WARNING: READ THIS AT YOUR OWN COST!!!
The throne room was gold, marble, and arrogance. Six of us stood there, pulled from the grey streets of our world into this blinding fantasy. The King called us "Saviors." The others—the athletes, the geniuses, the popular ones—they felt the surge. Magic coiled around them like loyal hounds. They became Gods in seconds.
Sora felt nothing. Only the cold draft on the floor.
"A defect," the High Priest had hissed, eyes full of loathing. "A waste of a summoning."
They didn't just exile him. They threw him to the wolves. Literally.
Regression 1 The forest was dark. The wolf's breath smelled like rotted copper. Its teeth found Sora's throat before he could even scream. 'It hurts. Why does it hurt so much? I just want to go home—'
Regression 30 He had learned to run, but he hadn't learned to hide. The Great Serpent was a mountain of scales and emerald spite. It didn't bite him; it crushed him. Sora felt his ribs turn into shards that pierced his own lungs. 'Again? Why am I back at the throne? Make it stop. Please, someone make it stop.'
Regression 5,500 By now, the "Heroes" had built an empire. Sora had crawled back to the capital, begging for scraps, his mind already fraying at the edges. He ran into Ryu, the "Hero of Light," his former classmate.
"You're still alive, Sora?" Ryu laughed, a golden aura radiating from his palm. "You're a glitch in this world's beauty. Let me help you move on." The light didn't warm him. It vaporized his flesh. 'Ryu looked so happy when he killed me. I'll remember that. I'll remember that expression when I pull his heart out in a few thousand years.'
Regression 400,000,000 Sora wasn't crying anymore. He wasn't begging. He sat in the dirt and watched the grass grow, waiting for the monster that usually killed him at noon. He had mastered the flow of mana not because he had a "Gift," but because he had watched the atoms of the world move for millions of years. He had died in every way a man could die. He had been burned, drowned, flayed, and forgotten. 'The God of Death is watching. I can feel his eyes. He thinks this is funny.'
Regression 999,999,999,999 The world was a graveyard. Sora stood atop the Spire of Heaven, his hands stained in the blood of beings that men called Divine. He wasn't a hero. He wasn't even human. He was a calamity in a black coat.
He stared at the Divine God, a being of shifting geometry and mocking silence. "Is this it?" Sora asked, his voice sounding like grinding stones. "Is this the best you have, you pathetic cockroach?"
"You cannot kill what governs the End," the God vibrated, its voice a thousand screams.
Sora grinned. It wasn't a smile of joy; it was a jagged tear in his face. "I don't need to kill you yet," he whispered, stepping off the edge of the world. "I just need to find the one loop where you're vulnerable. See you in a second."
Regression 1,000,000,000,000
The light blinded him. The smell of incense and expensive perfume hit his nose. Sora opened his eyes.
"Saviors!" the King cried out from the throne, his arms spread wide. "Welcome to the Kingdom of Orestia!"
Sora looked at his hands. They were small. Weak. Human. He looked at the five other "Heroes" beside him, weeping with excitement. Behind them, the High Priest was stepping forward to test their mana.
'There he is,' Sora thought, his gaze locking onto the Priest's throat. 'The first one to die.'
He started to laugh. It was a soft, wet sound that made the "Heroes" jump.
"Is something wrong, Sora?" Ryu asked, leaning in with that same arrogant concern.
Sora looked up at Ryu, his eyes reflecting a trillion years of murder. "No, Ryu," Sora said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Everything is exactly where it's supposed to be."