The void was not empty. It was a maelstrom of screaming agony, a symphony of forgotten lives and shattered destinies. For what felt like an eternity, Acheron had been a whisper, a fading echo in the cosmic currents, his previous existence a fragmented dream. Then came the inferno – not of fire, but of pure, concentrated power. It tore at his nascent soul, remaking him, forging him anew in a crucible of demonic essence.
He didn't remember dying, only a sensation of absolute finality, followed by this relentless, crushing rebirth. Now, the darkness around him pulsed with a new kind of rhythm, a chaotic thrumming that resonated with something primal deep within his being. He was no longer a ghost; he was… forming.
Pressure. Immense, suffocating pressure. It squeezed him, trying to break him before he even began. But defiance, ancient and instinctual, roared to life. He pushed back, a silent, furious struggle against the confines of his prison. He felt another presence beside him, smaller, but equally vibrant, struggling too. A brother. Twin.
Then, a sudden, blinding rush of sensation. Sounds, muffled but growing clearer. Voices, sharp and urgent. A chill that wasn't cold, but new, washing over his skin. He gasped, a reflexive, choking cough as air, raw and biting, filled his lungs for the very first time.
His eyes, still cloudy with the haze of rebirth, struggled to focus. He saw blurs of concerned faces, heard shouts he didn't yet understand, and felt rough hands supporting his tiny frame. He was screaming, a wail of primal outrage and newfound existence, but it was quickly overshadowed.
"It's another boy!" a voice exclaimed, tinged with surprise and a hint of trepidation. "A twin! And… look at those wings!"
Before the words fully registered, a wave of profound energy washed over the room, chilling and potent. Not cold, not warm, but utterly demonic. Acheron felt it instinctively—a kindred spirit, yet different. He turned his head, vision clearing slightly, to see a woman, regal even in exhaustion, holding another infant. His brother. The boy, even at birth, had a certain fierce glint in his eyes.
Acheron's own eyes, a swirling tempest of deep crimson and obsidian, locked onto the figures surrounding them. He registered symbols, power radiating from their forms, and a chilling realization settled deep in his infant mind. These were no mere humans. These were… Devils. And this place, this entire reality, thrummed with their dark, majestic might.
He had been reborn. Not into a peaceful world, but into a lineage of power, betrayal, and forgotten gods. As the cold air bit his skin and the weight of his new existence pressed down, Acheron Lucifer, older twin brother to Vali, closed his eyes. The ashes of his past were gone. Eternity stretched before him, a tapestry of conflict and conquest, waiting to be woven by the Demonic Brilliance he could already feel stirring within. The True Morning Star had arrived, not with a gentle dawn, but with a thunderclap that promised to shake the very foundations of this world.