Omicron (Loop Hero)

Omega is a God who was originally the Alpha, the creator, and was reborn after his death as a destroyer. Allfather and Alldestruction. The Beginning and the End. The Alpha and the Omega. Capable of destroying everything effortlessly, yet preferring hard work.

Hunter - Participates in combat alongside his Hounds. He was tasked with tracking down and destroying worlds and survivors who might escape the Lich's curse. The Hunter prowls the cosmos in search of prey. His keen gaze extends across unimaginable distances, allowing him to extinguish a star or two with a well-aimed shot. Faithful hounds will help deal with planets that are too wasteful to waste gunpowder on. For the Hunter to engage at close range, something extraordinary must occur. Something that will prevent the hunt from continuing at a significant distance.

The Priestess is a Maiden who has dedicated her entire life to serving the Almighty. She was sent by the Almighty to carry His word, preaching humility and submission. It is unclear why she works with such a monster as the Lich, but she claims that he is fulfilling the will of her God, who commanded the destruction of the world and all creation. Driven by faith, she is filled with a desire to punish heretics and apostates. Her icy gaze and fiery words will pierce anyone's heart. And if not, it will be pierced by the blades of the angels she summons. The colored crystal of the protective stained-glass windows is mesmerizing and captivating.

Sorcerer, Destroyer of Worlds.

A lich (or German leiche - "corpse"; [ˈlɪtʃ]) is a modern fantasy mage-necromancer who has become undead, according to some versions - after death, according to others - instead of death.

I'm dead. I no longer need to be tormented by the question of who I am. Sadness and regret. Good, so I was skilled enough to imitate emotions, without which my decisions wouldn't be entirely "mine." There's no reason to retain the flesh; it's irrational. The skeleton is enough. You'd think my independence as a spellcasting system would be the endgame. I won't make that mistake. What doesn't evolve is doomed to oblivion. I have room to grow, even without a prototype.

The solution to the entropy problem eludes me. Fortunately, I'm not limited by the confines of a short life, and I have time to search for an answer.

My old calculations of the universe's expansion dynamics are incorrect, as the region of nothingness beyond the Izm and Oruk galaxies has always existed. So why doesn't my work take this simple fact into account?

I'm only concerned about the fading of the cosmos. Entropy is merciless. All energy dissipates inexorably, striving for static homogeneity. I can rearrange the stars in the sky, separate space from all other existence, see and select the necessary flows of reality. But I can't stop entropy. This helplessness is crushing. If I can't do it, no one can.

Protective... or rather, imitation spells—are my finest creation. Moments of unconsciousness become more frequent with age. The multi-layered weave of spells takes over me. When I come to my senses, I see how perfect my creation is: the decisions I made, the work I completed, the notes, the experiments... as if I had made them in my prime. Even the rare mistakes were made where I would have made them. The imitation is superb; I'm no longer sure which of us I am. Am I now an old man, sane and full of strength, or the one taking control of a body unconscious from infirmity?

Not long ago, I wondered: am I too young for such magical power? What if my youthful desire to "fix" this world is too strong? It's easy to think I know better than anyone how the universe should be. I'm afraid no one will be able to stop me. The magical community tolerates me out of necessity. They are incapable of harming me, no matter how much they might want to.

The complex of protective spells that automatically took control of my body exceeded all expectations: the agitator who came to sue for the council had surreptitiously poisoned my food. I was writhing in a fit of vomiting. My body, driven by the protective spell, was able to quickly and effectively defeat the poisoner in a magical duel and develop an antidote from the food scraps. Or perhaps the information was obtained through torture while the poisoner was still alive—who knows?

I need to develop my creation. There's so much unfinished research and so little time. What if I trained my body to function automatically during sleep? It would be effective.