Hey Y'all this is my first serious novel gotta make it good for y'all:) ....
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Bam!
Swish! Swish!
The sound of tires screeching.
A blinding light.
Then—silence.
That was how Liam's life ended. Just another unlucky soul in a world where tragedies were nothing special. He had been a university student, the kind who blended into the background. Not particularly gifted, not particularly cursed. Just… ordinary.
Or so he thought.
When Liam opened his eyes again, the first thing he noticed was not the pain of broken bones or the smell of asphalt and gasoline. Instead, he found himself staring at a sky dyed crimson, as if the heavens themselves had been drenched in blood.
He lay on his back upon cold, cracked stone. The ruined ceiling of a cathedral stretched above him, jagged beams clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. His body felt heavy, suffocated. Slowly, he raised a hand—only to freeze.
What met his gaze was no longer human flesh. Instead, his arm was sheathed in black, jagged armor, like obsidian forged from nightmares. Dark red lines pulsed faintly along the gauntlet, like veins filled with molten blood.
His voice caught in his throat. "W–what the hell…?"
A chill echoed inside his skull. Not words spoken aloud, but a mechanical declaration reverberating directly into his consciousness:
> [Reincarnation Complete.]
Class: Dark Knight (Cursed).
Unique Skill Obtained: SSS—Instant Death.
.
.
.
.
The words were cold, absolute, undeniable.
Liam's heart pounded. Reincarnated? Dark Knight? He had read too many webnovels and light novels not to recognize the clichés, yet now he was the one living it.
"…Instant Death…?"
The term lingered in his mouth, sinister and unreal. He pushed himself up to his knees, armor groaning with the movement. A massive black greatsword, nearly as tall as he was, rested beside him, its blade jagged as though it had been forged from the shattered night sky.
A faint flutter caught his attention. Perched atop a broken crossbeam was a crow, its beady eyes glinting in the crimson moonlight.
Something inside him whispered. Not a voice, not an order, but an instinct.
A command.
One single word: Die.
Liam blinked. The crow vanished. No squawk. No flapping wings. No trace of feathers. One moment it existed, and the next… it didn't.
His armored chest rose and fell. "What… the hell was that?"
> Skill Activation Confirmed: [Instant Death].
Target erased.
Warning: Excessive use will corrode the user's soul. At 100% corruption, host will cease to be human and ascend as an [Embodiment of Death].
"..."
The warning sank deep, heavier than the armor on his body. His breath trembled. It wasn't just power—it was annihilation. No battle, no struggle, no chance of resistance. Just… erasure.
And if he abused it, he would lose himself.
Liam gritted his teeth, gauntlets clenching into fists. "So that's the price…"
The silence was broken by a deep creaaaak. The cathedral's broken doors swung open, and robed figures stepped through, their movements deliberate, reverent. Their faces were hidden beneath dark hoods, but Liam could feel their gazes burning into him.
They dropped to their knees in unison.
"Finally… the God of Death has awakened."
"Our lord, reborn in blackened steel…"
"The prophecy speaks true."
Liam instinctively reached for the greatsword, dragging it into his grip. Its weight was monstrous, yet his body—this new body—moved as though it had been born to wield it. The edge hummed with a faint, dreadful resonance, as though it craved blood.
"I'm no god," Liam growled, his new voice deeper, metallic, unnatural. "And I don't know who you people are."
The cultists did not flinch. One of them, taller than the rest, raised his hands high. His sleeves fell back to reveal skeletal arms wrapped in black tattoos.
"You are Death incarnate. The herald of the crimson moon. The one who shall wipe the false gods from their thrones and crown this world with silence."
Liam's eyes narrowed behind his helmet. "And if I refuse?"
The man chuckled, hollow and dry. "You cannot refuse, Lord of Death. Your very existence fulfills the prophecy. Whether you wish it or not, the world shall tremble at your step."
Another cultist stepped forward, trembling as if in awe. She drew a dagger across her palm, blood dripping onto the stone floor. "Allow us to prove our devotion, my lord. With our lives, we offer you worship!"
Her body convulsed, and she collapsed, lifeless. The blood pooled into glowing crimson symbols across the cracked floor, forming a circle around Liam.
He staggered back. What the hell is happening?
The taller cultist spread his arms wider. "See? Even without lifting your hand, they perish for you. Your mere presence commands death. This world belongs to you, Lord of the Abyss."
Liam's grip tightened on his sword. A part of him wanted to test his skill again, to silence them all. One thought—die—and this insane congregation would be erased. But the warning rang again in his skull. Soul corrosion. Embodiment of Death.
He wasn't ready to lose himself. Not yet.
"Stay back," he said, voice cold and commanding.
The cultists lowered their heads. "As you command…"
The taller one smiled beneath his hood. "But know this: the kingdoms already sense your awakening. The Constellations, those false gods who grant mortals their light, will not remain idle. They will send their champions. Heroes will hunt you. Priests will brand you abomination."
The words chilled Liam's core. He had just been reborn, and already the world wanted him dead.
But when he looked at his gauntleted hand—this cursed body, this weapon of annihilation—he realized something terrifying.
He could win.
He had been powerless in his old life. Just another face in the crowd. But now… now he was feared. Hunted. Worshipped.
And with a single word, he could erase anything in his path.
The cultists began to chant, a hymn to the crimson moon. Their voices echoed through the cathedral, low and dreadful, like the heartbeat of the world itself.
Liam stood at the center, his greatsword resting against the stone floor, sparks dancing as its jagged edge scraped. His reflection flickered faintly in the bloodstained symbols at his feet.
A Dark Knight.
Bearer of Instant Death.
Herald of doom.
"…Liam," he whispered, grounding himself. "My name is Liam. Not god. Not death. Remember that."
But even as he said it, he could feel the weight of his new destiny pressing down. His name felt small beneath the crimson sky, as though the world itself refused to acknowledge it.
Still, he clenched his blade, raising it against the weight of fate.
If gods and heroes came for him....