THE REBIRTH OF THE FALLEN PRINCE

3RD PERSON POV

In the beginning, there was only the void—an infinite expanse of darkness and silence. It stretched endlessly, untouched by time or shape, an abyss of endless potential. But within this vast emptiness, fifteen universes shimmered like stars, each unique in design and purpose.

These universes, while interconnected, were distinct. Most were crafted to host only one type of existence. Some were spiritual realms, where beings like demons, angels, and spirits roamed in their ethereal forms, unshackled by physicality. Others were purely physical, where humans, elves, and monsters thrived in tangible worlds of earth, stone, and sky.

But one universe stood apart from the rest.

At the center of this grand cosmos lay Nactara, a world steeped in chaos and strife. It was the first universe, a battleground where both physical and spiritual beings could coexist—but only under strict conditions.

In Nactara, humans, elves, and monsters dominated the land, waging wars, forging alliances, and battling for supremacy. But Nactara's uniqueness lay in its connection to the spiritual realms. Demons, angels, and spirits could only enter this world if summoned by mortals through powerful rituals.

Once summoned, these beings could not remain in their pure spiritual forms. They required physical vessels—either bodies crafted through magic or ones forcefully taken from the living. Without such vessels, the laws of Nactara would reject them, sending them back to their realms.

This balance made Nactara a dangerous yet fascinating world. Mortals sought the aid of spiritual beings to tip the scales of power in their favor, while demons, spirits, and angels used these summoning opportunities to influence the mortal world. It was a delicate interplay of ambition, manipulation, and survival.

However, this coexistence came at a cost. Wars were not just fought between kingdoms and monsters but also between summoners who wielded the power of spirits and demons. Angels clashed with demons, spirits were enslaved, and mortals paid the price for their hubris.

Nactara was a world of endless conflict, where every decision could shape the fate of nations, and every summoning could unleash a force that could save or destroy.

Far beyond the chaos of Nactara, in the heart of the endless void, a single golden orb floated aimlessly. This orb was a soul—pure, radiant, and untainted by corruption. Its light glowed softly, shifting between gold and white, a reflection of its playful yet regretful essence.

This soul was unique. It carried the weight of a past life—a life filled with unfinished dreams, broken promises, and unfulfilled purpose. Yet, despite its regrets, the soul remained pure, its playful energy dancing through the void as if trying to forget its pain.

For eons, the soul drifted through the vast emptiness, exploring the void's silent expanse. But its journey was not eternal.

Suddenly, the golden orb began to glow brighter. Its light intensified, radiating outward in a brilliant burst before it vanished completely.

It was time.

The soul had been called to the Reincarnation Cycle, the cosmic process by which life begins anew. This soul was destined for Nactara—a world where its purity would be tested in the fires of war and ambition.

In Nactara, where mortals summoned spiritual beings to fight their battles and secure their power, the arrival of this soul would mark the beginning of a story that could forever alter the fragile balance between the physical and spiritual worlds. A new life was about to begin, and with it, the echoes of a forgotten past and the promise of a new destiny.

Riku Yamazaki's POV

I didn't understand it at first. Everything around me was... empty. No light. No dark. Just... nothing. It stretched forever in every direction, an unbroken abyss of silence.

I blinked, trying to adjust my eyes, but there was nothing to adjust to. No horizon. No shadows. No up. No down.

Where... am I?

The thought echoed in my mind, each repetition growing louder. My heart—was it still beating?—began to race.

"Where am I?" I said aloud, my voice shaking. "What is this place?"

No answer came.

My breathing quickened, panic gripping me like a vice. I spun around, searching for anything, anyone, but all I found was more nothingness. My chest felt tight. My legs trembled.

I tried to calm myself. Think, Riku, think! But the questions wouldn't stop.

How did I get here? What is this place? Am I dead?

Then, like a floodgate opening, the memories came rushing back.

I saw her.

Elanora.

At first, it was the good memories—the laughter, the joy. I saw us as children, running through the palace halls. Her laughter echoed in my ears as we played games, made jokes, and teased each other.

I saw the time I gave her my favorite toy after she cried, and the way her eyes lit up with gratitude. I remembered the nights we stargazed, talking about our dreams for the future. She had always been the little sister I adored, the one I swore to protect no matter what.

But then...

The light of those memories was snuffed out.

In its place came the moment that shattered everything.

The knife in her hand. The pain in my stomach. Her laughter.

I relived it all—her words, her laughter, her betrayal. The way she looked down at me, triumphant, as my blood soaked the floor.

My knees buckled, and I fell to the nonexistent ground, clutching my chest. The memories wouldn't stop. Over and over, they replayed in my mind, her face twisting from the sister I loved to the woman who killed me.

"No... no... no..." I whispered, my voice breaking.

Tears spilled from my eyes, hot and relentless.

"Elanora," I choked out. "Why... why did you do this?"

I wanted to scream, to tear this void apart, but all I could do was cry. The pain in my heart was unbearable. I wanted her back. I wanted my sister. I wanted to hold her again, to laugh with her, to protect her like I used to.

But I couldn't.

Because she was the one who killed me.

And I was dead.

The realization hit me like a blow to the chest. I was dead. Gone. My dreams, my hopes, my life—it was all over.

I clutched my head, sobbing. Regret consumed me like a fire.

"I don't want to die," I whispered. My voice trembled, repeating the words over and over again.

"I want to live... I'm scared. I want to live... I'm scared. I want to live... I'm scared!"

I screamed into the void, my voice echoing into the emptiness.

Suddenly, a voice rang out.

<< Riku Yamazaki, chosen by the skill Adapter as its master. >>

I froze.

"What...?" I whispered, looking around. "Who's there?"

But the void was still empty. There was no one.

"What does that mean?" I shouted. "What skill? What master?"

The voice came again, calm and unyielding.

<< Riku Yamazaki, chosen by the skill Analyzer as its master. >>

I turned in every direction, searching for the source, but I was alone.

"Who's talking? What is this?" My voice cracked as I demanded answers, but the voice did not return.

Confusion swirled in my mind. What did it mean? Adapter? Analyzer? Master? Was this some kind of cruel joke?

I waited, trembling, but no more answers came.

Then, I felt it—a heaviness, like my consciousness was slipping away. My thoughts began to blur, my vision dimming even in the endless void.

"No..." I mumbled, trying to stay awake, trying to hold on to something—anything.

Just before everything faded, one last thought echoed in my mind.

If I can live again... I'll do better. I'll try my best to be a good king... to make the world better.

And then, the void consumed me.

Darkness. Silence. Nothing.

I stirred, slowly coming back to consciousness. My mind was foggy, as if I'd been submerged in a deep sleep for what felt like an eternity.

But something was wrong.

I couldn't see. I couldn't move. My body felt... strange, detached, like it wasn't entirely mine.

"Am I dead?" I whispered, or at least I thought I did. The sound of my voice echoed faintly in my mind, but it wasn't the voice I remembered. It was higher, softer, like that of a child's—maybe fourteen years old.

Panic began to creep in.

"Wait... maybe I'm still alive? Maybe I survived, and this is some kind of healing process?"

That thought gave me a flicker of hope. Slowly, I tried to open my eyes. The moment I did, I wished I hadn't.

Above me stretched a blood-red sky, painted with streaks of black clouds. The air was thick, heavy with the stench of death and decay. I forced myself to look down and immediately recoiled in horror.

Bodies.

They were everywhere—scattered across the blood-soaked ground, lifeless and mangled. Their faces were frozen in expressions of pain and terror, their wounds fresh and grotesque. Some were human, others... weren't. Monsters, demons, beasts—whatever they were, they all shared the same fate.

I staggered backward, my heart pounding in my chest.

"What... what is this place?" I muttered, my voice trembling.

I turned in every direction, searching for some sign of life, some explanation for the carnage around me.

"Is anyone here?" I called out, desperation creeping into my voice. But only silence answered me.

Then I noticed something strange.

My hands. They were small, pale, delicate—hands that didn't belong to me. I touched my face, my hair, my chest, and the realization sank in like a stone.

This wasn't my body.

"What's happening to me?" I whispered, fear gripping me tighter with every passing second.

Behind me, a dilapidated house loomed in the distance. Its walls were cracked, its windows shattered, and yet... something about it felt familiar.

I hesitated, staring at the broken structure, before slowly making my way toward it.

The door creaked loudly as I pushed it open, the sound echoing in the stillness. Inside, the house was eerily quiet, the air thick with dust and decay. Furniture lay overturned, walls were scorched, and shattered glass littered the floor.

As I stepped inside, an unshakable feeling washed over me.

I knew this place.

But how?

I wandered through the ruined rooms, my footsteps crunching on the debris. My heart pounded harder with every step. Something about this house clawed at the edges of my mind, pulling at memories I couldn't quite grasp.

Then I saw it.

A painting, hanging crookedly on a soot-streaked wall. It was miraculously untouched, the colors vibrant and clear.

It depicted a family—two parents and a child.

The father had short black hair and piercing blue eyes. The mother had long white hair and crimson red eyes. And the child... the child was a mix of both, with long white hair and glowing blue eyes.

I stared at the painting, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Quite a family," I muttered, but the words felt hollow. Something about the painting unsettled me, a sense of foreboding creeping into my thoughts.

The silence of the house suddenly felt oppressive, suffocating.

I turned and began climbing the stairs, drawn to the upper level by something I couldn't explain. As I ascended, I noticed dark stains trailing up the steps—blood.

My stomach twisted, but I couldn't stop myself. My feet moved on their own, following the crimson trail until I reached a doorway at the end of the hall.

The door was slightly ajar.

I hesitated, my hand trembling as I reached for the handle. Slowly, I pushed it open.

The air was heavy as I stepped into the room. The scent of blood was overpowering, clinging to everything. My steps faltered as my eyes fell on the scene before me.

Two bodies lay on the floor, motionless and drenched in blood. A man and a woman. Something inside me twisted painfully, like I'd lost something precious, though I didn't understand why.

My throat tightened, and before I could stop myself, the words spilled out.

"Father? Mother?"

The words felt foreign, yet they came so naturally, as if I had known them my entire life. But... how?

I took a shaky step forward, my legs trembling beneath me. "Are you alive? Please... answer me."

Nothing.

I dropped to my knees beside the man, his black hair matted with blood. Hesitantly, I reached out, my hand shaking as it touched his head. His skin was cold, too cold.

"Please... wake up," I whispered, my voice breaking.

For a moment, there was no response. Then, faintly, the man stirred. His body twitched, and his blue eyes fluttered open, filled with unbearable pain.

Relief surged through me. "You're alive!" I cried, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

But then my gaze fell on the blade embedded in his chest, the hilt protruding from his back. My heart sank.

"No... no, no, no..." My voice cracked as tears filled my eyes.

The man coughed weakly, his hand twitching as he tried to reach for me. I clasped it tightly, tears streaming down my face.

"Father..." The word came out in a sob.

His gaze shifted to the woman beside him—her long white hair soaked in blood, her red eyes half-closed. She wasn't moving.

"Mother!" I screamed, crawling to her. I shook her gently, my hands smearing with blood. "Wake up! Please, wake up!"

She didn't stir.

The man coughed again, drawing my attention. I turned back to him, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Selene..." he murmured, his gaze locked on her.

"Father, please tell me what happened," I begged, my voice trembling.

He looked at me then, his blue eyes filled with sorrow. "You're... okay," he whispered. "You're still... okay, son."

His words hit me like a blow. I didn't understand why, but tears streamed down my face as I shook my head. "No, I'm not okay! Look at you! Look at her! Please, tell me what to do!"

He pulled me closer with what little strength he had left, wrapping his arms around me. The gesture was so familiar, so warm, yet I couldn't remember why it felt that way.

"I don't understand," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Why is this happening? Who did this?"

"You must... go," he said weakly. "Run. Don't look back. Never come back here."

I shook my head violently. "No! I can't leave you! I can't leave her! Please don't make me go!"

"You must," he insisted, his voice growing fainter.

I clutched him tighter, my tears soaking into his bloodied clothes. "Why? Why can't I stay?"

His blue eyes grew distant, filled with regret. "There's something we never told you..."

Blood trickled from his mouth, and he coughed violently, his body trembling in my arms.

"Father, stay with me! Please!" I cried, desperation clawing at my chest.

He managed a faint smile. "Your mother and I... We're not normal .....humans your mom is a high human....and i am a demon ....and ..... .."

Before he could finish, an arrow struck him from behind, piercing through his back. His body jerked violently, and blood gushed from the wound.

"Father!" I screamed, clutching him tightly as he slumped against me.

His hand trembled as it touched my face, his strength fading.

"Listen..." he whispered. "Your mother and I... love you, son. More than anything... We always have..."

Tears blurred my vision as I shook my head. "No... don't leave me! Please don't leave me!"

"Run... survive..."

With those final words, his hand fell limp, and his body stilled.

"No... no, no, no!" I sobbed, shaking him as if I could wake him up.

I turned to the woman—my mother. Her lifeless body lay just out of reach. I crawled to her, clutching her hand tightly as if she could hear me.

"Mother... please wake up," I begged, my voice cracking. "I need you. I can't do this without you. Please... come back."

But there was nothing. No response.

The room was silent, save for the sound of my ragged breathing and muffled sobs. The weight of their loss crushed me, leaving me gasping for air.

"Why?" I whispered brokenly, my voice echoing in the empty room. "Why did this have to happen? What did we do to deserve this?"

My chest heaved as I clutched their bodies, the warmth of their presence fading with every passing second.

I didn't understand why I called them Father and Mother. I didn't understand why their deaths tore my soul apart. All I knew was the pain—the unbearable, all-consuming pain of losing them.

My legs felt heavy as I rose, the pain in my chest almost unbearable. I stood there, staring at their lifeless bodies one last time before I turned away. My gaze caught something in the corner of the room—an old mirror, cracked and dusty, yet reflecting the faint light.

I took a step closer, hesitant. When I looked into the glass, I froze.

Staring back at me was a boy with long white hair and glowing blue eyes. The same boy from the painting downstairs.

No, not just a boy. Me.

It all made sense now. The familiarity I couldn't explain. The reason I called that man "Father" and that woman "Mother."

Because they were.

My heart sank as the realization hit me like a tidal wave. This wasn't a coincidence or a dream. This was my life now.

I let out a bitter laugh, tears slipping down my cheeks. "After everything... after being killed by my own sister... after going through the worst pain imaginable... this world grants me no peace. Just more pain."

Suddenly, flashes of memories surged through my mind.

A peaceful village, nestled in a quiet valley. People laughing, living simple but happy lives. My parents, alive and smiling, their faces full of love.

Then came the darkness.

An army of humans, ruthless and cold, descending upon the village. They burned homes, slaughtered the innocent, and destroyed everything in their path. Screams of terror echoed as blood stained the earth.

I watched as if I were there, powerless to stop it. When the attack was over, I saw myself—a younger version—running toward the ruins of our home. I stumbled and fell to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.

The vision ended abruptly, leaving me gasping for breath. My chest ached, my hands trembling.

"So that's what happened, huh?" I whispered to myself, my voice filled with bitterness and sorrow.

I turned my gaze back to the room, scanning it. That's when I saw them.

Two swords rested against the wall, crossed over one another. One was pitch black, its blade shimmering like liquid night. The other was pure white, glowing faintly as if bathed in divine light.

Slowly, I walked toward them, my footsteps echoing in the silence. My hand hovered over the black sword, drawn to it like it was calling out to me.

When I wrapped my fingers around the hilt, a strange warmth surged through me. I lifted it, the weight feeling natural in my hand.

"I'll avenge you, Mom... Dad," I whispered, gripping the sword tightly.

Suddenly, laughter echoed from outside. Harsh, cruel laughter.

I walked to the shattered window, peering out cautiously.

There they were—soldiers, a small group of them, standing in the ruins of my village. Their armor gleamed in the crimson light of the sky, their faces twisted with sadistic glee.

They laughed as they talked, their words cutting through the silence like a blade.

"That was too easy," one of them said, grinning. "They didn't even fight back."

"Yeah, and the way they begged for their lives—pathetic," another added, laughing.

"They're just monsters," a third soldier said coldly. "Killing them is doing the world a favor."

I felt my blood boil, my hands trembling as my grip on the sword tightened. These were the ones. The ones who killed my parents. The ones who destroyed my home.

The rage in my chest burned hotter than ever before.

"So... they're the ones," I muttered, my voice low and filled with fury. "They killed Mom and Dad... They killed everyone."

I clenched my jaw, my body trembling with a mix of anger and pain.

"I'll kill them," I said, my voice steady and cold.

No more hesitation. No more doubt. I would avenge them.