There were no witnesses.
No bodies. No screams echoing through the streets.
Just me—walking home, blood dried under my fingernails, the scent of ozone clinging to my clothes like a lingering curse. My footsteps felt too light, as if the pavement itself trembled, unwilling to bear my weight.
Behind me, Diablo moved like a shadow made flesh. His cloak—darker than the spaces between stars—rippled, though no wind touched it. His crimson eyes flickered over every alley, every flickering streetlamp, as if judging which corners of this city deserved to survive.
We passed a man in an Awakener's uniform—his coat embroidered with silver rank sigils.
He froze. Mid-step.
His sneer faltered, fading as his gaze locked onto Diablo.
I didn't look at him.
But Diablo did.
("That's the Black brat from the Arcanis family. Who's the freak behind him? What a waste of bloodline.")
Diablo's lips curled back, revealing fangs that dripped liquid darkness.
A growl rumbled in the air—a sound so low, so primal, that even the streetlights flickered in fear.
I raised one hand.
He stilled.
I didn't turn. Didn't speak. I simply let the man live—his bigotry too insignificant, too beneath me, to warrant even a shred of attention.
Let them talk.
Let them whisper.
None of them understood what had just woken up in their world.
I stopped on a skybridge near the district's edge, where the city lights blurred into the horizon like a sea of fallen stars. The wind here carried the scent of ozone and distant rain, mixing together like the calm before a storm.
"Diablo," I said softly.
He appeared beside me in a ripple of folded space, his voice a blend of velvet and steel:
"Yes, my master?"
I stared at my hands—too smooth, too blue. The skin glowed faintly with Rimuru's power, but it was still mine.
"Rimuru isn't me. Not fully."
Diablo tilted his head, a predator considering an enigma.
"He was kind. Forgiving. That's probably why his memories came first."
I clenched my fist, feeling the infinite mana churn through my veins—not like blood, but like galaxies spinning into the void.
"But I don't want to live someone else's story."
I breathed in, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
"I want to know… who I was. The real me."
The wind stilled, as if the world was waiting for the truth to come.
"And the enemy I felt…" I pressed a hand to my chest, where something deeper than instinct coiled. A shadow, a hunger.
"It's not from this world."
Diablo's wings twitched, the air around him rippling.
"You believe the Voidborn are back?"
I nodded.
"Yes. But worse."
My voice dropped to a whisper, as if the words themselves might summon the darkness.
"I think this world… might just be a surface."
A pressure coiled beneath my ribs—vast, hungry, older than the System itself. It whispered promises of things unseen, of endless depths far beyond the reach of this fragile reality.
Diablo's fingers flexed, and shadows dripped from his claws, dark tendrils lashing into the air.
"Then what do we do?"
I smiled faintly, the curve of my lips a flicker of something more dangerous than I cared to admit.
I lifted my hand, and the mark on my wrist burned black, the pain searing through me like molten fire—until it erupted into light.
[SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT]
[Reincarnator Class Confirmed. Access to Tower of Echoes Unlocked.]
[Dungeon Access: GRANTED]
Next Destination: Floor 1 – Core World Copy [Douluo Dalu: Spirit Awakening Era]
"We head to the Tower," I said, my voice steady.
"We find a dungeon. And we start climbing."
For a moment, I thought I had finally started at the bottom.
I didn't know…
I was already beyond the top.
I didn't know…
I had already surpassed the Ninth Flame.
And I was only on my first life.