The Life After Death

  Chapter 1: The Death Before Life

  The day I died... It wasn’t glamorous or soft. No epic battle, no final act to seal my legacy. No, I died alone in a dimly lit room, lying on a bed that seemed more coffin than comfort. Each breath was a struggle, and my once-sharp mind was dulled by the weight of years.

  I came from nothing. No name, no family, no legacy. Just the endless steel alleys of the slums, where survival was earned through violence. My first kill was at the age of ten. A blade to the throat of a dealer who thought my starving hands were too small to be dangerous. That night, something inside me shifted. I learned the power of fear.

  I rose from blood and shadows, carving my path through betrayal and brutality. A boy with no name became a man who commanded them all. Arther Valentine was a title I gave myself. The name of a ghost no one could trace, but everyone feared.

  In a world of towering glass spires and ceaseless neon lights, I built an empire of crime, hidden behind digital smoke and mirrored masks. Advanced technology was my sword, bioengineered limbs, my armor, and knowledge my kingdom. My hands were drenched in blood, but they were always steady.

  Over decades, I ruled from the depths, my power unquestioned. I trusted no one, let no one close. And yet, here I was. Dying.

  I, Arther Valentine, born from the gutters of a world that spat on weakness, died not as a legend, but as a whisper lost to time.

  The silence was maddening. I had long accepted that I would die alone, but a part of me couldn’t help but wonder—how did it happen? I had no enemies left brave enough to face me, no weakness exposed. I trusted no one with my food, my water, not even with the code to my sanctum. So then how? Did my own body betray me? Was it time itself?

  Do I regret it all?

  Well… that’s a strange and complicated thing. The lives I took, those were statistics in my ledger, cold equations etched in red. I killed kings and beggars alike, all with the same blade of indifference. And believe me, I kept count, probably the only math I ever enjoyed. But even as I joke, the truth scraped at me. Each kill chipped away a piece of something deeper, something I’d buried under iron and circuitry.

  I had spent so much time measuring dominance that I’d never stopped to measure what I lacked. My regret didn’t come from the blood I spilt. I’d made peace with that. It came from the empty seats at my table. No one to mourn me. No one to call me theirs.

  Companionship. Love. Family. I had scorned those things my whole life, only to yearn for them as the void opened beneath me.

  Funny, isn’t it? How the void leaves you craving the very things you once deemed weaknesses. Staring at the cracked ceiling above, a single thought gnawed at me.

  If only I could do it differently. If only I had more time.

  But life’s funny that way, isn’t it? It doesn’t give second chances.

  Or so I thought.

  The end came slowly, then all at once. One moment I was suffocating in that dark room, and the next, I was falling, deeper, weightless, infinite. Darkness enveloped me, but not the kind you can close your eyes against. This was something more profound, an abyss that swallowed everything.

  "If this is the end, then what comes next?" I whispered into the void. Judgment? Oblivion? Or… salvation?

  The words echoed back at me, mocking and unanswered. My thoughts twisted and turned. Power, companionship, love, what had I truly wanted in life? None of it had ever been enough.

  "If I could live again," I began, my voice breaking, "I wouldn’t waste it. Not this time."

  Suddenly, in the darkness, there was a light that began as a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer in the endless abyss. It pulsed gently, as though alive, its rhythm syncing with something deep within me. At first, I thought it might be a trick of my dying mind—a desperate grasp for meaning in the void. But no, it persisted, growing stronger, pulling me closer as though it held the answers I’d sought in life. The light grew brighter, warmer, and I felt its pull, like hands drawing me closer.

  It wasn’t just light, it felt like life itself, seeping into the cracks of my fractured soul. Faces flashed before me—those I’d betrayed, those I’d conquered, and the countless lives I had extinguished without hesitation. The weight of those memories should have crushed me, but instead, the light reshaped them, turning pain into faint echoes and regrets into whispers.

  And then, everything ended in an instant. A blinding flash of light consumed everything, an overwhelming brightness that burned away the shadows, the regrets, and the pain. It was so sudden, so final, that for a moment I thought this was the universe's way of erasing me completely. There was no sound, no sensation, just that infinite white light. And then, it faded, leaving behind a strange warmth and… life??

  When I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed was how blurry everything was. Shapes and colors swirled together, strange and unfamiliar.

  A woman’s voice cut through the haze. "He’s perfect," she said, her tone trembling with joy. I felt her touch, warm and soft, pressing a kiss to my forehead. Her voice wrapped around me like a blanket. "Welcome to the world, my little Emrys."

  Emrys? Who's that?

  A man’s voice followed, deep and steady. "Look at him, Elara. He’s got both our eyes!"

  My mind stumbled as the pieces clicked together. Wait a second. Both their eyes? Are they talking about me? The thought floated in the haze of my still-blurry mind.

  And then, like a bolt of lightning, the pieces fell into place. It was me. Have I been reborn?!

  But then, the realization surged through me with all the grace of a falling brick. That blinding light wasn’t some divine cosmic rebirth—it was me being pushed out of a woman. Out of her... Oh no.

  Was that light… her tunnel? The question lingered, teetering with sheer horror.

  Is this why babies cry? Because they realize exactly where they’ve just come from? I tried to push away the thought, but it clung to me, unyielding. I suppressed the urge to groan, which in my current state probably translated into a gurgle anyway.

  It took me a moment to process it all. My vision started to clear gradually, revealing a room softly illuminated by the flickering glow of candles. The walls were built from rough-hewn planks, their uneven surfaces worn with the marks of time and tools. Each imperfection told a story of practicality and effort.

  The room lacked adornments or vibrant colors, offering only the plain honesty of natural wood and gentle light. It was simple and functional, yet it carried a quiet dignity. A far cry from the sharp lines and calculated precision of the shadowed underworld I once commanded.

  The air was rich with the scent of burning oil mingled with the dampness of aged wood. Beneath it lingered a faint floral sweetness, like wildflowers carried on a breeze, grounding me further in this strange new world. My gaze travelled to the frame, solid wood, expertly crafted, holding linens that were plain yet sturdy. There were no sharp angles or cold finishes here, only the care of someone who built things to endure. It felt... genuine.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  I scanned the room, half-expecting to see something familiar. A faint hum of machinery, a hidden panel, or the bright glow of a display. But there was nothing. No screens, no drones, no remnants of the advanced technology I once took for granted. Only silence. Thick, heavy, and unbroken.

  Is this what sophistication looks like here? I mused, a faint smile creeping onto my face despite the unease curling in my chest.

  The candlelight moved across the walls, casting shadows that danced alive in their simplicity. It was raw, unpolished, and strangely calming.

  Is this what people live with? My mind straining to adjust. The noise of my old world had been replaced by a stillness so profound it felt almost sacred, yet strange.

  The woman—Elara, the man called her—held me close. Her long black hair, soft and silken, cascaded down like a dark waterfall around her shoulders, enveloping me in a warmth that felt unfamiliar and almost overwhelming.

  For a moment, I felt a flicker of something I couldn’t quite name. Comfort, perhaps, or something dangerously close to peace. Her eyes... They were black, a deep and dark entrancing shade that seemed to resemble the void of space, calm and endless, as though they held the very depths of the universe within them. Her gaze radiated a quiet strength, something maternal, a force you would not dare challenge.

  My thoughts stumbled further, as I became acutely aware of just how close I was to her chest. Massive. Her breasts seemed enormous, though, to be fair, everything seemed enormous. The soft fabric of her gown clung to her curves in ways that left little to the imagination, and the way they bounced ever so slightly with her subtle movements was enough to send heat rushing to my.... face.

  How am I supposed to maintain any sense of dignity like this? Feeling my cheeks—or what passed for them now—grew warm. It was utterly humiliating.

  She probably doesn’t even notice, I reasoned, but here I am, face buried in her breasts.

  Despite everything, it unsettled me deeply. Kindness like this didn’t exist in the world I had known, not without a price. After a life of betrayal and cruelty, I found myself wary of such beauty, as if I were staring at an illusion designed to lure me into complacency.

  How can someone look so warm? So genuine? What’s the catch? I wondered, a faint bitterness clinging to the thought. And yet, despite my misgivings, I couldn’t tear my gaze away.

  The warmth in her eyes was unlike anything I had encountered in my past life—a sincerity that felt both new and disarming. Part of me, buried beneath layers of cynicism, wanted to believe that her kindness was genuine.

  Then there was the man. He stood out like a sharp corner in an otherwise warm and inviting room. Broad-shouldered, with fiery red hair that seemed to defy the very concept of grooming, and a proud stance that screamed confidence. He stood as if he were posing for a statue, chest puffed out and arms crossed like he’d just conquered the world.

  Confidence rolled off him in waves, though the slightly vacant look in his red eyes told me all I needed to know.

  Ah, yes, I mused, a man who looks like he would swing a blade at his own reflection. His strong jaw and sharp features would have made him intimidating, if not for the vacant, slightly confused expression on his face.

  I tried to move, but my infant body refused to obey. My limbs felt foreign, awkward, and utterly useless, as if I were trapped in a shell that didn’t quite belong to me. But as the haze cleared, it finally dawned on me.

  I had just been born. The blinding light, the warmth, the strange sensations, it all made sense now. The realization felt bizarre, almost unreal. A man who had seen nations fall and countless lives extinguished by my hand, now reduced to a helpless newborn.

  Me, Arther Valentine, killer of men, reduced to… this? A tiny human, ejected into existence? The absurdity of it clawed at my ego, yet I couldn’t deny the truth. That woman with her deep space gaze and perfect figure—she’s my mother. And that man, with his overconfidence and empty-headed aura, he’s my father.

  My parents. The very concept felt strange. I had ruled the shadows of my world, and yet here I was, a child to people who likely had no idea who or what I was.

  And yet, as foreign as the idea was, it anchored me. A mother’s touch. A father’s proud voice. Family. I… I never thought I would have that. Never thought I would deserve it.

  “Emrys…” Elara said softly, as if savoring the sound of it. “The name suits him, doesn’t it, Raiden?”

  Raiden grunted, his chest puffing out with pride. "Emrys. He will be strong one day!"

  Emrys? Oh yes, me. I let the name settle in my mind, it sounds strange yet oddly fitting. Strong? It sounded more like the kind of name a low-level assistant in a neon-lit corporate tower might have, someone destined to fetch coffee for their superiors and disappear into anonymity. It lacked the weight, the presence, of someone who had once been a killing machine.

  This is the name I’m saddled with? I groaned, the irony biting harder than an assassin’s blade. It was unassuming, even mundane, but perhaps that simplicity held a strength I had overlooked.

  A clean slate. A name free of the blood and terror that once trailed behind me. Fine, Emrys it is. Not like I have a choice in this matter.

  For now, the sound of Elara’s heartbeat and the soft hum of this strange, unfamiliar world were enough to hold the storm of my thoughts at bay. This was a second chance.

  The voices around me blurred into soothing murmurs. Elara pressed her forehead gently to mine, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "You’re so strong already," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. For the first time in my existence, I felt cared for.

  Is this what it feels like? I thought, surrendering to the warmth. Maybe… maybe this time...

  And with that, I drifted into sleep, the whispers of a new life weaving their way into my dreams.

  Sleep had come easily, almost too easily. For someone who once thrived in a world where trust was a luxury and danger a constant, the act of resting without vigilance felt wrong. And yet, there was something disarming about the warmth of Elara’s embrace, her steady heartbeat lulling me into a peace I couldn’t remember ever feeling. For the first time ever, the storm in my mind stilled.

  Until I woke up. A sound cut through the stillness of my half-dreams, a voice, high-pitched, sharp, and brimming with mischief. Jolted me awake like a splash of cold water.

  “Mama, look! He’s got a squishy face!” a little girl’s voice piped up, full of delight. “Is he gonna stay like that forever?”

  I squinted sideways just in time to see her. A small girl—no older than two—leaned over me, her face alight with curiosity. She had an energy about her, something mischievous yet captivating, like a curious bird inspecting a shiny object.

  Her eyes were the first thing to strike me, dark, shimmering purple. They glowed like the light of distant stars cutting through the infinite darkness of space. Mesmerizing, as though they carried secrets far beyond her years.

  Beneath her left eye on the left side were two small black beauty marks, a subtle yet deliberate detail that seemed almost too perfect, like a final stroke of an artist’s brush. And her hair, what a mystery that was. Fine and silken, it cascaded in unruly silver-white waves, catching the light as if spun from moonbeams. It wasn’t like Elara’s dark, flowing locks or Raiden’s fiery mane.

  Who is she? She doesn’t look like Elara, not even a hint of her black eyes or black hair. Nor does she resemble Raiden’s bold, red hair or features.

  The more I stared at her, the more my thoughts tangled. If she looks like this… do I look like this too? Do I have the same silky silver-white hair?

  Raiden had said I had both their eyes, so hers couldn’t be mine. Then who is she? My sister… or someone else entirely? The questions circled endlessly in my mind.

  Yet, there was something about the way she looked at Elara, the way she called her ‘Mama,’ that suggested a connection far deeper than appearances. Her voice carried a warmth and familiarity, a bond that couldn’t simply be fabricated.

  As I watched her, the confidence in her tone and the way Elara’s eyes softened at the word 'Mama' stirred something in me. Could it be that family wasn’t something defined by matching faces or shared features? That love came from something deeper—something I had never let myself believe in during my past life?

  If she is truly my sister, what explicit late night acrobatics did Elara and Raiden do to produce this girl? I chuckled with a smirk on my face.

  I watched her giggle as she poked at my cheek, her laughter bubbling like it was stitched into the air itself. She felt familiar in a way I couldn’t name, a part of this new life I hadn’t expected but somehow already belonged to.

  Her tiny fingers curled around mine, warm and impossibly soft. The room hummed with Elara’s gentle breathing, Raiden’s quiet pride, and this girl’s unrestrained joy. A world so different from the cold neon and bloodstained corridors I once ruled—yet, lying there, wrapped in warmth and chaos, I felt something I never had before.

  A beginning.

  As my eyes grew heavy, her giggles faded into a soft blur. Elara’s heartbeat steadied my own, and for the first time in two lives, I let myself surrender to it—this fragile, unfamiliar peace.

  If this is my second chance… then let it start here.