Chapter Text

Hell of Eternity

Despair, deep, bone-crushing despair was all he felt as he stood before the colossal wall stretching infinitely before him, blocking his path to his Sponsor. The finality of this world loomed over him, an insurmountable barrier that denied him the closure he so desperately sought. There was an ache in his chest, a searing pain that seemed to fracture something deep inside him.

“Hah…”

The sound of a broken breath escaped his lips, and his body crumpled to the ground. His left hand clutched his chest, a futile attempt to hold together the fragments of himself that were shattering under the weight of his failure. His right arm trembled as it struggled to keep him upright. But it was all for nothing, thousands of years spent in the agony of regression, all of it reduced to this moment of utter meaninglessness. His life, his purpose - they had all been illusions, empty and void of substance.

His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision blurred by a prickling sensation behind his eyes, a pressure that threatened to erupt but couldn’t find release. He was empty. There was nothing left inside him to give, no tears to shed, no hope to cling to.

The weight on his chest was unbearable, as if the entire universe had decided to crush him beneath its heel. The sensation was suffocating, a cruel mockery from forces beyond his control as he knelt, broken and defeated. His mind raced, trying to make sense of it all, but the truth was undeniable.

He had lost everything. Everyone. He was alone, utterly and irreversibly alone. Everything he had fought for, everything they had died for - it had all been in vain. What was the point of it all? Of becoming the strongest, of overthrowing the greedy Constellations? There was nothing left to save, no world left to protect. All that he had loved, all that had once been dear to him, was gone. Why should he be the lone survivor, the last remnant of a world that had already perished?

His left hand, trembling and unsteady, reached for his sword. The thought of ending it all right here, right now, crossed his mind. He could end his suffering with a single stroke. What was the point in continuing? It was all so… pointless.

[Giant Story ‘Hell of Eternity’ wants to continue its storytelling.]

[Giant Story ‘Pilgrim of a Lonely Apocalypse’ wants to continue its storytelling.]

But in the depths of his despair, he had forgotten something crucial. He was a regressor. For him, there was no true death, only an eternity of suffering, of being forced to live on when there was nothing left worth living for. Was this pathetic life supposed to be his ■ ■ ?

A weak, hollow laugh escaped his lips. Perhaps this was his purpose after all - eternal suffering, a punishment crafted by the silent Sponsor who had always been by his side, observing his every failure with cold indifference, only looking down on him as he was dying. The clang of his sword hitting the ground echoed through the empty space, a sound that signaled the end of something far deeper than a mere life.

This would be his final regression. He would find a way to end it, to break free from the endless cycle of pain and torment. He would find a way beyond the wall that stood before him. The part of him that had shattered, the part that had once been Yoo Joonghyuk, was gone forever. Today was the last day he would be the Regressor. He would end it all, once and for all, and find a way to escape this unending nightmare.

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The Secretive Plotter inhaled deeply, his breath steadying as he peered into the void of the Abyss. The darkness below was endless, a chasm that swallowed everything, even light itself. He had no time to waste, this task required precision, and the slightest error could cost him dearly. The Hounds were relentless, always lurking, always hunting. He had managed to evade them for centuries, mastering the art of Probability manipulation to an extent few could comprehend. But their pursuit was unceasing, a grim reminder that he was an anomaly, a trespasser in the worldlines he traveled. No matter where he went, the universe reminded him that he did not belong. He was an Outer God, condemned to wander the Abyss, isolated and exiled from the very fabric of reality.

His eyes closed as he concentrated, every fiber of his being focused on the task ahead. He had to envision it with absolute clarity, no detail could be overlooked, no margin for error allowed. This was not merely about survival; it was a necessary step in his grand design. The Hounds were bound by certain rules, they could only appear where angles intersected at 90°. He would exploit this weakness, creating a refuge in the Abyss where they could never reach him.

He visualized it in his mind: a space of perfect circles, a sanctuary built without a single corner. A house with rounded walls, where every curve defied the angles the Hounds needed. Furniture shaped like spheres, doors that arched in seamless curves. And surrounding it all, a forest of round trees, their trunks forming an intricate, endless maze designed to confound and disorient any intruder. It was a place that would be hidden deep within the Abyss, concealed from the prying eyes of the universe, a haven from his eternal pursuers.

He could feel the Probability warping around him, sparks of its energy crackling in the air as his vision began to take shape. The process was excruciating - the raw power tearing at his very being, threatening to rip him apart. But he had long since grown accustomed to pain; it was a constant companion in his existence. When he finally opened his eyes, he found himself standing before the house he had envisioned. The structure was exactly as he had imagined - round, seamless, without a single angle where the Hounds could materialize. He scanned his surroundings, ensuring every detail was perfect, before stepping inside.

The interior was sparse, almost spartan in its simplicity. Decorations had never interested him, he needed only the essentials, nothing more. The house was vast, its size disproportionate to his current needs, but necessary for what he planned. He moved through the round doors, passing through empty, echoing halls until he found a room that would serve as his own. As he reached for the handle, he noticed with a detached sense of irony that his right arm was missing.

A huff of breath escaped his lips, he had expected this. The price of using so much Probability was always steep. He grasped the door handle with his left hand and pushed it open, stepping into the room that would be his hiding place within this new home. The space was just as barren as the rest of the house, but that suited him. He had no need for comfort, only for solitude.

“Home, huh?” he murmured, the word tasting foreign on his tongue. It was a concept he had long abandoned, a relic of a time he could barely recall. Home had once meant something to him, but that was in another life, a life that felt more like a fading dream than a reality.

As he wandered further into the room, his gaze was drawn to a round mirror hanging on the wall. The reflection that greeted him was unfamiliar - a small boy, his face devoid of the scars that had once marred his features. The body he inhabited now was that of a child, no older than eight. He hadn’t even noticed the change in his stature until this moment, the height difference so foreign it felt like he was seeing the world through someone else’s eyes.

He stared at the boy in the mirror, a sense of disconnection washing over him. This was not the body of the Regressor who had fought and bled through countless lifetimes. The scar on his face was gone, as were the myriad other marks of battle that had once covered his skin. Even his Sage Eye, which had become an almost permanent fixture in his existence, had reverted to an ordinary, unremarkable color. He looked like nothing more than an ordinary schoolboy, innocent and unscathed by the horrors he had witnessed.

He stepped closer, his left hand reaching out to touch the mirror’s surface. Dark, emotionless eyes stared back at him - eyes that held none of the fire, none of the resolve that had driven him for so long. It was as if he were looking at a stranger, a ghost of a past he had never lived since he had no memories of his childhood. The feeling was unsettling, uncanny in its wrongness.

“So this is what happens when you push the Probability,” he mused aloud, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. He averted his gaze, there was no point of him reminiscing in a past he never had. With a resigned sigh, he turned away from the mirror, dismissing the reflection as irrelevant.

His attention shifted to the round window that overlooked the forest outside. The trees formed an intricate maze, a labyrinth designed to ensnare and confuse any who might try to reach him. It was perfect, a flawless execution of his plan. Yet, as he gazed out at the serene, silent landscape, a sense of loneliness settled over him, heavier than he had anticipated.

He conjured a round armchair and sank into it, a glass of wine materializing in his left hand. The liquid swirled gently in the glass as he stared out into the forest, his thoughts drifting in the silence that surrounded him. This place, this house - it was everything he needed, yet nothing he wanted. It was a refuge, a fortress against the Hounds and the universe that rejected him. But it was also a prison, a reminder of the endless solitude that had become his existence.

“Home,” he repeated softly, the word a bitter echo of a life long past. This was his home now, this empty, silent fortress in the Abyss. A place where he could hide, where he could plan, where he could be alone with his thoughts and his regrets.

The fake night of the Sphere deepened around him, the shadows growing longer as he sat in silence. The loneliness was crushing, but it was a loneliness he had chosen, a loneliness he had earned. There was no one left to share this space with, no one left to care. This was the path he had chosen, and he would walk it to its bitter end.