3. Hatching

The protagonist seemed to be trapped in an eternal dream within the darkness and haze.

This dream appeared surreal and utterly nonsensical, and the use of the word 'seemed' was necessary because the dream would abruptly dissipate every time a throbbing sensation surged through the protagonist.

As the protagonist stirred awake, the remnants of the dream eluded their grasp, slipping away like mist.

Upon regaining consciousness, the protagonist couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong with their surroundings. Their body seemed to have shrunk into a confined space filled with air that bore the unpleasant scent of rancid bodily fluids, and it clung to their skin with a disconcerting stickiness.

In the absence of light, the protagonist was utterly disoriented. Driven by primal fear, they instinctively opened their mouth to cry out, but the air they inhaled was noxious, nearly choking them.

Panicking, the protagonist flailed their hands blindly, as if struggling against drowning. Eventually, their trembling hands brushed against a curious 'wall.' Groping further, they explored its texture — thin and surprisingly warm.

With no time for further contemplation, the protagonist, driven by an urgent need for escape, pounded their fist against the 'wall.' Yet, something was amiss; their strength felt diminished, and their body seemed strangely altered.

However, persistence paid off, and after repeated strikes, the 'wall' yielded. A faint light trickled through, illuminating a hairline crack.

Energized by this glimmer of hope, the protagonist's determination surged, and they continued their relentless assault on the newfound breach.

With each determined strike, the protagonist's efforts intensified. Gradually, the 'wall' yielded to their persistence. A web of cracks snaked through the once-impenetrable barrier, and the protagonist could sense victory was within reach.

Their heart pounded with exhilaration as they delivered a final, resounding blow. The 'wall' shattered, showering them in a cascade of fragments. Emerging from their confining prison, the protagonist took their first gasping breaths of air that was both fresher and more invigorating.

As their eyes adjusted to the newfound illumination, they glanced upwards and were met with a sight that left them awestruck. Hanging in the sky like a surreal jewel was a massive purple moon, its eerie glow casting an otherworldly radiance upon the surroundings.

Turning their gaze downward, the protagonist beheld the source of their imprisonment. They had been encased within a colossal, egg-like structure, its surface resembling the swirling patterns of a universe in shades of vibrant colors. Yet, as they watched, those colors began to fade, draining away like water from a sinking ship.

It was as though the very essence of this cosmic shell was being drained away, revealing a dull, lifeless exterior beneath. As the last vestiges of color vanished, the protagonist could see the intricate patterns etched upon the egg's surface, like cosmic hieroglyphics that held secrets beyond their comprehension.

After making light of the desperate situation he was in, the protagonist stretched out both hands. As he thought, what should have been a pair of human hands with calluses was now a pair of baby-sized palms. His skin was not only strangely dark red but adorned with intricate patterns of purple-blue and black. Sinuous lines curled and intertwined across his flesh. His nails were no longer human but had transformed into razor-sharp claws, and even his feet had taken on a claw-like appearance.

The protagonist hesitantly touched his face. His eyes, nose, and mouth were still there, but there seemed to be two prominent bulges on his forehead. He ran his fingers across them, realizing with growing unease that they were indeed a pair of horns, spiraling upward.

With trepidation, he explored further, his fingers tracing down his back. To his shock, they brushed against something foreign yet strangely a part of him—a black, arrow-shaped tail that emerged from the base of his spine. But as his exploration continued, his touch ventured higher, and he felt an unexpected sensation. Just above his tail, he encountered another anomaly, a set of what seemed to be membranous structures, delicate and yet somehow powerful. However, they didn't appear to be fully developed, as if waiting for some catalyst to awaken their true potential.

"Damn it," Azurael muttered, his voice taking on a deep, otherworldly timbre. "What kind of monster have I become? At least I've retained my gender," Azurael mused, a sense of relief washing over him. After enduring the trials of existence for so long, he couldn't fathom the idea of such a fundamental change in his identity."

The realization hit him like a tidal wave. He was no longer the person he once was. In this bizarre and surreal realm, he had undergone a transformation into a being that was of demonic nature.

Amid the profound revelations of his transformation, Azurael's mind raced with fragments of memories from his first life—the life before the cataclysm that had consumed his original world. And then, like a bolt of lightning, a specific recollection surged to the forefront of his thoughts. It was a novel, one he had read long ago in his first life, titled Custom Made Demon King.

As the details of the story rushed back to him, Azurael couldn't help but draw eerie parallels between its narrative and his current situation. The novel featured a protagonist who had been granted the ability to create his own powers and an otherworldly appearance, setting out on a path of chaos.

What Azurael saw left him in a state of momentary bewilderment. The scenery before him was unlike anything he had ever imagined. It was as though he had stepped into the pages of a surreal fantasy.

He found himself standing on a beach, but this wasn't the serene, picturesque shore he had known in his previous life. Instead, the sand beneath his feet was a strange amalgamation of black and red, resembling smoldering embers doused in a peculiar green haze. The air was heavy with soot, and the particles of sand were unusually large, like coals that had been submerged in water.

The beach exuded an atmosphere of raw heat and humidity, akin to a forge at its peak. What caught Azurael's attention, even more, were the countless eggs scattered across the beach. These eggs varied in size, with some as large as ostrich eggs, while others were smaller. Their colors spanned the spectrum, from black and red to the more enigmatic shades of purple and silver. Despite their differences, they all shared one common characteristic—the warm and humid conditions of the beach provided the perfect incubation environment.

It was, without a doubt, a natural hatchery. But where had these eggs come from? Azurael pondered this question as he surveyed his surroundings, he felt an inkling of recognition, as if a forgotten explanation lurked in the recesses of his mind. It was as though the answers he sought were concealed behind an impenetrable veil, veiling his memories in a shroud of darkness.

He turned his gaze toward the sea, where waves crashed onto the beach's edge. The seawater itself appeared unsettling under the moonlight—it was tinted a deep shade of blood-red. The various-sized eggs floated on this crimson sea, carried ashore by the relentless tides. This strange and surreal scene finally allowed Azurael to piece together the puzzle of his arrival on this peculiar beach.

The intensity of each wave was erratic, alternating between towering crests and gentle ripples. This inconsistency in the waves meant that some eggs were thrust further onto the beach, while others remained at the mercy of the ever-shifting shoreline. On the beach closer to the sea, the seawater washed over the magma-like sand, rapidly cooling it. In contrast, the sand farther from the sea retained its scorching heat for longer durations, creating a stark contrast in the pace of egg hatching.

Before Azurael's eyes, eggs in the higher-temperature region trembled and writhed, displaying signs of imminent hatching. In contrast, the lower-temperature region behind him lay still, devoid of any movement or life. It was a stark reminder of the relentless cruelty of fate in this strange, otherworldly place.

Here, survival was determined not just by one's strength but also by the capricious hand of luck. Azurael watched as some eggs collided and shattered before they could even reach the beach, their contents flowing into the blood-red sea.

Amidst the bewildering surroundings of the alien beach and his own perplexing transformation, Azurael's mind gradually cleared, like a veil being lifted from his consciousness. As he took in the bizarre scenery and the mysterious circumstances of his rebirth, he couldn't help but reflect on the profound opportunity he had been granted.

"Is this a true second chance?" Azurael whispered to himself, his voice sounding strange in his newfound form. He couldn't ignore the possibility that lay before him—the chance to rewrite the course of his existence, to seek answers to the mysteries that had plagued him, and perhaps, to exact vengeance on those who had destroyed his world.

His thoughts turned to the two godlike beings, Solas and Nihilus, who had once wielded unimaginable power and brought devastation to his original world. They were the architects of his suffering, the ones responsible for the annihilation of everything he held dear. The very thought of confronting them filled Azurael with a mix of dread and determination.

And then there was the entity that had promised him power, only to betray him in the eleventh hour, shattering his dreams of revenge. Azurael's sense of betrayal and anger toward this mysterious force burned within him, urging him to seek answers and justice.

But as he gazed out at the peculiar beach, with its eggs of various colors and sizes, and the crimson sea that washed upon its shores, he realized that he was in a realm unlike anything he had ever known. The rules here were different, the landscape was alien, and his own existence had been irrevocably altered.

Azurael understood that this journey would be fraught with challenges, that he would need to adapt to this new reality and harness the unusual powers that had been bestowed upon him. The path ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, yet it beckoned to him with the promise of answers and the potential for retribution.