Chapter 1: The fall of king
The world outside was trembling with silence, yet within the obsidian walls of the Black Tower, the underworld's heart pulsed steadily. On the 82nd floor, Rivan Bosc—lord of the dark empire, King of the Slums, the shadow crowned in blood—sat alone in his private chamber, a glass of rich, amber whisky in his hand. The room was dim, bathed only in the city's flickering neon glow that slipped through the massive windowpanes.
He looked down at the glittering empire he had carved from poverty and chaos. From being a nameless rat crawling in the filth of slums to the ruler of seventy-five percent of the global underworld, his rise had been nothing short of brutal legend.
He took a slow sip, savoring the burn. Tonight was meant to be a night of celebration—no meetings, no bloodshed, no deals. Just silence, whisky, and memory.
But something was off.
Rivan's instincts, the same ones that had kept him alive all these years, were screaming. The usual thrill of paranoia was different today. It wasn't fear—it was instinct, raw and primal. A hunter's unease. As if the darkness around him had shifted.
The creak of the reinforced steel door broke the stillness.
Rivan didn't move. He didn't need to. His hand remained casually near his belt, where a custom pistol rested, ready. The only person allowed access without notice was his second-in-command—his most trusted brother-in-arms: Raker.
Raker stepped inside.
But something was wrong. Rivan saw it immediately in his gait—hesitation. In his eyes—regret, but also clarity. The silence between them stretched like taut wire.
Rivan frowned. "Speak."
Raker exhaled, fists clenched. "Brother... we touched something wrong."
Rivan's eyes narrowed. "What?"
Raker's voice cracked with emotion. "Everything we built... it's not ours. It never was. We're just puppets, Rivan. There's something above us. We were allowed to rule... until now."
The words landed like bricks.
Before Rivan could respond—
BANG!
A bullet tore through his chest.
He staggered back, blood blooming across his black shirt like a rose of ruin. His body screamed, but his instincts roared louder. He fired—twice.
Raker grunted as one bullet tore into his stomach, the other grazing his shoulder. He fell to his knees.
Memories flooded Rivan's vision even as the pain spread: the night he found Raker—a broken teen soaked in blood, begging for help, screaming for someone to save his sister. Rivan had taken him in, molded him into a weapon, trusted him with his life.
And now... betrayal.
"Why...?" Rivan gasped, blood dripping from his lips.
Raker didn't answer. He just stared at the floor, broken and ashamed. "Forgive me."
Rivan's vision dimmed. The world seemed to spin as the darkness embraced him, pulling him into its cold arms. And then...
Beep... Beep...
A mechanical rhythm, distant but growing louder.
His eyelids fluttered open.
White ceiling.
Sterile light.
He wasn't dead.
He was... alive?
His fingers twitched. He tried to move, but his body felt different. Lighter. Weaker.
A voice echoed outside the room.
"Subject Aven Drax is stabilizing. Heart rate normal. Brain activity spiking. He's waking up."
Rivan Bosc—King of the Underworld—was gone.
But someone else had returned.
Aven Drax had just awakened.
"Two Souls, One Body"
The pain came sharp. Crushing. Breathing turned jagged. Then—snap.
Everything went white.
Four Hours Earlier
The emergency room buzzed with tension. Lights blinked. Monitors beeped violently. A young man, no more than 21, lay on the operation table. Blood—a strange deep black—poured from his chest wound. Nurses moved swiftly. Instruments clinked. Time moved too slowly.
"Pressure dropping!"
"Doctor, his pupils are dilating!"
"Pulse is erratic!"
A grizzled senior doctor barked, "We have to stabilize him. Don't let him go under. Push voltage. Clear!"
His hands trembled slightly as they pressed the defibrillator to the boy's chest. "Again!"
"Clear!"
A jolt. His body spasmed.
"Pulse?"
"…Flatline."
The monitors beeped their final, steady tone. A nurse slowly removed her gloves, head lowered.
"…Doctor, we…"
"We did our best. We are not gods."
The boy on the table—Aven Drax—was pronounced dead at 2:34 AM.
Outside the ER, silence hung thick like a storm waiting to break. Two men, three women, and three young adults stood with heavy expressions. Their eyes told stories—fear, anger, grief—all brewing under composed masks. The eldest man clenched his fists while a red-haired woman wept silently.
Then came a sound that shattered the silence.
A nurse sprinted from the hallway. "DOCTOR! His vitals! They've returned! Pulse is back!"
"What?!"
Doctors scrambled. Within seconds, they were back inside. The impossible happened. Aven Drax… had come back to life.
Now — 4 Hours Later
A sterile white hospital room.
A slow beep.
Then—
A gasp.
Eyes snapped open. Breathing shallow.
"Where… am I?" he muttered.
The nurse by the bed, startled, rushed to the intercom. "Doctor! Aven is awake!"
But the boy lying in bed—Rivan Bosc—wasn't really Aven. Not anymore.
Confusion spread over Rivan's face as he tried to sit up. His body felt lighter, weaker—foreign. His gaze fell on the reflective window. What stared back wasn't the man who once ruled the underworld. No, this was someone younger. Soft skin. Sharp blue eyes. No scars. No history of violence carved into his flesh.
He blinked. "Who the hell is… Aven Drax?"
A burst of white-hot pain exploded in his skull. He screamed. The nurse panicked, rushing to call the doctor again.
Within moments, memories—not his—flooded his mind. Laughing in meadows. Sparring with cousins. Boardroom meetings with powerful executives. A father with a commanding voice. A mother with fiery red hair and a soft touch.
Then realization struck like thunder.
He was inside someone else's body.
He wasn't just alive again… He was reborn.
The door burst open. The doctor came in, followed closely by a stunning red-haired woman and a tall, dark-haired man with a cold presence. Rivan instinctively knew—Aven's parents.
The woman rushed forward, tears already brimming. "Aven! My son! You're awake!" She wrapped her arms around him, sobbing into his chest. Her voice was trembling with relief. "I was so scared…"
The tall man remained still by the door, watching.
"He's not dead yet," he said flatly.
The woman stood and turned to him angrily. "Is that how you speak to your son after a near-death experience?"
"I'm just stating facts."
Rivan remained quiet. The hug made his skin crawl, not because of her, but because he wasn't her son. Not really.
"Who… are you?" he wanted to say, but didn't. He just sat there, quietly, forcing his expression into something soft and weak. Pretending.
Elsewhere…
A room with no windows. Dim light. One man tied to a chair, blood crusted on his face. Another stood in the shadows, speaking with chilling calm.
"Are you ready to talk?"
The man on the chair spat blood. "You can torture me all you want. I'm not saying a damn thing.please or they kill my whole family.
"You already did," said the shadow. "We saved your daughter. The rest of your family… weren't so lucky." Everyone dead no one live .
"No…" the man cried. But they promise to save my and to protect my family.
Photos were thrown onto the floor—gruesome, undeniable evidence.
No nno ahhhh_ fuck .
"Fine!" the man screamed. "I'll tell you everything.
After he finished , the shadow pulled the trigger. One bullet. Silence returned.
We will save your ,drax does not go back on their word .
Back at the Drax estate
A 60-story glass tower rose over the city like a monument to wealth. Inside the top-floor office, a man sat with perfect posture, his hands steepled together.
The same black-suited agent stepped in. "Sir, we confirmed it. The leak came from within the Varrma-Family. Information is spreading. Someone is cleaning house."
The man opened his eyes, sharp and cold. "Then it's time we begin our own game. Deploy the counter-strategy.
Back at the hospital
Rivan—or now, Aven—sat up, sipping water. The pain had dulled, replaced by curiosity and calculation. He needed to understand who Aven Drax was, what this world was, and what threats lurked beneath the surface.
He stared at his new hands. No scars. No calluses. But underneath…
"I still remember the smell of blood. The sound of betrayal. I died once. I won't let it happen again."
A nurse entered. "Mr. Drax, your family will be visiting again soon. Do you need anything?"
"Yes," Rivan said.