Chapter 1: "What Has Been, Will Be Again; What Has Been Done, Will Be Done Again."
For a time, Jean's world had been bright.
Sunlight spilled through tall windows, dust motes dancing lazily in the air. Even though it was too large for just three people, the house was always warm and filled with enough laughter to occupy every corner.
His mother would kneel before him, slender fingers fixing his collar, her pale blonde hair catching the light. Her blue eyes held a gentleness that made his chest feel strangely full.
"Don't run so fast," she'd scold softly, lips curved into a smile. "You'll fall again."
Behind her, his father stood by the door, tall and well-dressed, black hair neatly combed, brown eyes sharp but amused.
"Let him be," he said, chuckling. "A boy should run."
At the time, Jean believed those words without a doubt.
At night, the house smelled of warm bread and clean linen, of a comfort carefully maintained. His father's laughter echoed through the halls, his mother's voice always close by, and Jean slept deeply, unaware that such peace could ever end.
He slept without fear.
….
The change came gradually, so subtly that he only understood it in hindsight.
One afternoon, he stood at the top of the staircase, fingers wrapped tightly around the banister, as unfamiliar laughter drifted up from below.
A woman's laughter that wasn't his mother's.
Peering down, he saw his father pouring wine into two glasses, his movements practiced and relaxed, while a woman he did not recognize leaned against the table, her fingers brushing his arm as if they belonged there.
"Your wife?" she asked, smiling faintly.
"Out," his father replied, without hesitation.
Jean didn't understand the situation back then; he thought it might be his father's friend. Yet even with that thought, he instinctively backed away, step by careful step, until the laughter faded.
….
The house slowly lost its warmth.
Arguments replaced conversation, voices rising and clashing with a sharpness that made his ears ring. Plates shattered against walls, doors slammed hard enough to rattle the windows, and a heavy, oppressive silence always followed.
"You think I don't know?" his mother shouted one evening, her voice trembling despite her effort to remain composed. "You spend our money like it's endless!"
His father laughed bitterly. "You're imagining things."
"Then tell me where it went," she demanded. "Where is it?"
Jean sat curled up in the hallway, knees pressed to his chest, watching the light beneath the door flicker as shadows moved violently on the other side. He wished things could go back to how they were, when everyone was smiling.
….
His grandfather came more often after that.
An old man with a hunched back and tired eyes, sitting quietly at the table while his parents argued in the next room. When things grew too loud, the old man would place a rough hand on Jean's shoulder.
"Listen to me," his grandfather said once, voice low. "Don't grow up to be like your father."
Jean nodded sadly. While he couldn't fully understand his grandfather's words, he knew they mattered.
And…this different version of his father…he didn't like it.
….
His mother fell ill as winter approached.
She lay in bed for days at a time, her skin pale, her breathing shallow, her once-bright eyes dimmed by exhaustion and sorrow. Jean learned how to heat water without spilling it, how to wipe her forehead with a damp cloth, how to smile even when his hands trembled with fear.
"You're a good boy, Jean," she whispered, fingers weakly brushing his cheek.
His father came home late more often then, drunk and sometimes angry. One night, his gaze fell on Jean with unfocused intensity.
"Where's the money?" he demanded, eyes bloodshot.
"There isn't any," Jean replied quietly, forcing the words past his tightening throat. That money…was for Maman's medicine; he couldn't hand it over.
The slap came without warning, the sound echoing painfully as Jean collided with the wall, his vision blurring as pain spread across his face. Behind him, his grandfather shouted, his voice cracked with fury and helplessness.
"Enough!"
But the old man was old, and his father was not.
….
"I have nothing left," his grandfather said another day, his voice trembling as he faced his son. "Everything is gone."
His father laughed bitterly. "Then borrow."
"I already lost everything," the old man said.
Jean watched his grandfather's shoulders sag, watched something break that could not be repaired.
….
One morning, Jean woke to an unfamiliar stillness.
His mother lay beside him, unmoving, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted as if she had been about to speak. He shook her once. Then again.
"Maman?"
She didn't answer.
The world tilted.
His scream tore through the house, raw and broken, echoing off walls that no longer felt like home.
….
The slums were nothing like the home he remembered. They smelled of damp stone, rot, and despair, and the narrow room they shared barely kept the cold out.
Jean sat beside a narrow bed, knees pulled to his chest. His grandfather lay on it, breathing shallowly, his skin thin as parchment.
Jean himself had grown thin, his clothes hanging loosely from his frame, his face sharp with hunger. The childish spark in his eyes—once bright and curious—had dimmed, scraped away little by little, making way for dull watchfulness.
"I'll be back soon," Jean said softly, forcing a smile. "I'll find food."
His grandfather nodded weakly.
….
When Jean returned at dusk, his arms were wrapped around a piece of moldy black bread, clutched as if it were treasure.
The room was silent.
No, not completely silent. Jean heard the familiar buzzing of flies he'd grown used to in the slums. Flies that appeared near rubbish and…
Jean dropped the bread.
"Grandpa?"
He ran forward, hands shaking as he grabbed the old man's shoulders, shaking him gently at first. Then harder.
"Wake up. Please."
Minutes passed. Or seconds. He couldn't tell. Time lost its meaning as realization slowly settled in.
His grandfather was gone.
Dead.
His last family member.
Jean sank to the floor, a soundless cry tearing out of him as tears streamed down his face. The light in his eyes finally vanished, leaving behind something hollow and empty.
Once again—
He was abandoned.
….
Ah… It's happening again.
Despair, melancholy, and wrath flooded Lumian as he watched cracks spread across his sister Aurore's body, before, along with the villagers of Cordu, she disintegrated into countless fragments of flesh.
What remained from the combined pieces of hundreds of organs and flesh from Aurore and the villagers was a giant, standing four to five meters tall, boasting three heads and six arms. Its entire form was composed of flesh and organ fragments, its body riddled with cracks that oozed yellow pus.
The central head of the giant, filled with pain and regret, strained to gaze at Lumian. Transparent, blood-hued tears trickled from the corners of its eyes.
Again… Once again—
He was abandoned.
….
WHY?!
WHY DID THE WORLD ALWAYS TAKE FROM HIM!
FATHER. MOTHER. GRANDFATHER. AURORE. JENNA.
WHY?!
….
[ KING OF ANGEL 'LUMIAN LEE' TRAUMA RECOLLECTION COMPLETED. ]
…
-Seth Ambrose-
"'God is gracious'," Seth murmured the meaning of the name 'Jean' upon awakening in the familiar, aberrant overgrown land. "After an experience like that, it's no wonder his belief in God is so shallow, and why he longed to forget his name and his past."
Suddenly, feeling the familiar heat explode in his stomach, he hastily activated his Conquest authority, placing a hand over his belly. The Thing within instantly lost consciousness, Conquered and falling under his complete control.
With this, there was one less thing to worry about—
"Ugh!" Feeling the familiar movement in his stomach, Seth's pupils dilated in confusion and shock, but without panicking he used Conquest again. "How—Cough!"
Blood splattered onto the ground, yet before Seth could worry about vomiting out another penis, he felt his belly shift once more.
"New Life." Seth realized, Conquering the newly forming consciousness yet again. The corruption in the surrounding would constantly generate 'New Life' to souls, consciousness, spirits, intellect, and Beyonder powers. It was Her—
"Blargh!" Just thinking of Her accelerated the corruption. His belly swelled as new consciousnesses kept appearing, even as he Conquered each one.
Seth looked away from the genitalia he'd choked up and glanced at his shirt, now stained dark red. Now that he was aware of the world he was in, the corruption was worse than in the previous round.
"Cough! Cough! Blargh!"
Looking at his belly—still swelling despite his relentless Conquering—Seth came to a decision.
His lips parted. "Mother Goddess of Depravity—" He flinched slightly as blood erupted from his nose, but continued rapidly, "Origin of Evil; The Indestructible; Sovereign—"
POP! SPLAT!
All sound abruptly vanished. All that remained where Seth's head had been was a thick mist of blood.
His abdomen, which had carried the spawn of the Great Mother, also exploded, releasing a familiar misshapen child.
….
[ YOU HAVE DIED! ]
"Let's not forget to add again." Seth said dryly, sitting up. His hands instantly flew to his head, checking it was still there. "Out of all the ways to go, I didn't think it'd be so… abrupt."
When he'd felt his head swell upon uttering the syllables for 'Sovereign', he'd meant to stop; he just hadn't expected to die at that exact moment.
"At least it was less painful than the first round." That was a win in his book. In fact, a double win, now that the notifications he'd been waiting for appeared.
[ DUE TO YOUR DEATH, THE REQUIREMENTS HAVE BEEN MET. ]
[ RANDOMLY COPY SKILLS OF OUTER DEITY 'MOTHER GODDESS OF DEPRAVITY'. ]
[ PLEASE CHOOSE A SKILL CARD. ]
"The attempt was indeed successful." For the first time since his isekai adventure began, a genuine smile crossed Seth's lips as he looked at the several Crystal-rarity cards floating idly before his eyes.
This situation didn't look so bleak anymore, seeing how easily he could harvest powers from Outer Deities. The fact that uttering an Honorific Name inflicted immense corruption now worked to his advantage.
Seth glanced at the cards but didn't immediately get up to select one. He didn't want to be sent back to the real world yet without a plan to survive.
"The main problem is my knowledge, which keeps accelerating and deepening the corruption…" With a hand on his chin, Seth's eyes flickered over his powers—Isekai Survivor and Suicidal Hunter—to see if he'd missed something.
But no, it didn't seem like he had. If only the part about his mind being unassailable and inviolate extended to making his thoughts 'hidden' or preventing them from 'leaking'. Reading that section again, Seth frowned as he realized this might have been intentional.
If he had a natural, impervious shield around his consciousness—preventing things like telepathy and empathy—then the Above the Sequence beings shouldn't know he possessed enough information about Them to be corrupted.
As for other forms of corruption, as long as it wasn't overwhelmingly strong, Isekai Survivor should be able to handle it.
After a moment of thought, Seth scratched his head and sighed. "No use feeling miffed when the 'patron' of my second life is probably no different from these Outer Gods. At least he—or she, or it—has good coffee."
Returning from his minor digression, the Suicidal Hunter's eyes fell on his Conquest authority. He scanned its description once, twice, three—
His back suddenly straightened as his eyes narrowed in on several key words: 'Target', 'mind', 'loyal', 'Conquered', 'control', 'will'.
Seth wasn't sure if this sudden idea would work, but it was worth trying. What's the worst that could happen? Dying? A split personality?
"Impossible." Feeling more unburdened than ever, Seth rose to his feet, a faint smile playing on his lips. "It's decided. Whether it takes 4,000, 40,000, or 400,000 deaths, I'll Conquer this stage called Lord of Mysteries."
A hand reached out to one of the several Crystal cards, flipping it over without hesitation.
….
[Nurturer of the Chaos Primogenitor]
[Type: Symbolism]
[Rank: Above the Sequence (ATS)]
[Effect: The Chaos Primogenitor is the Original Sin and the nascent Original Creator of the next universe. Nurturing "It" is one of "Mother Goddess of Depravity's" two most vital symbols, and a key reason "She" remains a Pillar even after the Brood Hive's separation.
You can invoke the special symbolism of the Chaos Primogenitor once every Major Month (2,160 years). The normal heartbeats of the Chaos Primogenitor give you an easier time to accommodate a Sefirot.
The "Authority over Evil and Corruption" and the Exploitation of Life is the direct and practical power that flows from the core symbolism of being the "Nurturer of the Chaos Primogenitor." Because the Chaos Primogenitor is the Origin of Evil, containing and nurturing it inherently makes you the holder of that origin's Authorities and concepts.
You too are now the [Origin of Evil].
You may borrow a fraction of the Primogenitor's power, but "It" is a constant, draining burden upon your spirit and form.
Invoking the special symbolism manifests the Primogenitor's imminent birth. Its pending entry into reality exerts supreme authority over all creations of the Original Creator. This has been observed to shatter even the [Astral Barrier] that originated from the Original Creator, as if its original master had recalled it.]
[Warning: Invoking the special symbolism will induce a state of Prolonged Weakness for centuries. If invoked again before the 2,160-year cycle completes, the Chaos Primogenitor will descend into reality. This constitutes an existential failure state, resulting in [Guaranteed Termination] despite any [Indestructible] symbolism.
The Primogenitor's eventual birth represents the end of your current epoch. Nurturing "It" is nurturing your own potential end.]
…
Seth released a huge sigh of relief at not unluckily selecting The Indestructible symbolism. If he had, Suicidal Hunter would have become outright useless, with him being unable to die as long as all of reality existed.
Following the sigh came jubilant laughter. "An untested solution to the knowledge corruption, and now a guaranteed one for my physical corruption."
Things were indeed looking up.
+
[ Name: Seth Ambrose
Powers: Isekai Survivor (+) | Suicidal Hunter (+)
Symbolisms: Nurturer of the Chaos Primogenitor
Authorities: Conquest (S1) | Evil (ATS) | Corruption (ATS) | Exploitation of Life (ATS)
Abilities: N/A
Skills: N/A ]
+
"Bulk deals really are the best sort of deals," Seth mused, straightening his blazer. It was a small mercy, really, that everything returned to normal—his clothes and appearance resetting after each return. After all, with how often he would die in various ways, ending up naked was just a matter of time.
And even if he had nothing to be ashamed of, he'd rather not go flashing everyone. "Dressing well is a form of good manners, too." Seth slipped on the gloves that had been sitting in his blazer pocket all this while, watching the familiar notification pop up.
…
[ SELECTION COMPLETE. SYMBOLISM AND AUTHORITIES WILL BE COPIED. ]
…
[ RETURNING TO 24 HOURS PRIOR. ]
…
[ RECREATING THE TRAUMA OF THE ENEMY WHO KILLED YOU. ]
[ RECREATING OUTER DEITY 'MOTHER GODDESS OF DEPRAVITY'S' TRAUMA. ]
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A/N: The muse is quite fond of this idea so, another chapter it is! Also, I think I done Lumian's trauma/backstory quite well if I say so myself, seeming like it might actually be what happened in his canon past.