Guilt
is the silent whisper of the moral compass, the compass that unfailingly points to the true north of the heart. It is the smoldering ember in the crucible of conscience. It's the dissonant symphony composed by the hand of hidden remorse, and its echoes resonate in the chambers of one's being. Like an old volume, its pages bear the weight of actions one has regretted, etched in ink as dark as the night.
Perhaps one of the most apt descriptions of one's relationship with the feeling of guilt is the statement of a one of the world's greats: "Guilt is what you've woven into your chest, and you despise that others may discover it.
Reflecting on his actions over the past four years, he witnesses the profound impact on countless lives, numbering in the millions, if not billions—a responsibility he had never envisioned. He vividly recalls the inception of his actions and comprehends their underlying motives.
Observing these resilient beings, enduring harsh conditions and evolving to face challenges, he yearns to explore their full potential and boundaries.
He has glimpsed limitless possibilities on this modest planet and is driven to experience them firsthand.
Throughout the four years in his world, under the acceleration of a thousand years per day within the miniature universe, he cautiously increased gravity to prevent species extinction. Over roughly a million and a half years, he quadrupled gravity, increasing both size and density twofold. This triggered a surge in natural disasters and extreme weather conditions, shortening summers and autumns, intensifying summer heat and winter cold, along with various other modifications, including heightened plant toxicity.
His actions resulted in a significant spike in mortality rates, particularly when human beings were in their tribal stage, oblivious to the existence of metals. He had unwittingly transformed himself into a catastrophe.
His actions proved catastrophic for the creatures under his supposed rule. Therefore, he sought to think like a natural catastrophe.
While fatalities and losses may have risen, his actions ultimately strengthened these beings. He propelled their advancement, recognizing that progress emerges from necessity, and he had positioned himself as that very necessity.
Nevertheless...
"He had mastered the art of inventing excuses and justifications to appease the unsettling voice within him. However, no matter how convincing his reasoning appeared, even when he genuinely believed it, and even on days when guilt seemed absent, it always found a way.
Guilt was an unwavering artist, vividly depicting his transgressions on the canvas of his heart.
In the tranquil interludes of his mind, during the darkest nocturnal hours when the world slumbered and defenses waned, guilt crept in. It whispered long-buried truths.
He understood that guilt was a steadfast companion, an unyielding mentor, and an impartial judge. It paid no heed to excuses, peering through the veil of justification.
Nevertheless, he couldn't halt his compulsion. He understood addiction and was acutely aware of his own.
His addiction was to observing the transformations in the world and its creatures, to every evolution they experienced. Little had he known that his initial fascination with biology in his previous life would morph him into an addict—a cosmic catastrophe for the small beings.
He let out a long sigh, dispelling these thoughts from his mind to refocus on his work and consider necessary adjustments. Yesterday, he made the decision to halt the modifications to gravity and the atmosphere, turning his attention to other matters.
In addition to the non-sentient animals, insects, and the rich variety of plant life, he categorized humans/dwarves into three groups based on their regions. In the southern and western zones, where harsh cold prevailed with temperatures rarely exceeding 2 degrees Celsius, he found individuals who closely resembled traditional dwarves. They had an average height of 130 centimeters, short limbs, dense hair, and long beards.
"These individuals can easily withstand freezing temperatures but are more susceptible to extreme heat, where temperatures reaching 40 degrees Celsius can cause them illness.
As for the residents of the north and east, where temperatures are consistently high, their physical appearance doesn't differ significantly, except for less dense hair. They effortlessly endure high temperatures, not even breaking a sweat at 50 degrees Celsius, but sub-zero temperatures could prove fatal.
In the central regions, home to the largest population, the climate is moderate, placing them in the middle range in terms of temperature tolerance. Here, he plans his next experiment, aiming to address the issue of short stature, leaving him with one remaining problem he has yet to solve."
He surveyed a coastal area in the central continent, where animals appeared to patrol as if on a mission, all in the service of safeguarding his experiments and addressing the height problem.
The Growth Plant, a straightforward but descriptive name, was the result of a year-long endeavor spanning generations.
This plant produced abundant magnesium, silicon, vitamins K and D, and calcium, surpassing even the most productive cows. Furthermore, it supplied essential amino acids for collagen synthesis, bolstered growth hormones, enhanced antioxidants, and promoted improved nutrient absorption for bone health.
In essence, he devoted extensive time to mastering the intricacies of human growth and deciphering the structure of these substances. Through countless experiments and trials with plants, he achieved success in creating these silver-colored vegetables, each as large as a pumpkin.
This endeavor proved to be one of the most demanding tasks since his arrival in this world, and he took pride in it. His sole hope was for its successful implementation, without triggering adverse reactions or unforeseen consequences upon consumption.
After inspecting the growing plants and confirming the absence of any unknown developments,
He withdrew his gaze from the miniature world, rubbed his forehead briefly to alleviate a headache, and then glanced at his watch. Confirming that it was nearing opening time for the shop, he stepped outside the cellar and securely closed the wooden door.
He made a mental note to improve the door when he had the opportunity. Lifting the shop's entrance, he took a seat and tuned the radio to a random station, having finished reading the newspaper. Leaning back in his chair, he waited for customers.
Hours passed as he listened to the radio, enjoying folk songs and serving customers. Then, at a certain moment, a silver car pulled up in front of him.
It wasn't the car's brand that piqued his interest; he wasn't an expert in such matters. It was the passengers.
He felt a sense of déjà vu, as if he had seen them somewhere before. Before he could fully process his thoughts, one of them opened the car door, struggling to exit. It became clear that it was a challenging endeavor. The man was literally fighting his way out, only to be shouted at by the driver, 'Don't damage the car, Bob!'
His eye widened slightly upon hearing the man's voice, particularly the name 'Bob.' What made matters worse was that the massive man heading toward his grocery store made him even more suspicious. He stopped right in front of him, allowing him to assess his true height.
A young man, seven feet tall with a muscular build, Russian features, blue eyes, and short brown hair, displayed a surprisingly gentle and humble demeanor.
He placed an order, 'Two Dentie Mors and Seven Up, plus a beer.'
After a brief hesitation, he took the orders, but with a gentle reminder, 'I don't sell beer. Would you like something else?'
The large young man turned to his companion
, 'Logan, there's no beer.'
This caused him to stumble briefly, as all his suspicions vanished upon hearing the name. It seemed that repeating the name several times was the only way to get his friend's attention, as he appeared unresponsive until a few moments later.
He composed himself as he retrieved the merchandise and returned it to the customer, who appeared apologetic while calmly saying, 'Sorry, but can you add more Seven Up?'
He nodded and fetched the additional order from the refrigerator, responding, 'No problem.'
Meanwhile, Logan, sitting in the car, remained irritated, a state he was often in, but this time for a different reason. He had caught the scent of blood, which, though initially ordinary, had grown increasingly pungent and strangely artificial. It was as if he had almost overlooked it, and his grip tightened, with even the skin between his fingers forming ridges, as though something sought to break free from beneath his skin.
It resembled the scent emanating from generals and politicians he had dealt with—those who issued orders of killing but didn't commit the act themselves. All of it came from one direction—the grocery store owner.
How could a grocery store owner emit such a scent? He didn't know, and he didn't particularly care. He had seen stranger things.
His restraint from immediate action and his claws sinking into the grocery store owner's neck was due to his confidence in his companion's abilities and the absence of any visible threat from the grocery store owner. Nonetheless, he slowly opened the door, intending to exchange a few 'friendly' words. Had it not been for a voice in his mind that was not his own, telling him to back off
Amidst the unawareness of the inner turmoil brewing in both his companion and the grocery store owner's minds, Rasputin handed over the money, bid the store owner farewell, and returned to the car, pondering how to reinsert himself into the situation.
Meanwhile, the store owner reclined in his chair, observing the massive young man's struggle with the car door and their departure. Thoughts continued to fill his mind.
The X-Men, mutants, Magneto, Charles, and Wolverine—all these names surfaced. The world contained mutants too, but it didn't add up. How had he never heard of them in any news before? Were they concealing their presence, or had they not yet gained recognition, as in the years to come? Initially, he had thought the world followed the logic of the cinematic world, but up until yesterday, he had only found information about Captain America and Stark Industries.
Now with mutants here, does it mean he's following a comic book scenario or is it a different alternate world he knows nothing about?
Thinking about Rasputin's teenage years and their quiet city wanderings implies that the events and threats to mutants and major problems haven't occurred yet. However, they are also closer to happening compared to the events in the cinematic world if the same timeline is followed.
This unsettling realization led him to close the store early. In the living room, he headed to the kitchen, grabbed a few eggs to cook, but his patience dwindled. He abandoned his meal and returned to the basement, sitting in front of the miniature world, murmuring in his mind, "Maybe I need to expedite my plans."
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