Mental Rebirth

The arena fell into an eerie silence, the last echoes of the HobGoblin's demise fading into the void. Michael stood amidst the wreckage, his breath ragged, his body trembling from the exertion. The adrenaline that had fueled him through the battle began to ebb away, leaving behind a profound exhaustion. But before he could even begin to process what had just happened, a sudden, excruciating pain erupted from deep within him.

It felt as though something was being ripped out of his very soul. Michael gasped, clutching his chest as the agony surged through him, a pain far beyond anything he had ever imagined. It was as if every fiber of his being was being torn apart, unraveled, and then woven back together in a new, unfamiliar pattern. His vision blurred, the world around him spinning wildly as he fell to his knees.

The pain was relentless, coursing through him with a ferocity that made it impossible to think, to breathe, to do anything but endure. It wasn't just physical—it was something deeper, more primal, as if the very essence of who he was was being rewritten, reshaped into something darker, more powerful. He could feel it in his bones, in the marrow of his soul, this profound change that was taking place.

As the agony reached its peak, Michael's status menu flickered to life before his eyes, but the words were barely legible through the haze of pain. His nickname, once "Accidentally Summoned Hero," now glowed with an ominous light, the letters twisting and morphing until they spelled out a single word: Azrael.

A new title appeared beneath it, blazing with dark energy: Overlord of Death.

The torment that had consumed him suddenly intensified, reaching a crescendo that left Michael screaming in agony. It was as if the very concept of death itself was being imprinted onto his soul, branding him with a power that was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

And then, just as abruptly as it had begun, the pain subsided. Michael collapsed onto the cold, blood-stained sand, gasping for breath, his body trembling uncontrollably. The searing heat in his chest had been replaced by a cold, hollow sensation, as if a part of him had been burned away, leaving behind something new, something deadly.

Slowly, Michael opened his eyes. The arena was the same, but everything looked different—sharper, more vivid, and tinged with a darkness that hadn't been there before. He could feel the power coursing through him, a cold, relentless energy that pulsed with the rhythm of his own heartbeat.

Michael was no longer who he had been. His very soul changed, enabling to easily adapt to the abrupt changes he would face as a result of having to survive.

He laid on the floor for a long while. He knew the HobGoblin would disperse into the floor but the creature's core would remain for him. It took him over an hour to fully regain his senses. When he finally did he decided to check his status screen again.

—

Michael Elliott

Nickname: Azrael

Level: 5 (91/5000)

Race: Fallen Seraph

Age: 17

Gender: Male

Class: Death Angel

Subclass: Runesmith

Health: 27/250

Mana Capacity: 906/1500

Strength: 40

Agility: 200

Defense: 15

Magic Defense: 80

Luck: 400

Unused Stat Points: 25

Titles: Overlord of Death, Rule Breaker, One Watched By The Gods

—

Michael stared at his status screen, the words and numbers glowing faintly in the dim light of the arena. The new title, Overlord of Death, seemed to pulse with a dark energy, as if the very letters held a malevolent power of their own. The nickname Azrael replaced the old one, marking a shift in his identity that felt both profound and unsettling. Yet, as he scrutinized the rest of his stats, a sense of anticlimax set in. Despite the dramatic changes, his actual stats remained mostly the same, save for a handful of unassigned points.

For a moment, he felt a flicker of disappointment. After all the pain and the terrifying transformation, he had expected more—a surge of strength, perhaps, or a dramatic leap in his abilities. But the cold, hard reality was that he was still vulnerable, still battered and bruised from the battle with the HobGoblin. His Health was dangerously low, a stark reminder of just how little he had healed since coming to this world.

But the transformation hadn't been about numbers or immediate power. He could feel it, deep within his bones, in the marrow of his soul. Something had fundamentally shifted, altering not just his status screen but the very essence of who he was. It was a change that couldn't be measured in stats or levels—something far more profound and potentially far more dangerous.

He took a deep breath, trying to center himself, but the air felt heavy, laden with a coldness that seeped into his skin. The energy coursing through him was different now—darker, colder, more controlled. It wasn't the chaotic rush of adrenaline he was used to; this was something more calculated, more relentless. The kind of power that could reshape worlds, end lives, and alter destinies.

Michael slowly sat up, his body aching from the strain. His fingers traced the edges of the status screen, lingering on the Overlord of Death title. What did it mean, really? What had he become? The title sounded grand, almost mythical, but it also felt like a burden—a mantle he wasn't sure he was ready to bear.

The HobGoblin's core glinted on the sandy floor nearby, a small, glowing orb of dark green energy. It pulsed rhythmically, like a heartbeat, drawing his attention. He knew he should pick it up, add it to the collection of cores he had gathered from the previous goblins. Yet, something held him back. The core was a reminder of the brutal destruction that he caused, but it was also a symbol of the power he now wielded..

With a deep sigh, Michael reached out and grasped the core. As his fingers closed around it, he put it into his inventory, falling into a new and different gumball machine. But this time, the words on the machine said [C+ Beast Cores] A warmth spread through his chest, battling the cold that had settled there, but it was quickly overshadowed by the dark energy that now dominated his being.

Michael got to his feet, his legs shaky but holding firm. The arena, once filled with the sounds of battle, was now eerily silent, the blood and body of the HobGoblin long absorbed by the mysterious floor. The silence was almost oppressive, as if the very air was waiting for something—some new threat, some new challenge.

But no threat came. The arena was empty, save for the echoes of his own breathing.

He took a step forward, then another, testing his balance. The coldness in his chest was still there, a constant reminder of the transformation he had undergone. But with each step, he felt a little more in control, a little more certain that he could handle whatever came next.

"Azrael," he whispered to himself, testing the sound of his new nickname. It felt strange, foreign on his tongue, yet at the same time, it resonated deep within him. This was who he was now. 

He closed the status screen with a thought, the glowing words fading into nothingness. There was no point in dwelling on the numbers—they would come in time. What mattered now was mastering the power that had been bestowed upon him, learning to control the mana that pulsed in his heart.

As he looked around the empty arena, a sense of determination began to build within him. This was only the beginning. The trials he had faced so far were just the first steps on a path that would lead him to unimaginable power—or to his own destruction.

Either way, he was ready.

With one last glance at the arena, Michael turned and walked toward the exit, leaving behind the uncertainties in their heart. The world outside awaited, and he would face it head-on, no longer as a mere survivor, but as a force to be reckoned with.

And woe to anyone who stood in his way.