bait must be appropriate for the prey.

From the damaged state that spewed chaotic, distorted Laws and broken Rules in all directions to the current pristine artifact that would replace his soul as the core of his being.

It was an undertaking that had spanned thousands of years.

Now…

It was finally time.

Everything was ready.

The ritual could begin.

Their sacrifice will not be in vain. Their souls will live on. They will be a part of something far greater than themselves.

A part of me.

A part of …

Apollyon.

My magnum opus.

Name: Apollyon Item Type: Material Equip Requirement: LVL 1 Durability: N/A Effects: N/A Description: An inactive artifact core carved from a World Core. Alone, it is useless. But with such a high, it contains infinite possibilities. Therefore, take special care of the initial conditions, as even a slight nudge from anything can make the final result take a very unexpected turn.