'Does this fucking thing have a manual or something?' Matt cursed under his breath, glaring at the status screen in front of him. The absurdity of his skills being reduced to stats made his blood boil. After years of survival, cutting through countless enemies, after losing himself in the carnage more than once, this—this—was supposed to sum him up?
'There is no manual, mate. But you can ask me directly if you want,' a voice in his head said, far too casual for the situation.
Matt whipped around, searching for the source of the voice, but there was no one. It echoed again, clearer: 'You're the only one who can hear me. I'm in your head.'
He clenched his fists, growling, 'What the hell do you mean by that?'
'Exactly what it sounds like,' the voice replied calmly, detached. 'I can only communicate with you through telepathy. You can talk to me with your thoughts too, but don't worry—I can't hear everything unless you want me to.'
Matt's mind churned, but years of war had trained him to adapt, no matter how insane the circumstances. 'Fine,' he muttered aloud. 'But why in tarnation's name do you sound like me?'
'Because you, from another reality, created me,' the voice explained as though this madness was somehow logical. 'You, along with the life force and mana of trillions of other versions of you, combined to form me.'
Matt snorted. 'Trillions? You expect me to believe I'm some kind of universal mass product?' His voice dripped with sarcasm, but the underlying bitterness of having his identity reduced to just another cog in the cosmic machine grated on him.
The voice chuckled, but there was an edge to it. 'You could say that. The other versions of you—they pooled their strength, their experiences, and their willpower to create me. I'm not some basic AI or robot. I'm more of a… guide, let's say, designed to make you stronger than they ever were.'
Matt's eyes narrowed. 'So, you're a bloody glorified drill sergeant with a rulebook, huh?'
'Think of it that way if it helps you cope,' the voice replied dryly. 'But here's the thing—you need to surpass him, the other you. If you're going to save her, you can't just be strong. You need to be unstoppable.'
Matt felt a slow burn of anger rising in his chest. 'Save who?' He didn't need anyone telling him how to fight. He was already one of the deadliest soldiers on Arkos Prime, and no amount of cosmic mumbo-jumbo was going to change that.
'The one you love,' the voice answered, cutting through Matt's rage with eerie precision. 'Across all realities, you've always loved her. But in this one, she's in danger. And you're the only version of yourself left to save her.'
Matt gritted his teeth. 'And you think I give a damn about your rules? I've been fighting, bleeding, killing since I was a kid. I survived shit that would break most men. You want to help? Fine. But don't stand in my way.'
The voice remained silent for a moment before responding. 'This isn't just about surviving, Matt. The version of you that created me? He was feared across the galaxies. He didn't wear armor, didn't wield a weapon unless he had to. He fought with his bare hands, proving his strength through sheer skill. But this galaxy? It's different. It's hidden—cloaked by a barrier that keeps more powerful forces from invading. The people here, including you, are too weak. The galaxy is waiting, hiding until someone—like you—can surpass that limit and unlock the truth. Once the barrier falls, real enemies will come. The Kraelith? They're nothing compared to what's out there.'
Matt's lip curled in a snarl. 'So, what? I'm supposed to be grateful that I'm alive just long enough to be cannon fodder for some cosmic endgame?'
'No,' the voice countered. 'You're here to be better than any version of yourself that's ever existed. And if you want to save her—if you want to survive—then you need to accept that.'
The idea gnawed at Matt. He had enjoyed some of the darkest aspects of war—the power, the brutality—it kept him sane in a world that was pure chaos. He wasn't naive; there was a twisted satisfaction in knowing he had control, even if it meant embracing the worst parts of himself. But this? This was something different.
'Fine,' he growled. 'What do I have to do to level up this bullshit system? And why is my goddamn mana sealed? What's the timer on saving her?'
The voice was waiting for him. 'Leveling up happens through killing. The stronger the enemy, the more XP you gain. And your mana? Sealed, because this galaxy hasn't reached the level it needs to unlock it. Once that threshold is broken, the barrier will fall, and you'll have access to mana—and so will everyone else. After that, all hell breaks loose. And trust me, you'll need every bit of strength you can get.'
Matt ran a hand over the stubble on his jaw, eyes cold and calculating. 'And when do I start getting the missions? Do they come from the dead versions of me?'
'Not exactly,' the voice replied. 'You'll know when the time comes. For now, focus on getting stronger, and don't die.'
Matt cracked his knuckles, lips curling into a grim smile. 'I've been killing to survive for longer than I care to remember. What's a few more bodies on the pile?'
The voice gave a final, low chuckle. 'Good. Let's get to work.'