Agony.
Pain.
Despair.
Not a single one succeeded in eluding me.
Not for a single second.
After being forced to repeat the same cycle millions and millions of times, they practically became part of my very nature. At first, it hurt, so much so that I thought I wouldn't be able to bear the pain. A slash across my own throat, a blade through my stomach, my innards laid out, a rope around my neck, my heart ripped out, I killed myself hundreds of times, desperately trying to escape the endless cycle of regression.
But death was not an escape.
Eventually, I changed. I began to view things differently.
For the very first time, I wondered whether or not I deserved this. I wondered if I was the problem.
No.
That wasn't right. I just needed more power.
I dedicated hundreds of cycles of my new life to training. I thought that with enough strength, I could break free. Eventually, I created my own unique style of swordsmanship, revolving around 10 perfected sword techniques that could handle a wide variety of situations. But in the face of divinity, what could a mere mortal ever achieve?
Nothing. It seemed ever hopeless.
At length, my striving ceased.
Broken in spirit, I sank into shadowed despair....
No more did the will rouse me into action.
After a few hundred-thousand more regressions, I found semblances of peace among the dregs of my new life. Somewhere along the way, I gained a true name—something to anchor me to reality: Starless of Gluttony. Fitting, really, for one destined to consumed the stars in destruction.
The title after my name "Of Gluttony" in the ancient language roughly translated to "The Devour-er of all". My name far preceded my status though, my appetite isn't big enough for that just yet.
It took hundreds of thousands of regressions before I learned to invoke names of power properly.
The strongest name I could invoke was Legendary rank, and even that came at the cost of my life.
The naming hierarchy is relatively simple:
Common, Uncommon, Rare, Epic, Legendary, Mythical, Divine
Each tier had sub-tiers: Inferior, Superior, or unmarked—each altering the potency of the name.
Though I stopped keeping track after the millionth regression—my memories often forcibly erased—it must've been around the two-million mark that something changed.
I cleaved into a new dimension. It was an accident, a minuscule spatial tear formed as I was attempting to create an eleventh perfect sword technique.
The world I landed on was called Rena, and the kingdom I emerged into was Valemont. I arrived in a border city named Ironvale. It was strange—this world was peaceful. Diverse. I walked through streets where humans, elves, and beastkin traded goods and stories.
On my home world of Roathia, such unity was unthinkable. The races were embroiled in a thousand-year blood war—elves, orcs, dwarves, dragons, dragonkin, giants, and goblins had united against humanity and demonkind.
It was humanity's own fault. Our greed. Our insatiable thirst for power. My own eternal curse was born of that thirst after all.
Still reeling, I ducked into a back-alley tavern—a clear den of criminals—and sat alone, feeling the stares of many drilling holes into my back. It felt like the world itself rejected me. Ignoring the unsheathed killing intent aimed at me, I started by ordering a large beer in a thick wooden mug, to avoid attention. I sharpened my senses, listening in on the murmurs and gossip. I needed to understand this world before diving in too deep.
I also needed to know if there was a way to get stronger here.
My cycle was only four years long, and I had already spent much of it refining my swordsmanship, chasing an elusive eleventh perfect technique. I couldn't afford to waste time.
That's when I heard about Ascension.
Ascension was the process by which a human transcended their limits to become divine. It had seven stages, each tied to one of the seven sins and seven virtues:
Sins: Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Envy, Wrath, Pride
Virtues: Chastity, Temperance, Charity, Diligence, Kindness, Patience, Humility
Every human was born with all seven sins and none of the virtues. To gain a virtue and shed a sin, one had to challenge a trial in order.
The right to challenge the first trial came at age fourteen—granted in a dream that transported the person's spirit to another world. If they failed, they'd have to wait a year to try again. The trials were difficult, but fair.
Challengers always earned the right alone, but could face the trials in groups of up to one hundred. The difficulty always matched their collective strength.
Upon passing, one could open a gate within their soul to access the trial at any time. They could also enter the Soul Sea—a vast black ocean within their soul, lit by a dark sun, surrounded by unreachable mountains.
There, they would find the Prestige: towering sentient obelisks and tablets that recorded their sins, virtues, true name, invokable names, combat mastery—and most importantly, their Rank.
Ranks were: Challenger, Master, King, Sovereign, Transcendent, Asura, Faux-Saint, Divine... and one more—Forgotten.
Only I could see that last rank.
At first, I was overwhelmed, sitting at that dark bar, with my eyes closed, the loud sounds of conversations and laughter ringing throughout my ears, but eventually after some time, I learned how to sense for my soul sea and entered it. That's when I saw something strange.
I only had one sin—and all seven virtues. Likely due to my countless regressions. But my remaining sin wasn't one of the seven.
It was... Weakness.
I approached the ancient obelisk bearing the sin and read its brief inscription. My eyes widened in disbelief.
Sin of Weakness
The bearer of this sin bears the fate of the universe.
Forgotten Tier Sin
Cracks lined the stone. Faint, fading words shimmered below the inscription—just barely legible.
As I stepped away, the obelisk glowed faintly.
The bearer of this sin is beloved by fate.
The bearer of this sin is beloved by forgotten ones.
The bearer of this sin cannot be contained.
The bearer of this sin should be careful what they wish for.