Explosions tore through the horizon.
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.
The very earth groaned beneath the endless fury of destruction. Flames consumed what had once been a grand capital, the crown jewel of the Galactic Empire. Cities that had once shone like constellations were now nothing but broken silhouettes, drowning in rivers of molten metal and smoke. The sky itself burned, painted crimson as the final battle for existence raged without pause.
Amid the inferno stood a single man, clad in scorched black armor engraved with ancient runes. His long dark-blue hair clung to his face, streaked with ash and blood. Crimson eyes burned beneath his cracked helmet, eyes that had once inspired millions to hope, and now glowed only with defiance and sorrow. His name was Arthur Von Reinhardt, Emperor of the Galactic Dominion, savior of countless worlds, and the last surviving descendant of the royal bloodline of Zenon.
The air around him shimmered with heat. Lightning sparked across the battlefield, dancing through the smoke as if drawn to his presence. Every breath he took was agony, every heartbeat a thunderclap within his chest. He had fought for days without rest, standing alone against the being that had come to erase his entire existence.
Before him loomed a figure beyond comprehension, a being so vast and ancient that reality itself twisted in its presence. The Black God. His body was a shifting mass of shadows, shaped vaguely like a man yet too immense to belong to any mortal realm. His eyes were twin abysses, swallowing the light around them, and his voice was the chorus of dying stars. The mere sound of it sent waves of despair across the ruined planet.
Your struggle is pointless, Emperor, the god's voice thundered across the void. The age of mortals has ended. Your empire, your people, your legacy, all of it will be reduced to nothing.
Arthur stood his ground, gripping his sword tighter. The weapon, forged from divine steel and blessed by a long-forgotten deity, pulsed faintly in his hands. Even now, it resonated with his will, a final reminder of his purpose. The wind around him began to whirl violently, lifting embers into a storm of light and shadow.
I have heard your prophecy too many times, god, Arthur spat, his voice ragged but fierce. You said the same thing to my ancestors, and yet here I stand. As long as I breathe, humanity will not kneel.
The Black God let out a deep, mocking laugh. The sound shattered nearby ruins and rippled through the air like a sonic quake. You mortals never learn. You reach for the heavens, but you were never meant to touch them.
Arthur charged. The ground cracked under his feet, fissures glowing with molten light as his aura erupted outward. His body moved faster than sound, a blur of blue lightning and red fire. His sword cut through the smoke, aiming directly for the god's heart.
The two forces collided.
The shockwave tore mountains apart, disintegrating everything within miles. Space itself trembled, and for a moment, even the stars above seemed to flicker. Arthur's blade struck true, only for the god to raise a hand and catch it between his fingers.
Impressive, the Black God said, a faint trace of amusement in his tone. But not enough.
The sword began to crack. Tiny fractures spread across the black steel like spiderwebs of despair. Arthur's eyes widened. He poured more aura into the blade, desperate to hold it together, but the divine metal had reached its limit.
With a sharp, tragic sound, the weapon shattered.
Fragments scattered across the battlefield, glowing briefly before fading into ash. Arthur stumbled backward, his breathing ragged. The god's shadow loomed over him, stretching endlessly across the scorched land.
Arthur Von Reinhardt, the deity rumbled, his voice carrying both mockery and finality. You built an empire on blood and hope. You defied the stars, united worlds, and even dared to challenge the divine. But in the end, you are still a man.
The god extended his arm, and darkness gathered in his palm, forming a spear made of pure void. The very air froze around it, and the stars themselves dimmed. This is the fate of all who rise too high.
Arthur's vision blurred. His limbs felt heavy, his aura nearly depleted. Yet even as death loomed, he refused to kneel. He raised his empty hand, summoning the last remnants of his power. Fire and lightning burst forth, wrapping around his arm like living serpents.
If I am to die, he whispered, voice trembling, then I will die fighting.
The god hurled the spear.
For a heartbeat, time stood still. Arthur felt the world slow, the roar of destruction fading into silence. He saw faces, his father Marcus, his mother Eleanor, his siblings Aiden, Sarah, Luna, and little Roman. He saw Viktor, his childhood rival and closest friend. He saw the soldiers who had followed him across galaxies and the countless civilians who had once chanted his name.
Then came the impact.
The spear struck his chest, piercing his heart. The pain was instant and absolute, spreading like wildfire through his body. His knees buckled, his vision dimmed, and his aura flared one final time before collapsing inward.
He fell to his knees. The god watched in silence as the Emperor of the Galaxy bowed before him for the first and last time. Rest, mortal, the Black God said softly, though there was no kindness in his tone. Your era is over.
Arthur's lips moved, forming silent words. Not of surrender, but of defiance.
The light faded from his eyes, and his body collapsed.
The battlefield fell silent. The fires dimmed. The wind stopped. The universe itself seemed to mourn.
But as his physical form turned to dust, something extraordinary happened.
A faint light began to rise from his body, a golden sphere, small yet radiant. It pulsed gently, resisting the consuming void around it. Within it, fragments of memory began to swirl, his childhood, his family, his dreams, his failures, his triumphs. Everything that made Arthur who he was burned within that soul.
The god reached out to seize it, but the light vanished before his grasp could touch it.
Arthur Von Reinhardt's soul was gone, whisked away into the endless stream of time.
Darkness.
An infinite expanse of nothingness stretched in all directions. There was no sound, no air, no life, only silence. Yet within that silence, consciousness began to stir.
Arthur's soul floated aimlessly, drifting through the void. His memories flickered like candlelight, fragile and fading.
Where am I? The words echoed inside his mind, though there was no mouth to speak them.
He remembered the battle, the pain, the spear, and then light. Now there was only darkness, swallowing everything.
Time had no meaning here. Seconds, hours, centuries, they blended together until even the concept of existence blurred.
He should have been gone, erased completely. Yet something kept him tethered, a thread of fate too strong to be cut.
Through the endless void, he saw glimpses of light, scenes flashing before him like dreams. His parents smiling as he took his first steps. The day he met Viktor. His coronation as Emperor. The moment he swore to protect his people. And then, the day everything burned.
Regret coiled in his heart like a serpent.
If only I had been stronger, he whispered to himself. If only I had seen through the god's schemes sooner, if only I had more time.
His voice trembled, though there was no air to carry it. He closed his eyes, or whatever remained of them.
I would do it all over again. I would protect them. I would change everything.
The void began to shift.
A ripple of energy pulsed through the darkness, and Arthur felt himself being pulled, dragged backward, through layers of time and space. Colors began to appear, red, blue, gold. The air grew heavy, then light. His soul was compressing, folding, reshaping.
He screamed as light engulfed him.
Arthur opened his eyes.
The first thing he felt was warmth. A gentle, soothing warmth that wrapped around his body like a blanket. The harsh stench of smoke and blood was gone, replaced by the faint scent of flowers and clean air.
He tried to move, but his limbs felt strange, small, weak, unfamiliar. His vision was blurry, his senses dull. Everything seemed enormous, as though the world itself had expanded.
Then he heard it, a woman's voice, soft and loving.
Look, Marcus, she whispered. He's finally opened his eyes.
Arthur blinked. A woman with silver hair and golden eyes smiled down at him. Her face was radiant, kind, and filled with tears of joy. Beside her stood a tall man with short dark-blue hair and piercing red eyes, wearing royal attire lined with gold.
Welcome to the world, Arthur Von Reinhardt, the man said, his tone both proud and gentle. My son.
Arthur froze. His mind struggled to process what was happening. Marcus Von Reinhardt, Eleanor Von Reinhardt, the names echoed in his fading memories. These were his parents.
I was reborn, he thought, stunned.
He tried to speak, but only a soft cry escaped his lips. The woman laughed lightly and held him closer.
Such bright eyes, she said. He already looks like his father.
Arthur's heart swelled. For the first time in what felt like centuries, he felt peace.
He was no longer the Emperor of the Galaxy, no longer a warrior burdened by death and destiny. He was just a child, born into a world untouched by his future failures.
But deep within him, the spark of his old self remained. The memories of war, of pain, of his vow, all slept quietly within his soul, waiting for the right moment to awaken.
As the baby Arthur drifted to sleep in his mother's arms, faint sparks of lightning danced briefly around his tiny fingers, then faded away.
Outside, the kingdom of Zenon basked in sunlight, unaware that the newborn in the royal palace carried the soul of a man who had once ruled the stars and defied the gods themselves.
And so began the second life of Arthur Von Reinhardt, the child who would one day become the Emperor who challenged fate itself once more.
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