Echelon: A Multiverse Story

Something wrong awoke Quinn. 

Nothing tangible, nothing with life, neither anything dead; just something…wrong. 

He could recognise Megumi by way of the clothes he was wearing a couple metres ahead of him, but then it wasn't truly Megumi; not what should have been him. It was twisted, dead, yet somehow alive at the same time. 

It wasn't human. 

Nothing was human in that sense. Nothing around him; from the concrete, to the cursed spirits, to even the sky itself, nothing was what it was supposed to be. 

From the colours he'd never seen before, the shapes he didn't know could exist, to the convoluted , distorted structures that surrounded him, there was one thing that stood out to Quinn: the silence.

He'd just consumed one of Ryomen Sukuna's fingers, and yet he was silent. He could feel the strange presence stirring in his body, engraving itself onto him with its sickly, abhorrent existence, but it was empty. 

Ahead of him, as if to satiate his thirst to understand what and where he was, reality seemed to fold in on itself. Almost as though someone was turning a page to a book, Megumi, or what had previously been Megumi, vanished as a blank piece of space appeared. It was a pristine, perfectly cut box where space should have existed—an impurity, all while simultaneously pure. 

A figure stepped out of the box. 

"You broke it," it seemed to say. It was in front of Quinn, yet its voice seemed to speak from behind him. Spinning around, the exact same space he'd previously been looking at had replicated itself behind him, revealing the figure once more, slowly stepping out of the box. 

The voice came from behind him again. "Would you like to know how difficult it is to break an infinite sequence? Do you know how troubling it is to comprehend something like that?" 

Quinn spun around again, though the same thing occurred; the same space, the same perspective, was somehow occupying everywhere he looked. He tried shutting his eyes, but the darkness no longer glared back at him—no, it was the same space as before, together with the white box and…

"The spaceman," it seemed to say, this time speaking properly, "as you like to call me." 

Quinn shook his head. "I…where am I? What did you do?" 

"I've done nothing but observe. I've been quite kind in that regard, I should think." It approached him slowly, shifting towards him with strange movements. Quinn could see it, but he couldn't understand it. The spaceman wasn't walking towards him, he wasn't even moving, yet he seemed to be approaching him at both what looked like the fastest speed imaginable and the slowest possible. "You've made a mess out of this infinite space, Quinn Verner." 

"I…did what?"

It chuckled. "You wouldn't understand the difficulty in maintaining an infinite number of infinite possibilities simultaneously, would you? Nevertheless, I should think you could understand why I'm here. Take a look around; it should be fairly obvious." 

Quinn didn't need to look around to understand the creature's meaning. 

"I…all I did was swallow the finger," he muttered. "It worked, but…this happened as a result?"

The creature chuckled again. "Incorrect." 

"Then what? How could I have done this?!" 

"This occurred precisely because no results are possible in this space," it explained, tone somehow indifferent yet filled with malice simultaneously. "You've complicated an infinite number of possibilities by leaving an infinite space with absolutely no possible future. You've successfully killed infinity, Quinn Verner. Congratulations." 

He shook his head. "All because I swallowed a finger? Don't you think that's a little foolhardy? How is this my fault?

This had been something he'd considered, though it was more of a counter-argument to something he'd already decided upon than anything concrete. It was a way to try and justify his reasoning without coming across as selfish or power-hungry…both of which he clearly was, upon realisation. 

"It's not your fault," the creature sighed, "among an infinite amount of variables, I failed to factor in a larger infinite possibility: your brazen sense of progress. Had I considered such a possibility, well…no, I suppose that in and of itself would be an impossibility. Whatever the case, we can sum this up to divine negligence; by which means I should congratulate you!" 

Quinn shook his head in confusement, still unable to grasp the sheer complexity and incomprehensible nature of his surroundings. They were solid and liquid at the same time, while simultaneously being every possible thing he's ever known: Yuki Tsukumo was there, his brother was there, as was his dog, his cat, and every other possible existence he'd ever known.

"I don't understand," he admitted. It pained him to speak, to even exist; but this was his only semblance of normality, of reality. If conversing with what might as well have been the creator of everything was his way out, then so be it. 

The spaceman seemed to nod in agreement. "Ultimately, this appears to have occurred due to my miscalculating the sheer effort you'd be willing to make in order to survive. Together with some coincidences and a sprinkle of luck, you've stumbled across what we'll call a Rule Breaker!" 

As it finished speaking, everything fell still.

"I mean this with all the humanity I can muster, Quinn Verner," the spaceman appeared before him, a strange contortion of what he thought was a smile plastered across what seemed to be its face, "well done. You've not impressed me, in fact you've disappointed me; but even that is worth praising, for which I will let you live." 

Quinn narrowed his eyes. "Why would you kill me?" 

"You destroyed an infinite infinity," it sighed. "I don't expect to understand what that means; which is precisely why I'm here." Before he could protest, the spaceman appeared before him, a chalkboard hovering to its side. "Either you cough up that finger you swallowed and revert time back to…say an hour prior to when calamity occurred, or…" 

"Or what?" 

It clicked its tongue. "Or…you keep the finger and return to the First Round." 

Before any action could be made, before any thought could be processed, or any air could be breathed, Quinn found himself with two options. Almost like a video game, he was unable to do anything other than pick A or B; he himself ceased to exist. Without a body, without a mind, and without what should have been his soul, Quinn was left to make an impossibly complex choice. 

In spite of that, in spite of the spaceman, and in spite of death, Quinn opened his eyes.