I gather about 100 new crimson cultists from my first mission. I don't care to stay and learn about the world I was just in or its gods. After rounding up the residents of the tower I take them into a new section of the tower I had recently built myself structured as a sort of lecture hall for briefings and meetings. I also taught them all English using my control over media in order to make communication easier.
"I had many prior theories about how reality worked long ago. Today, I am intelligent enough to admit many of them have been proven wrong through various circumstances. Today, I will outline how reality works as I understand it. Firstly, if any of you are familiar with the system of science back on your original world, it is still completely accurate. It was, however, missing many components, not to the fault of scientists, as we had no modes of detecting or harnessing what we were missing. In order to make any other assumptions about reality, we must first remember these three rules:
1. A soul can never be completely destroyed by any means.
2. Vis is present everywhere except where flux is present.
3. All matter is composed of essentia.
You may be asking, 'How can matter be made of essentia and atoms?' The answer is simple: Atoms are either pure essentia given form or combinations of essentia. For example, gold is a combination of Metallum (Metal) and Desidirium (Desire) essentia. This doesn't always have to make logical sense: How can desire have a physical form? Thaumaturgy is often more metaphorical than science. Simply put, gold is a metal many people desire."
They furiously jot down notes in notebooks or loose leaflets of paper.
"It's important you understand these things if you are going to operate functionally here. I don't expect you to fully grasp the concepts: I'm the only one to ever exist who hasn't gone insane trying, but if you are to use my weapons effectively, you must at least understand these things."
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Most of the cultists seem to at least be able to grasp some of the things I taught them. It's important if I am to produce enchanted weapons and tools for them to utilize. Searching through my semi-memories, I discover something else; my dubbing of alternate worlds as "dimensions" is completely incorrect. Higher dimensions do in fact exist. Were I to truly desire it, I could likely make a spell focus to become four-dimensional or even five-dimensional. Most seem to be spatial dimensions as well. Curious. I decide to organize my thoughts once again.
Realities are the separate parallel universes I travel to using flux rifts.
Planes are like mini-realities within realities. Powers are capable of creating them with enough energy, and they can be traveled to much more easily.
Dimensions are exactly that; spatial or erratic dimensions. We normally live within 3 dimensions. Dimensions are confined within realities; for example, you couldn't travel between realities just by moving through, say, the nineteenth dimension.
I've also decided to dub my reality the Primis Mundus due to its odd connections. It seems almost all victims of trans-reality spells originate from Primis Mundus. Primis being for first, and Mundus for world, with the added homophone of mundane, being that Primis Mundus is completely devoid of any sort of magic at all. Vis exists there, but it is for all intents and purposes unable to be harnessed without any native gods. I could, of course, utilize it, but I have no reason to go there.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
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With my thoughts organized and my theories holding up to my tests, I decide now is a good time to start the production of mystical weapons. It takes about a week to accommodate each cultist's tastes: Some prefer swords that spit tongues of fire, some prefer gloves that can create sparks from thin air, and some prefer battle suits that provide immense strength and durability. During the time, a few stragglers are spit into the emptiness from failed trans-reality spells and find their way to the tower. Most are recruited, but a very small portion refuse my hospitality and turn away. So be it. There is no food, water, or shelter to be found here besides the tower. They will either come crawling back or starve.
With the cultists armed, I charge Leviticus with forming a new praetorian league; a group of elite warriors to protect and serve me. He starts immediately, examining each cultist's combat skill. As I watch him work with them in the combat arena inside the tower, I call Winter over to me.
"Do you remember when we first met, and you told me a story? Something about 'words of creation'. Tell me again."
"Many million years ago," he begins, "a mad magician sought ultimate power. God, or Yahweh as I've heard you call him before, spoke life into everything. The prospective sorcerer pulled God's very words from the sky using their own power and slammed them down to the mortal level, imbuing a handful of mortals with a power most people describe as godhood."
"That! That's what's been bothering me. Even after all this time I still don't know who that fucking magician is!" I find in my annoyance I've stood up and started yelling. I sit back down and the gazes of Leviticus and the cultists divert from me. "Now I have a second thing on my itinerary."
"What's your first?" Asks Winter.
"Well, it's clear practitioners of trans-reality magicks are unwilling to stop stealing souls from Primis Mundus-"
"Primis Mundus?" Asks Winter.
"Sorry. That's what I'm calling the world I'm from." He nods and I proceed. "So my only alternative is to forcefully stop them. If that means taking over entire realities and ruling them with an iron scepter, then so be it." I sense a shift in Winter's mood.
"Do you want to die?" I ask him. "That's not a threat, I promise. I am not cruel. I can sense you're not okay with what I'm forcing you to do. If you would prefer death over servitude towards me I would not deny that."
He laughs, as much as a mechanical lifeform can. "In the ten thousand years I've been alive because of you, I was suffering. If Leviticus had asked me that at any point in that time, I would have accepted without a second thought. But now... you're back. No, I don't want to die. Because the second I get a chance... I'm going to fucking kill you completely." Humorous.
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I gather the members of the newly reformed crimson cultists into the throne room. The four new praetors Leviticus had trained, outfitted with incredibly potent magical weapons and armor, stand next to me. An incredible improvement over the old praetors, who preferred to use non-magical tools. "You all know the assignment. I've briefed you all on it countless times. We are going to take over the omniverse, one reality at a time. If any of you find this morally objectionable, stay behind from this crusade and when we return I will restore your original body and return you to your own reality. If you have no objections, then I am glad to have you by my side." Nobody budges. I conduct a media scan on their minds; nobody intends to betray me. I can't have a repeat of Jack.
"Then onwards," I say, "and let us work miracles!" I raise my spear in triumph above my head. The cultists let out a cheer.