System Assignment Confirmed: The Celestial Grimoire.
A boundless magical archive containing over 2,500 spells—already chosen and ready.
Some barely help you open a stubborn jar; others can reshape reality itself, bending the concept of eternity so you can't die.
Spells come from twelve distinct schools, each with their own weird rules and combinations.
As you travel between worlds, new spells are added randomly to the grimoire, expanding your options with each new place you visit—no rerolls on these additions.
Every so often—completely at random—while you're pushing forward (surviving fights, mastering skills, overcoming challenges), you'll rack up points. Points you can spend unlocking spells from the grimoire.
But if you just sit around waiting and do nothing, you won't earn a single point. No freebies for staying still.
Every so often, the grimoire throws a random spell your way—showing its name, description, school, and cost. If you've got enough points, you can buy it.
Don't like it? You get one chance to reroll for another. Still don't like it? Tough Luck.
No points? Save them. But you won't get another offer until you pick the one you're hoarding.
It's a grind—slow and steady—and the grimoire grows crazier the further you go.
---
I just stared, jaw hanging. Sure, I'd read about stuff like this in fanfics—the legendary Celestial Grimoire, twelve schools, point systems, all that jazz. Cool in theory. But seeing it appear in real life? That's… actually happening. Random unlocks? Reroll mechanics? Lovely. Just lovely.
I rubbed my face with both hands. "So… the Celestial Grimoire, the one I've read about a hundred times in fanfics, is actually real? Updates across dimensions, points, random rolls, and zero refunds?"
A dry laugh slipped out. "Cool. Cool cool cool. Totally fine. Definitely not panicking."
Deep breath. Okay. Legendary magic grimoire with potentially god-tier powers? Check. High roll Check. Emotional stability? …still a work in progress.
Then a new question hit me—one I really should've asked earlier.
"Wait… how am I supposed to leave a world once I'm done? Is there a portal? An 'easy exit' button? Or do I just… hope for the best?"
As if it were waiting for that exact question, the Grimoire buzzed in my mind:
"Each world presents a unique condition to unlock interdimensional travel.
Possible requirements include—but are not limited to:
Accumulating a set number of Grimoire points. Influencing a major plotline to a significant degree. Forming or breaking a key alliance (e.g., mutant factions like the X-Men or Brotherhood, global organizations, magical orders, kingdoms, or political powers). Surviving a specific high-threat event. Completing a world-specific quest.
Note: Requirements aren't always revealed in advance."**
"Perfect," I muttered, grinning. "An open-world RPG with invisible quest markers and no tutorial. Couldn't have asked for anything better."
I squared my shoulders. Alright, let's see how badly I can mess this up… in a good way.
I turned toward the last dice.
Silver. Baseball-sized like the others. Cool to the touch, but with a strange shimmer—like moonlight reflecting off something that wasn't quite real.
The moment my fingers brushed its surface, the now-familiar mental message echoed in my head:
"This die determines your head start."
Alright. So far, ominous.
"Roll a 1… and you arrive with nothing."
No perks. No help. Dropped into the world like a confused intern on their first day, except the stakes are possibly global extinction.
"Roll a 100… and the world bends just a little in your favor."
Okay. That was more promising.
"Given your assigned boon — The Celestial Grimoire — your head start will come in one of two forms if you hit the top tier:"
1,000 points to spend on spells from the Grimoire right out of the gate… but only two rolls. Enough to buy powerful magic before your feet even hit the ground — if you're lucky.
Or…
10 free spell draws, instantly. Each draw is random but guaranteed to cost between 0 and 100 points. No high-cost monsters, but maybe a spread of useful tools to start with.
Not bad. I mean, both sounded great. Like choosing between a shopping spree or a mystery box that might contain Exodia. Or socks. Magical socks. But still.
And then the message kept going.
"This roll also determines your identity and social position in the world you're about to enter."
Oh.
"Low rolls may land you as a stranger, poor and isolated, barely noticed in the chaos."
Y'know, classic background NPC with anxiety arc.
"High rolls…"
Well, would you look at that.
"You may arrive as someone powerful, wealthy, and deeply embedded in the world's key circles. A lifelong friend of Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr, perhaps, brought together by strange coincidences and shared accidents. Or maybe you're their peer — a mutant veteran of their generation, with history written between your scars. Or even a rising powerhouse with such terrifying potential that both factions scramble to recruit you first."
I blinked.
So basically: roll high and you're plot-relevant. Roll low and you're a mildly interesting footnote in someone else's origin story.
I looked down at the silver die in my hand.
This one really was the wild card.
I gave it a little shake, because hey, that always works in games, right?
"Alright, you cosmic casino," I muttered. "Final spin. Make it count."
And with a flick of my wrist… I rolled.
The dice spun across the void like a roulette ball with anxiety issues, bouncing once, twice—
—and then stopping.
45.
I stared at it.
"Forty-five," I muttered. "Not terrible… not great… just aggressively mid."
I rubbed my temples. "I was five points away from 'mildly important supporting cast' and fifteen away from 'plot-relevant with benefits.' Instead, I'm probably getting 'guy who once fixed Charles's printer and Magneto never remembers his name.'"
Still, after a beat, I let out a breath and shrugged.
"Could've been worse. I could've rolled a 1 and spawned in New York with a butter knife."
Just then, the interface shimmered back to life in my vision—clean, minimal UI. Almost smug.
Head Start Options – Based on Roll [45]
✦ You may choose one of the following:
— 400 Points to spend in the Celestial Grimoire (gives you a single roll, with a reroll at most).
— 4 Spell Draws, each randomly selected between 0–100 cost.
"Alright… choice time."
I crossed my arms, floating in the void like a guy comparing toothpaste brands way too seriously.
Option one:
400 points.
That's… risky. Only one roll, a reroll at most. Could hit a high-tier spell… or end up with practically nothing. Basically walking into a world almost empty-handed, all depending on a single lucky roll. Tempting fate, to say the least.
Option two:
4 random draws.
Pure chaos. Could get four amazing spells that would normally cost 100 each…
...or four free spells like Create Uncomfortable Moisture or Detect Sandwich (range: five meters).
I tilted my head. "Draws have potential. High ceiling, low floor. Points are safe, but with just one roll… actually landing something good would be crazy lucky. Spells I choose will be useful, sure—but honestly, even they're a gamble. Draws might synergize in unexpected ways."
I paused.
"Then again, I could end up with three magical party tricks and something called Summon Existential Crisis Goose."
I looked back at the UI. "Okay, so: points for power now(or later), or roll the dice again and maybe get a full starter deck?"
My eye twitched. "This really is a gacha game. I'm arguing with myself over loot boxes, fucking Gaben"
I sighed.
"…Alright. Give me a minute. I need to flip a coin. Or summon a council of me."
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Thanks to the coin — which literally appeared out of nowhere, complete with a little smiley face and a tag that read "You're Welcome – Rob" —
the result was heads.
Of course it was.
Because when everything's chaos, the universe tends to favor its champion.
So: 4 random pulls.
And honestly? That was what I was leaning toward anyway.
Not because it made the most strategic sense… but because I've always had blind faith in RNGESUS.
Besides, with a roll of 45, I'm not exactly a nobody.
I'm no Charles. I'm no Magneto.
But I'm close enough to the spotlight that the dangerous people might think twice before throwing a psychic fireball at my face.
That is... assuming I even show up as a known mutant.
There's always a chance I slip in under the radar — just another face in the crowd.
Not flagged, not famous, not in immediate danger.
Which honestly?
Might be the best-case scenario right now.
"Let everyone be confused about me — being under the radar beats exploding any day."
I was still turning it over in my head, staring at the interface like it might suddenly give me better options.
Four free draws or 400 points?
Sure, the coin toss had landed on heads — thanks again, Rob — and the system was gently nudging me toward the gacha route.
But I hadn't hit confirm yet. Not really. I still had time to panic.
Before I could spiral any further, I sighed and asked the question that had been bugging me since all this started:
"Okay, fine—when exactly am I landing in this circus?"
Right on cue, the now-familiar ping echoed inside my skull:
"You will arrive three days before Rogue's escape.
The events you'll witness span roughly fourteen days.
That gives you about ten days of relative safety—enough time to get your bearings."
Ten days.
Not a vacation, but not instant death either.
And considering I might not even register as a known mutant at first — no registration, no Brotherhood radar, no X-gene tracker beeping in someone's Danger Room —
I could have a genuine head start.
Low profile, no immediate heat, and just enough breathing room to figure things out.
Still... four draws meant random perks between 0–100 points.
"Could be a magic flashlight. Could be 'now I own the moon.'
Fun either way — if I don't get vaporized first."
I glanced down at the interface again.
No timer. No threat. Just a blinking cursor, waiting for my choice.
Rogue's escape.
Three days before she runs. Fourteen days of events. That sounded... familiar.
Wait.
Wasn't that exactly how the first movie started?
My breath caught for a second.
If that was true, then Magneto's machine—the one that tried to turn the UN into mutants...
Except, not really. It didn't make mutants. It made dead people.
The first guy body had basically melted after the "mutation."
And Magneto had planned to use Rogue to run the thing again.
So yeah. First movie. High stakes. Deadly tech. And I had ten days to prep before all hell broke loose.
Great.
I hadn't clicked yet.
But I was close.
Then — click.
The sound didn't come from me. My hand was still hovering in the air.
But the screen?
Yeah, it had just locked in "4 Free Draws".
I blinked.
"Wait, what?"
Another ping. Message incoming.
"Choice confirmed: 4 Random Perks selected."
"Reason: You asked for additional timeline information without locking in your selection. That counts as a trade. 😇"
Another message followed almost immediately:
"You're welcome. —Rob."