Reborn as the Abyssal Lord: Conquering Infinite Realms

Lucian gasped as his consciousness jolted into existence. Cold. A numbing, biting cold surrounded him, yet his skin didn't shiver. His breath, once a rapid rhythm in his chest, had stilled. It took him a moment to realize why—he wasn't breathing.

He shot up from the obsidian slab beneath him, eyes wide, panic surging as he clawed at his chest. His fingers brushed against thick, armor-like plates where his skin should have been. He froze. His chest, his arms—everything was wrong. His body wasn't his. Gone were the familiar hands of an average man, replaced by enormous clawed gauntlets that shimmered in the dim light. His heart, once frantic, was now silent, replaced by a deep, unsettling stillness.

The room around him pulsed with an eerie, violet glow. Ancient runes lined the dark stone walls, their inscriptions curling and twisting like writhing serpents. Shadows danced unnaturally, moving without the flame's guidance. The air was thick with power, and he could feel it pressing against him, urging him to remember something—something terrifying.

"What… where am I?" Lucian's voice echoed in the chamber, but it wasn't his voice. It was deeper, guttural, like the growl of a beast barely restrained.

Suddenly, a voice—smooth, cold, and condescending—slithered into his mind. Finally awake, are we? The Abyssal Lord arises once more.

Lucian's head snapped up, looking for the source. But the chamber was empty, save for the haunting symbols and towering dark statues that loomed like ancient sentinels. "Who's there?" he demanded, but again, the voice didn't answer from any direction. It answered from within.

You… are in my body now, human. And I'm afraid your time of ignorance is over.

Lucian staggered backward, mind racing. This wasn't a dream. It felt too real—the weight of his body, the strange strength coursing through his limbs, the overwhelming presence of power swirling in the air. He wasn't hallucinating. This was real. This can't be real… he thought, but every nerve screamed otherwise.

Suddenly, images flooded his mind—memories that weren't his own. Battles, endless battles. Oceans of blood spilled across realms, a throne carved from the bones of fallen kings. Creatures, monstrous and nightmarish, bowed before him. They had called him the Abyssal Lord—the ruler of this dark, endless domain. But the memories didn't belong to Lucian. They belonged to the entity who now shared his mind.

The Abyss never forgets its master. You may have human thoughts, but you wield my power now, the voice continued, a sinister edge curling into its tone. You'll need it if you want to survive.

Lucian gritted his teeth, trying to calm the panic building in his chest. "No. No, this isn't right. I'm not… I'm not you."

Not yet, the voice whispered, almost amused. But in time, we shall see how much of me you become.

With a heavy breath, Lucian tried to make sense of the situation. He had died. That much he knew. He could still remember it—crossing the street, the blinding lights, the screech of tires, the crushing pain. And then… nothing. Until now.

Now, he was in a body that wasn't his, in a place that wasn't Earth. His thoughts swirled, trying to make sense of the madness. The Abyssal Lord? The Abyss? It all sounded like a fantasy—a twisted nightmare. But the weight of his new body, the strength pulsing in his veins, and the cold power surging in his chest told him it was anything but a dream.

Lucian rose from the obsidian slab, his massive form towering over the room. His reflection caught in the faint light of a nearby mirror, revealing a figure both terrifying and majestic. His new body was adorned with intricate armor, black and metallic, almost organic in the way it pulsed with dark energy. His face, sharp and angular, had eyes that glowed a haunting red, and around him, the air seemed to ripple with latent power.

You have much to learn, human, the voice taunted, but you will learn quickly if you wish to stay alive. This world is not kind to the weak.

Lucian clenched his fists, feeling the raw power surging through him. He wasn't weak. Not anymore. Whatever had brought him here—whatever force had thrust him into this body—he would master it. He had no choice.

At that moment, the massive iron doors at the far end of the chamber creaked open. A figure stepped inside, cloaked in shadows, its face hidden beneath a hood. Despite its concealment, Lucian could feel its eyes on him—scrutinizing, judging.

"The Abyssal Lord has returned," the figure spoke, its voice cold and hollow, bowing slightly. "Your orders, my Lord?"

Lucian stared at the figure, trying to suppress the rising anxiety in his chest. What was expected of him? Who was this person—this servant? And more importantly, how would he navigate a world where everyone expected him to be something he wasn't?

But there was no time for doubt. The eyes of this world—and all its realms—were upon him now. He had to play the part. For now.

Lucian straightened his back, his new form radiating power. "Prepare the council," he said, his voice commanding and far more confident than he felt. "I need to know everything. Now."

The figure bowed deeply. "At once, my Lord."

As the figure left, Lucian took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He was no longer the man he used to be. But if he was to survive in this new world, he had to become something more.