"Hey, do you think we can one day escape from this place?" a little boy asked. I remember him saying he was 9 years old when he was kidnapped.
We are in a four-person cell. He is the youngest — now 13 — and has been in this place for four years, though he isn't the one who has been here the longest.
No one responded, probably waiting for me to comfort them. After all, as the oldest, I was always the one comforting them. But I didn't this time, because I was in doubt.
Not in doubt of being able to escape, but about myself — because as I was thinking, new memories started appearing in my mind, of a young woman.
In the memory, she was from a place called Earth. But they don't have Captain America, they don't have mutants or anyone with superpowers — just a normal world where everyone has at least a semblance of a chance.
Although from the memory I got, that world wasn't perfect — at least, you wouldn't be pursued, captured, tortured, and forced to endure so many experiments just because you're a human who suddenly woke up one day with superpowers.
Apparently, all the people in this base are those with the best potential among mutants — those who awakened their powers before turning twelve, whose powers defy the laws of reality. Not simple things like creating flames — no, those kinds were tortured to death.
I'm apparently what they call an Alpha-Level Mutant. I have been in this place since I was ten; now, I'm 22.
My power is called Holy Light, because I'm able to control light and do many things — like healing injuries that would take years in just a few seconds. I can also make that light very hot, to the point of burning steel.
Unfortunately, when they captured me, I was just a kid who had awakened her powers. And now they have a collar on me that somehow makes me unable to use my powers as long as it's activated — and can apparently be detonated to explode.
Ah, from the memories I have been receiving, I finally saw something referencing our world — a comic, or a series, called Marvel Comics. Hahaha?
It turns out that we were nothing but just some random comic characters in another world, that someone can write however they want?
The memories just kept pouring in, completely ignoring my state. Then came the one where she started reading fanfics, and that's when a theory started to take shape — something about the multiverse. About how stories aren't actual stories like we know, but actual worlds out there, existing somewhere.
That authors don't create stories from scratch — that they're more like anchors, people chosen by those worlds to tell their tales. The story isn't something they invent; it's something that finds them, needing someone to bring it to life in all the other worlds.
Strangely, this made my panic stop. And just like that, I had the full memory of that person from 2005 to 2025 — a full twenty years of life before death.
According to the theory from the memory, it should have been me in my past life before my death.
But before I could actually understand what was happening, a second set of memories started coming into my mind — but this time, from a completely different person.
I was Artoria, born in the land of Britain during one of the most chaotic times. I was raised in the countryside — home of Sir Ector.
I immediately recognized who it was, as from the previous memory I got, there was also mention of this world — a.k.a. the Type-Moon Universe, or Nasuverse.
Sure enough, it was indeed true when I started receiving a memory of when Merlin first appeared, then his teaching me swordsmanship, kingship, and so many things every day — until I got the Sword in the Stone.
Everything seemed to be going as I expected: the previous victories, the conflict with Morgan, breaking the sword, receiving Avalon, Mordred joining the Round Table — very similar to what I knew — until what should have been my end during the Battle of Camlann, giving Bedivere one final order: to return Excalibur to the Lady of the Lake.
Then I should either die — although it seemed unlikely — or make that pact with Alaya, suffering again and again. But neither of the two happened, because I was alive.
Bedivere apparently didn't manage to return Excalibur, and I stayed alive — or rather, my human side was dead, and I was something more. The king chosen by the people was dead, and what remained was the king chosen by the world.
I became a cold, absolute version of the king — emotionless, divine, and inhuman. While I was receiving these memories, some changes started happening in me, and I could feel it.
Despite the collar, which should have made me unable to use my powers, I could feel them — and they were stronger than ever.
My body was also becoming stronger with each passing second. Even my black hair, which had been short, started becoming longer and blonde — I could see it in the reflection of the mirror in the cell.
I understood — in my second life, I was the Lion King, Goddess Rhongomyniad.
I was the one who, for 1500 years, became a wandering ghost that was fated to die until the end of time.
Once my original reality was destroyed, I traveled across many parallel realities, just observing and absorbing all the knowledge I came across — until discovering the Mage King Solomon's plan to incinerate humanity.
Ultimately, everything happened like in the game from my first life — with me creating Camelot, willing to save those I deemed worthy, the conflict with Ozymandias, until my end and the end of the Sixth Lostbelt.
This time, though, I was able to receive the memory more easily, as my spirit had reached Divine Level.
I processed everything that happened to me — from my first life as a normal human on a normal Earth, as Goddess Rhongomyniad during my second life, and now my current and third life as a mutant — in just a few seconds.
As of now, I can practically feel the presence of every human being on Earth. It was then that a realization dawned on me—every power I possess now, I inherited from my second life.
Suddenly, I felt a pull—no, a spiritual resonance—calling out to me from multiple directions. Without even thinking, I instinctively reached for them from within, guided not by logic but by instinct, before I even opened my eyes.
Armor began to materialize over my body, piece by piece, covering me in divine regalia. A cape unfurled behind me, majestic and weightless, followed by a crown settling atop my head with unquestionable authority. But then, around my waist, something else began to take shape—something deeply familiar.
To my surprise, it was something I hadn't expected to see again. Even in my existence as Goddess Rhongomyniad, I had long lost it. It was Avalon—my scabbard.
But that wasn't all.
I could feel it as clearly as I could feel my own heartbeat—another gift returned to me in my second life: the Sword of Promised Victory—Excalibur.
Without hesitation, I reached instinctively for Avalon, and sure enough, Excalibur began to manifest. But this wasn't ordinary conjuration—its very emergence distorted the fabric of this world. Its presence weighed heavier on reality than even Avalon's.
And yet, amid all these legendary relics, the one that called to me the most—the one whose presence thundered in my very soul—was my companion of more than 1500 years: Rhongomyniad, the Lance That Shines to the End of the World.
I didn't hesitate. I pulled it from my inner world, and as I did, the fabric of reality didn't just ripple—it shattered. If Avalon and Excalibur had bent this world, Rhongomyniad rewrote it entirely.
With it in my grasp, I could suddenly see it all—the infinite multiverse stretched before me, countless timelines branching endlessly, every version of existence layered one atop another. And I saw them—beings who had noticed the monumental change Rhongomyniad's appearance had triggered.
I am powerful—immensely so. With Avalon, Excalibur, and Rhongomyniad, I am a force to be reckoned with. But I am far from invincible. That truth I know intimately—both from the memories of my first life and from the brief glimpse I had into the 'truth' that lies beyond comprehension.
Already, I saw them coming—entities moving at speeds beyond the concept of light, rushing through the fabric of existence itself.
Not just one, but many—towering humanoid forms larger than Earth. Among them, I noticed a monstrous yellow being with three heads held in its hands—staring directly at me despite the infinite universes that separated us.
I didn't bother looking further. I didn't need to. I knew I stood little chance against any of them. So, I acted instantly.
Just as I once did with Camelot, I reached out with the full authority of Rhongomyniad, and pulled Earth—alongside its entire galaxy—out of time itself.
Now we exist in a space akin to the White Hot Room, a realm outside the stream of causality. A feat only possible because Rhongomyniad isn't just a weapon—it's the very anchor of reality itself.