Can Regression go Wrong?

I am back.

My eyes stared at the strange yet familiar ceiling; this time, I saw the little details with both of my eyes, not just one. I lifted my back, and my hair immediately covered my vision. Using my hand as a comb, I slicked it back and tied it with a hair tie on my wrist.

I stood up and looked around the mess, and then it occurred to me—I was a drunkard, maybe a drug addict too. I scanned the room with my eyes, cleaned it, collected the trash and empty bottles in plastic bags, and placed them in a separate corner. I went into the bathroom and took a shower; the cold water falling on my body dispelled the hex of tiredness.

I looked at my body—it wasn't in good shape. All the muscles trained to an extreme level were now gone. It was good for human aesthetics, but my enemies were godly beings.

"Ah, good old days..."

Constellations...

Most of them were greedy bastards, using humanity or beings of lower races as pawns to play with; surprisingly, people let them do it. After all, the strong suppress the weak.

If it was not enough, humans fought amongst themselves to gain the recognition of a constellation and a part of their authority. 

Blinded by faith, they clung to a false reality. I was one of them too, until I realised the bitter truth behind the mask of these constellations.

"Damn, my body aches so much..." I muttered under my breath.

I stood in front of the mirror, seeing my reflection after so many years of staying in . That wicked tower was the beginning point of my journey. I don't even know my age... considering there was no concept of ageing within the tower and my regressions, I should be around a billion years old now.

It was the year 2030 when it first appeared on Earth's surface, sending invitations to the entire population for entry with a time limit of a whole day. The world that day was in chaos.

Some said it was divine intervention; others claimed it was alien technology and tried to enter the tower forcefully, only to meet gruesome deaths.

Seeing this, more than half of the population declined the request. The remaining ones were the maniacs who had the guts to accept it. I was one of them. Well, I accepted not of my own will—I accepted it using my own two hands, of course, but at that time, I had no awareness of what was happening in the world.

It was a simple yet colossal decision made by a... drunk me.

What happened to those who declined? They all died, including those who didn't respond when the time limit ended. The ones who believed it was divine intervention and accepted the invitation danced in joy.

The others and I were summoned to the first floor, also known as the tutorial floor. Many died there, too. The ones with a tenacious will to survive, like me, endured, though I don't know how. I just did somehow. That memory wasn't useful to me and slowly faded with time.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror—dark circles under my eyes showed my lack of sleep. My face remained the same, handsome as in my college days. My skin was porcelain, and my nose was short and thin. Even at thirty, I was still quite good-looking.

Walking out of the bathroom in a black t-shirt and lower, I went to the kitchen and drank a glass of water. The refrigerator was empty, and I was starving, so I left home to buy ingredients for a proper meal.

The neighbourhood was silent—it was still early morning. I met a few people, but most avoided me, while some were awkward when I greeted them. The convenience store was open, and the worker there was shocked when I bought food instead of cigarettes and alcohol.

Returning home, I made an omelette, toasted some bread layered with peanut butter, and prepared a banana smoothie. I sat down, placed my food on the table, and took a few bites while scrolling through my smartphone.

I only have five years. I've learned many things in past regressions, but my body isn't the same. Training it to use sophisticated techniques will take two or three years.

Putting the phone on the table, I sighed.

"This is going to be hard. I need to improve this body within a year and a half, at most. Wasting more time on it would be disadvantageous. I need to train my mind too—it will help with soul essence usage."

Lucas stood up, walked to the kitchen, and washed his dishes. Then, he entered his room and took out his card. It was time to buy supplies for his five-year seclusion in the mountains.

It was late at night when Lucas arrived home after a small shopping trip. He carried a huge bag filled with materials he would need. Picking some clothes from his closet, he locked his house and grabbed his car keys.

Placing the bag in the back of the car, he sat in the driver's seat. He started the engine and left the parking lot. It would take around fifteen hours to reach his destination—the Alps.

A few neighbours watched him. Some sighed in relief, some looked a little worried, and some didn't care at all.

During the drive, Lucas was lost in thought. He always had this question, but never gave himself time to consider it. Maybe because this was his last chance to end everything.

What exactly was the tower? Who created it if even the gods were its residents? Its power system was so intricate that humans could barely evolve into constellations, while noble races like demons, angels, and giants were born as one.

The conditions for becoming a constellation were even more absurd. Reaching a new realm was nearly impossible. Whoever made the tower favoured the noble races over humans, but that was just Lucas's speculation. Perhaps the tower offered something to humans, too, but he simply didn't know what yet.

There were five realms of constellations: transcendent, supreme, mythic, and two more whose names were unknown. Neither did he understand the full extent of their capabilities—only a vague idea of what those in such realms could do.

Lucas wouldn't have even known about the mythic constellation's existence if he hadn't met one in his first life, when he wasn't a regressor, just an awakened of the tower. The one who had given him his heart as a reward for completing a quest—Chronos, the god of time.

His heart—or rather, the artifact —granted Lucas the ability to regress. It was also the first time he obtained the of the legendary rank when he slew the fallen cosmic dragon, Orzathion, on the 300th floor.

Many of his questions were answered, but some were not, as Chronos' time had come to an end, and he disappeared. Using the knowledge he gained, Lucas—then inexperienced—ascended and became a constellation. But he was immediately killed. That marked the start of his first regression.

He had fifty tries. This was his last. His only chance to reach the hidden truth behind the veil of the tower.

Before he knew it, he had arrived at his destination—the Alps.

The Alps were no ordinary mountains. They were an ancient crucible—a place where the weak were broken and the strong were reborn. Towering spires of ice and stone loomed against the heavens, their peaks lost in swirling mist.

Snow blanketed the ground, untouched and merciless, each step sinking into the frozen abyss. Blizzards roared like vengeful spirits, clawing at flesh and bone, testing the will of those who dared to train in their domain.

This was the best place for Lucas to train his body and mind.