Chapter 1
Kenji Nakamura's final moments were, fittingly, underwhelming.
He wasn't fighting a demon lord, nor sacrificing himself for a waifu. He was simply trying to open a stubborn pickle jar while simultaneously refreshing the forums for the next chapter of Cosmic Blades: Aether Ascendant. The resulting catastrophe involved a slick of brine, a highly polished hardwood floor, and a cranial impact that sounded, to the sole ear of the maintenance man who found him an hour later, like a particularly ripe mango hitting a drum.
Kenji was, by all accounts, a master of compartmentalization. His life was neatly divided into the mundane and the magnificent. The mundane: a soul-crushing, six-month stint as a junior programmer for a company that made inventory software, and the constant, low-humming anxiety of rent. The magnificent: the vibrant, limitless universes he consumed daily. Manga, light novels, visual novels, and, above all, the deep, intricate lore of Japanese role-playing games. He wasn't a casual fan; he was a scholar of fiction.
His personality, honed by years of prioritizing digital over human interaction, was a study in efficient detachment. He viewed the world, and even his own life, with the clinical, almost bored curiosity of a scientist observing a petri dish. Emotionally Detached was less a trait and more an operating system. His passion was reserved for fictional power scaling and character builds. His ambition, the other dominant force in his life, was not for wealth or fame, but for completion—to consume every piece of media, master every mechanic, and achieve the true ending. This was his Insatiable Drive.
In the darkness that followed the mango-on-a-drum sound, the efficient Kenji simply noted, "Ah. Death. How inconvenient. I haven't finished the DLC yet."
⏳ The White Void and the Warmth
Instead of the eternal darkness or the familiar, low-polygon loading screen he vaguely expected, Kenji found himself suspended in a liquid white void. It wasn't cold; it wasn't hot. It was just... complete.
Then, a sensation. Not sight, but a fundamental knowing. A vast, resonant presence, like a mountain made of pure thought, was near. This presence felt both utterly ancient and infinitely creative. It was weaving, perpetually spinning threads of existence into tapestries of reality.
Brahma. The word resonated in the formless space, not in a language, but as the very definition of the concept. The Creator.
A soft, melodic voice—genderless, yet overwhelmingly parental—echoed through the non-space.
"My Child. You arrive... fractured. A peculiar energy clings to your essence, dark and swift, yet anchored by the drive of mortals."
Kenji, who was not a body, but a swirling consciousness, felt the familiar pull of analysis. Reincarnation. Hindu mythology setting. High-tier starting position: Son of the Creator God. My 'peculiar energy'... is that the Dracula build? I wonder what the base stats are.
"Do not fret, fragment," the voice—Brahma—continued, sounding amused, perhaps even slightly intrigued by the sheer mundanity of Kenji's prior existence. "The tools you bring will be woven into your divine inheritance. They will serve your purpose. You will need them."
A sudden, terrifying weight settled upon Kenji's soul, crushing the last vestiges of his programmer identity. It was the weight of potential, of a destiny that spanned Kalpas.
"Your mother... is ready," Brahma concluded. "Go forth, my son. Go forth and observe."
🌑 Born of Divine Ash and Blood
The transition was violent. One moment, the calm, analytical suspension in the aether; the next, a crushing pressure, bright light, and the instinctive, painful urge to draw a first, useless breath.
He was a newborn. A helpless, squalling bundle. But even as a newborn, Kenji was operating on the cold logic of his Insatiable Drive. Assess the environment. Acquire resources. Begin the grind.
He was in a crib woven from what felt like starlight and silk. The room was not made of stone or wood, but of an iridescent, ever-shifting substance that glowed with soft, cosmic light. This was not a palace; this was a plane of existence. The Brahmaloka.
His mother, standing over him, was an entity of breathtaking, serene beauty. She was the Goddess Saraswati, the embodiment of knowledge, music, and art. Her presence was a comforting, silvery chime, a perfect contrast to Brahma's roaring silence.
The name that was given to him was Nitya, meaning 'eternal' or 'perpetual.'
But even as Saraswati tenderly lifted him, cradling him against a warmth that felt like the most perfect, uncorrupted knowledge, the secondary inheritance manifested. The 'peculiar energy.' The Dracula build.
Nitya was a Hindu demigod, but he was also a vampire.
He felt a primal, agonizing thirst. It wasn't for milk or air. It was for the life force. The Prana. The divine, inexhaustible vitality pulsing through his mother's ethereal form. It was an instinct, a dark, consuming hunger that superseded the needs of a normal infant.
His small, perfect mouth opened not for a cry, but for a need.
He fought the urge, his programmer's mind overriding the infant's body. Do not drain the primary resource pool upon arrival. Unwise. Find alternative, replenishable sources. Control the impulse.
This, he realized with a chilling clarity, was a new cornerstone of his being: Calculated Predation. His hunger was not a frenzy; it was a resource management problem.
He stared up at Saraswati with ancient, cold eyes that should not have belonged to a baby. His skin, already a luminescence far beyond mortal, had a subtle, near-invisible red hue beneath the surface—a latent reservoir of stored vitality. His small, clenched hands possessed not the weakness of a mortal infant, but a terrifying, potential Supernatural Strength.
Saraswati only smiled, her expression one of profound, accepting love. She placed a single, perfectly formed rose made of solidified sound waves near his head.
"A hunger so vast," she murmured, a gentle challenge in her tone. "It will drive you to seek, my Nitya. Seek the ultimate knowledge, seek the ultimate power. You will not be satisfied with the quiet corner of creation."
Nitya did not coo. He simply observed. Target: World Knowledge. Objective: Understand the new rule set (Dharma/Karma/Māyā). Constraint: Requires sustenance. Priority: Self-Sustenance. Initial Skill Tree: Vampire Abilities (Passive Regeneration/Blood Consumption/Enhanced Senses).
His eyes, impossibly sharp, fixed on his thumb. He brought it to his mouth. Instead of sucking, he felt the tiny, needle-sharp, divine fangs briefly extend and retract. He wasn't hungry enough yet to risk self-cannibalism, but the observation confirmed the toolset.
He was the Son of Brahma. The Otaku Reborn. The Vampire God-Child.
And he was already bored of the tutorial level. The vastness of creation beckoned, and the Insatiable Drive demanded he master it all.