POV: Riser Phenex
The days had all started blending together.
Soft wind, warm sunlight, and expensive silence filled every corner of the manor. The garden always smelled like roses. The food was always perfect. The servants never spoke unless spoken to.
It should've felt like paradise. But to me, it felt like stagnation.
I was sitting in some ornate chair, sipping wine I didn't ask for. Apparently rare. Fire-blood vintage. Meant something to devils. Didn't matter. It tasted fine.
Fifteen years old, noble devil, member of House Phenex. The third son. Not the heir. Not even the spare worth watching. As long as I didn't embarrass the family name, I could do whatever I wanted.
There was no pressure here. No responsibilities. And, honestly, no point.
That thought lingered longer than it should've.
I had woken up in someone else's body. In a world that used to be fiction. A literal harem anime. Bright colors, over-the-top powers, boobs physics, and war between devils, angels, and dragons. What the hell was I supposed to make of that?
At first, it was exciting. Novelty. A power fantasy come true.
But then came the silence.
The gap between the adrenaline and the action. The moment where you're alone, and the only thing in the room is your own mind asking the obvious: Why?
Why this world? Why this body? Why me?
Was I chosen? Punished? Glitched into reality by a god with a sense of humor?
And if I was reincarnated… then what was death?
I leaned back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling. The painted phoenixes looked back at me like smug bastards.
Maybe reincarnation wasn't just real, but mechanical. Endless. Looping.
"Eternal recurrence," I muttered.
Nietzsche described it as the ultimate test. The idea that everything would repeat: every joy, every failure, every breath—forever. Would you still live your life the same way if you knew you'd have to live it again, and again, and again?
Now imagine doing that not in your own life, but in fake worlds. Game worlds. Anime worlds. This.
I gave a half-smile.
"So… the Hindus were right? Buddhists too? Hell, maybe the Scientologists."
I said it as a joke, but it didn't feel funny. Just… empty.
If I died here, would I be born again somewhere else? Another story? Another role? Would I just keep hopping from world to world? Was there any meaning left at that point?
Or was this just cosmic noise?
That's the real problem. Not death. Not power levels. But meaning. Once you know this world isn't the world, everything you do starts to feel cheap. The stakes are fake. The victories temporary. And morality? That's the first thing to go.
But Nietzsche didn't just talk about despair. He offered a response too.
"Man is a rope stretched between the animal and the Overman—a rope over an abyss."
We can't rely on gods or systems to give us meaning. Not anymore. Not if the universe is this random.
That leaves one option: create your own values. Define your own purpose. Not as a coping mechanism, but as an act of rebellion.
To stare down the abyss and say, "I choose this."
To shape your own meaning, even if you suspect it doesn't matter.
And to keep shaping it anyway.
I had everything. Power, luxury, status. And none of it meant anything. Not when I wasn't even supposed to be here. Not when I had died and woke up in a world that was once just a fictional setting on a screen.
But reincarnation was real. That's what this meant. Somehow, I had crossed over. That changes everything.
Because if reincarnation exists, then death doesn't matter. It's a revolving door. You die, you respawn. New world. New body. New name.
And if it keeps happening, endlessly: then welcome to Nietzsche's Eternal Recurrence. Not a metaphor. Literal. You live again and again, in infinite variations, until you lose count. Until meaning dissolves.
So what's the point?
There isn't one.
That's the conclusion. At least, the default one. Nothing matters if everything ends. Nothing has weight if it's all temporary. The lives you save, the people you love, the power you gain, it all resets eventually. You lose it. Or they lose you. Or the story ends and another one begins. Infinite reincarnation makes all meaning into noise.
But—
This world has magic.
Real magic.
And here's the thing: devil magic is different. It's not just fireballs and rituals. It runs on imagination. That's the core principle. The only real limiter is what your mind can conceive and manifest as well as having enough power.
Theoretically, there is no upper boundary. It's not just a tool; it's a creative force. Maybe even a metaphysical loophole.
So I started asking myself: what if this isn't just a playground?
What if this world is a testbed?
What if I could use it to build something permanent?
And there it was.
Immortality.
Not the cheap kind. Not healing factors or paused aging. True immortality. Something untouchable. Indestructible. Beyond time, beyond cause and effect. A being that doesn't get erased when the universe resets. Something that stays. Even when the wheel turns again.
In this world, even the strongest die. Even Great Red, the Dragon of Dreams, one of the top beings in the setting, was killed. So strength alone isn't enough. Power isn't permanence.
I'd have to go further.
Beyond dragons. Beyond devils. Beyond gods.
Omnipotence. That's the goal.
Even if it sounds impossible. Especially because it sounds impossible.
I don't care if it's achievable. That's not the point. The point is that this—this—is the only goal that might mean something. The only thing that might outlast the cycle.
It's not about becoming stronger than Issei. Or ruling the Underworld. Or winning a Rating Game.
It's about rewriting the rules from the top down.
I want to become a being that even eternity can't erase. A constant across all iterations. A law unto myself.
And if I fail in this world?
Then I'll start again in the next one.
Same goal. Same path. Until something finally breaks. Until I either succeed or the cycle itself runs out of worlds to throw me in.
That's my purpose now.
Not because some god gave it to me. Not because it was written in a light novel.
But because I chose it.
Nietzsche said that when the old values die, when meaning collapses, we have to make our own. Forge new ones. Become more than human. A creator of values. A self-directed will.
A yes to life, even in the face of its absurdity.
So here's my yes:
Push everything: magic, knowledge, power—to the absolute limit.
And keep going.
No matter how many lifetimes it takes.
No matter how many universes.
I will become the end of recurrence.
I will become the thing that death cannot touch
And to keep shaping it anyway.
I looked down at my hands: smooth, unscarred, powerful. Not mine. But mine now.
Riser Phenex was a joke character. A loser antagonist. A stepping stone for someone else's road to greatness.
But I wasn't here to follow their script. Not this time.
I had no destiny, no gods, no karma system. Just my own will. And that would have to be enough.
I stood up, breathing in the warm, fake-perfect air of House Phenex.
Peace was easy.
But peace was meaningless.
And meaning… I'd have to build that from scratch.
First step: build a real peerage. Not a harem. Not some disposable girls shoved into Evil Pieces. Real allies. Fighters. Thinkers. Monsters, if necessary.
I turned to the black box on my desk. It held the remaining Evil Pieces. Two Rooks. Two Bishops. Two Knights. Eight Pawns. The Queen piece was already used.
Didn't matter. I had options.
I grabbed a notebook and started listing names.
Valerie Tepes.
A dhampir locked up in Eastern Europe. She held the Sephiroth Graal — a Sacred Gear with healing and resurrection capabilities. She was a walking cure to the weaknesses of devils. If I could get her, I could fix our race's holy vulnerability.
Problem: she came with baggage. Dragons, Church agents, the son of Lucifer. All would come looking.
Gasper Vladi.
Valerie's close friend. Wielder of a time-stopping Sacred Gear. Emotionally unstable, maybe even dangerous. But powerful. Could be valuable, especially if paired with her.
The Nekomata Sisters.
Kuroka and Shirone. House Naberius had turned them into lab rats. Kuroka especially was lethal, if I freed her and earned her trust, she'd be a massive asset.
Rossweisse.
A Valkyrie cast aside by her own pantheon. Brilliant, underappreciated. If I offered her the respect and value she deserved, she might join me willingly.
Ingvild Leviathan.
Distant relative of a Maou. Holder of a Longinus Sacred Gear that could control dragons. Still dormant now. But with time, she could become unstoppable.
Meredith Ordinton.
Sacred Gear wielder. Currently under the radar. Hard to track down, but worth the effort.
These were the kind of people I wanted. People with rare powers. With something to prove. With reasons to fight.
But I knew names weren't enough. Recruiting them would require leverage. Strength. Influence. Planning. And the ability to protect them once they were mine.
So before anything else, I had to grow.
Devil magic was just the beginning. I needed versatility. Elemental training. Ancient rituals. Sacred Gear science. I'd tear through the Phenex family library, find old research, maybe even look into what the Super Devils were doing.
The Underworld operated on power. Influence. Fear. If I wanted to rise, I had to stop thinking like a side character. And I couldn't afford to wait for Issei Hyoudou's story to start.
I had to be ahead of him. Way ahead.
Step one: master everything Phenex fire and wind manipulation had to offer.
Step two: expand my arsenal , not just combat, but politics, magic theory, and knowledge of other races.
Step three: find my pieces. Recruit the right ones. Build loyalty. Train them. Protect them.
Step four: move. Slowly at first. Then fast. No mistakes.
I sat back down, poured another glass, and looked at the fire.
"To the top," I said quietly. "And I don't care who I have to outplay to get there."