In the dark, silent yet calm night, Oscar turned and twisted in his bed, dreaming of a dream that was not meant to be dreamt. Moonlight filtered through a tattered curtain, casting long shadows across the cramped room of his apartment in the Commoner Ring. The feeble light illuminated his face, scrunched up and twisted in pain and agony. Sweat poured from his brow, soaking the thin-filmed mattress that was the only separation between his body and the cold, hard floor beneath.
Next to him lay an imperfect, spherical object—dull and filled with cracks, so fragile it seemed it might crumble at the slightest touch. The orb pulsed with a faint, dying light that matched the erratic rhythm of Oscar's breathing as he fought against whatever nightmare had seized him.
The room itself was sparse—a testament to life in the outermost ring of Origin Hythos. Peeling wallpaper revealed the concrete beneath, while a single wooden chair and desk occupied the far corner. A small cabinet with a cracked door held what few possessions Oscar owned. Through the single window, the impossible height of the city's outer wall was visible in the distance, its top lost in darkness where the magical barrier began, shimmering faintly against the night sky.
And far, far beyond—barely visible through gaps in the dense urban sprawl—rose the impossibly tall silhouette of the Moon Elevator, stretching from the Central Core all the way into the stars, connecting to humanity's first conquered moon, Athena.
Oscar's fingers clutched at his threadbare blanket, knuckles white with tension. His legs kicked out, nearly toppling the mysterious orb from its precarious position at the edge of his mattress.
After twisting and turning for a few more agonizing minutes, he jolted awake with a scream that tore from the depths of his soul.
"Aaaarrghhhhh!" The sound echoed off the bare walls as his hands flew to his temples. His eyes shot open, revealing dilated pupils swimming in bloodshot whites. Pain lanced through his skull like white-hot needles, driving deep into the tissue of his brain.
A blur of memories—memories that felt foreign yet achingly familiar—rushed into his mind. They squeezed and forced their way in so fast that the pressure threatened to split his head open. Images flashed behind his eyes: a battlefield strewn with bodies, a towering structure collapsing, faces he'd never seen yet somehow knew, and blood—so much blood.
"Ma...maaa...ss...doon...don'tt... Paaa... ouu..." A broken voice rang clear in his head, trying to form words that deep in his soul he felt were vitally important. The fragmented message looped, growing more urgent with each repetition.
The pain intensified, a migraine so severe that his vision blurred and darkened at the edges. Oscar's back arched off the mattress as he clawed at his head, desperate for relief. His throat went raw from screaming, though he hardly noticed. The thin walls of the apartment complex meant his neighbors surely heard, but in the Commoner Ring, midnight screams were common enough that few would bother checking.
For what felt like agonizing hours—years of wrathful migraine torture—his consciousness teetered on the edge of oblivion. Just as he was ready to surrender to the darkness clawing at the edges of his mind, the pain stopped. It vanished like a puff of smoke in a strong wind, leaving him disoriented by the sudden absence.
The mental clarity that followed was jarring.
"Haaaah, haaaa, haaaaaah," he panted, sweat trickling down from his hair to sting his eyes. The cool night air hitting his damp skin sent shivers down his spine. His lungs burned with each desperate breath.
"Ss...status..." Oscar weakly muttered, his eyelids drooping with exhaustion. He was almost about to pass out, but something deep within held him back—an instinct, a whisper, telling him there was something crucial he needed to do first.
The air before him shimmered, coalescing into a translucent blue window that hung suspended inches from his face. White text materialized, glowing softly in the darkness:
[===]
Name: Oscar Sytoz
Age: 20
Race: Human
Rank: ε - 1
MU: 100/100
---
Talent:
[Unknown] Unknown [N/A]
---
Skills:
[Unknown] Sy!)n*$i@&s [Pending Activation...]
[===]
He stared at the window, focusing on the distorted skill name. Something about it tugged at his fractured memories, a familiarity that transcended his current understanding. With trembling lips, he formed the words that his very being screamed for him to say.
"A...al...allocate all mana units... to... Synthesis..."
The words were barely audible, a whisper in the night, but the status window responded instantly. A confirmation dialogue appeared, its light bathing Oscar's pale face in an ethereal glow. He accepted with the barest nod of his head, his body finally surrendering to the blissful promise of unconsciousness.
As darkness claimed him, a faint smirk crossed his lips—a hint of something dangerous, something knowing.
In the silence that followed, the status window before the unconscious Oscar began to change. It shook slightly, its edges blurring. The usual blue screen with white text gradually evolved into something more... alive. Ancient. Powerful.
The mana units displayed on the window began to drain rapidly—from full capacity of 100 units down to 90... 80... 70... The numbers tumbled ever downward with increasing speed. In a normal scenario, the complete draining of a being's mana units signified death, the extinguishing of their very life force. Yet Oscar's chest continued to rise and fall in steady rhythm, defying this fundamental law of the mana-infused world.
60... 50... 40...
The mysterious orb beside him, which was already fragile as it was, began to crack even further. Its dull surface gained cracks similar to fracturing glass all over itself, pushed to the tipping point of complete erasure.
30... 20... 10...
Oscar's skin took on a subtle luminescence, fine threads of golden light tracing patterns beneath the surface—ancient symbols that hadn't been seen in Origin Hythos for centuries.
5... 3... 1... 0.
As the last of his mana drained away, the skill entry on his status window erupted in a flash of brilliant gold. The garbled text transformed, revealing its true nature:
[===]
Name: Oscar Sytoz
Age: 20
Race: Human
Rank: ε - 1
MU: 0/100
…
Skills:
[Primordial] Synthesis [MAX]
[===]
The golden light intensified, filling the small room with its warm radiance. The shadows receded into the corners, cowering from the ancient power now awakening.
[It's been a while, master…] A female-like mechanical voice resonated through the silent room, seemingly from everywhere and nowhere at once. The sound carried emotions that should have been impossible for such a mechanical timbre—deep happiness, profound relief, and unbridled joy.
[Rest…, my dear master, for our path to success is here] the voice continued, its tone softening as it observed Oscar's unconscious form. Had anyone been present to witness this phenomenon, they might have noticed how the air around Oscar seemed to bend and shift, as if reality itself recognized that something monumental had occurred—something that would soon shake the very foundations of everything.
The orb beside him that was once still barely hanging on, crumbled into fine dust.
---
[Year 3287 CE, Earth One, Planetary Capital: Origin Hythos]
Twelve hours later, the sun climbed high over the sprawling metropolis of Origin Hythos. Its light reflected off the magical barrier atop the 20,000-foot wall that encircled the city, creating a prismatic effect that bathed the buildings below in ever-shifting colors.
Origin Hythos—humanity's crown jewel and last bastion—stretched across three-quarters of the merged supercontinent. From above, one could clearly see the four distinct rings that divided the city like growth rings in an ancient tree, each housing a different social stratum of what remained of mankind.
At the city's heart rose the Moon Elevator, an engineering marvel that stretched beyond the clouds, beyond the atmosphere, all the way to humanity's first moon, Athena. Its base, broad and seemingly indestructible, dominated the Central Core—Ring 1—home to the ruling elite and central government. The structure thinned as it rose skyward, a testament to humanity's technological and magical prowess, marking their first step toward conquering the stars after the cataclysm that had nearly wiped them out.
Surrounding the Central Core lay Ring 2, the High Human Enclave, with its sprawling mansions and opulent architecture. Home to the nobility and royalty, this ring gleamed with luxury that the outer rings could only dream of.
Beyond that stretched Ring 3, housing the Awakened Humans—those who had developed special abilities and elevated status, though not quite reaching the heights of the High Humans. Training facilities and research centers dotted this landscape, their designs blending functionality with prestige.
And finally, there was Ring 4—the Commoner Ring. The largest and most populous, it was home to ordinary mortals who formed the backbone of Origin Hythos. Here, the buildings were packed tightly together, rising in haphazard patterns that spoke of necessity rather than planning. Streets twisted and turned, forming a maze that only locals could navigate with confidence.
It was in this outermost ring, in a nondescript apartment complex tucked between a communal water station and a small market, that Oscar Sytoz opened his eyes.
He sat bolt upright, clutching his head as the last throes of his piercing migraine subsided. Sunlight streamed through his window, illuminating dust particles that danced in the air. The room looked different somehow—or rather, his perception of it had changed.
Information lost to time now filled his mind. Memories that should not exist jostled for attention. Two separate personas—the ordinary young man who had gone to sleep in this room and something far more ancient and powerful—merged into a single consciousness.
Oscar's eyes, once a dull brown, now gleamed with flecks of gold and purple. He rose from his mattress, movements fluid and graceful despite the lingering soreness in his muscles.
Oscar breathed in the fresh morning air that seeped through his window, the scent of the Commoner Ring—a mixture of cooking fires, crowded humanity, and the faint metallic tang of machinery—filling his lungs. The sensation was almost overwhelming after what felt like an eternity of nothingness. Each breath came with a gratitude that burned in his chest like a small sun, warming him from within. This was a chance at redemption, a chance he swore he wouldn't squander with meaningless worries, people, betrayals, and all the other tiring, shitty stuff that life had to offer.
Golden morning light spilled across the worn floorboards, catching motes of dust that danced like tiny stars. Oscar looked down at himself, examining his current and unbelievably scrawny body. His ribs pressed against pale skin like the bars of a cage, and his arms, once capable of cleaving mountains, now looked as though they might snap in a strong breeze. The sight triggered a burst of laughter that bubbled up from deep inside him, startling even himself with its unexpected intensity.
"Ha...hahahahaha...haaaah..." The sound filled the small room, a genuine expression of bittersweet amusement. "I've truly come back."
His laughter trailed off into a wince as his stomach twisted painfully, letting out a growl that sounded almost like a wounded animal. The sudden, sharp reminder of his current emaciation sent a shiver through his frame.
Oscar's gaze drifted to the space before him, where his status board hovered, drastically changed from what it had been just hours before. The once-simple blue window now pulsed with motes of gold and shadow, the text seeming to float above rather than within it. Something ancient had awakened within this unique construct, something that pre-dated the very systems that governed this world.
"What a waste," he sighed, his voice tinged with resignation. "I can't believe that we had to use it for the last time..."
[It couldn't be helped y'know, considering the trade-off, it's actually worthwhile since this time we actually have a shot at completing everything and you can achieve your ultimate goal and desire... master...] The voice resonated directly into his mind, mechanical and robotic yet undeniably feminine. Despite its artificial nature, the voice carried warmth, affection, and a hint of mischief that no mere machine could replicate.
A smile broke across Oscar's face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Seems like you're lively again," he said.
[Is that how you greet your ever trusty companion, master? I'm going to file a complaint to Kat.] The voice adopted a pouty tone that made Oscar's smile widen into a genuine grin.
His status screen disappeared, switching to a different tab that had appeared during his episode of resurgence, into one that appeared like a normal chat but empty since those who were meant to be on it now were far away from him. A popup however appeared, projecting a golden holographic image of what appeared to be a form to be filled out, the top of which read "Formal Complaint: Master Being Mean Again." The absurdity of it—this ancient, powerful construct acting like a petulant child—struck him as both ridiculous and endearing.
Oscar let himself fall back onto his thin mattress, arms spread wide, reveling in the peace that surrounded him. The morning sounds of the Commoner Ring filtered through his window—vendors calling out their wares, the distant hum of machinery, the chatter of people going about their day—but here, in this small room, there was a moment of perfect stillness that he treasured.
The irony of his situation wasn't lost on him. Everything had been lost—his once great mind-shattering skills, techniques that could cut the multiverse asunder, talents that made even the hero of it all weep in jealousy. All of it gone, stripped away by time and treachery and the limitations of this new vessel. His power, once vast enough to reshape reality, had been reduced to nearly nothing.
But what made him a monster—truly a monster—was not those abilities. It was a single skill, a single concept that he knew would always be his, in any time, in any reality. It was the one thing they couldn't take from him, the one thing that had survived the transition from his old existence to this new one.
The sunlight caught through his system's panel, sending prismatic rainbows dancing across the ceiling and his face from where he laid. Oscar watched them silently for a moment, feeling a profound sense of homecoming despite the humble surroundings. This wasn't where he belonged—not yet—but it was where he needed to be to start again.
"It's good to see and hear from you again..." he whispered, the words carrying the weight of millennia, of shared struggles and victories, of a bond that transcended the boundaries of conventional relationships.
"Synthos."