CHAPTER 1 — THE BOY WHO DIED TOO UGLY TO BE FORGOTTEN
––––––––––––––––––––
His name wasn't Azraelion yet.
He was just a boy too handsome to go unnoticed, but too discreet to be the protagonist of his own life: dark hair, curious eyes, a calm demeanor. An eighteen-year-old student who lived with the dark circles under his eyes from reading more books than sleeping.
He loved stories—all of them.
Scribbled manga, colorful manhwas, kilometer-long webnovels, easy-to-devour light novels, and comics that smelled of old paper.
His bed was a battlefield where heroes piled up in the form of books, and his cell phone was a portal to universes that embraced him better than reality.
His life wasn't bad.
Just… too normal for someone with a head full of infinite worlds.
That morning, the sun was lazy, and so was he.
He rushed out of the house because he was late, as always.
His backpack was thrown haphazardly, a packet of biscuits in his hand, and a strange feeling in his chest—that irritating intuition that whispers: "something's going to go wrong."
And it did.
Spectacularly.
Everything happened too fast, yet ridiculously slow.
As he crossed the street to catch the bus, a pigeon—a fat, insolent, probably criminal pigeon—swooped right into his face.
It not only startled him: it struck him with the elegance of a wrecking ball with feathers.
Desperate and blinded, he tripped over his own feet, spun like an emotional Beyblade, and fell straight onto a poorly closed fire hydrant.
The metal cap popped off with the water pressure, hit his chin…
and extinguished his personal universe.
Death by pigeon and fire hydrant.
It was so idiotic that even fate stopped to laugh before writing it down.
His consciousness switched off.
Darkness.
Silence.
And then… light.
Not the light of a celestial tunnel, with a soft chorus of angels.
It was more the fluorescent light of a cosmic office that no one has cleaned in ages.
And there, seated on a throne that seemed to have been hastily assembled from pieces of galaxies, was the most powerful and, at the same time, most bored being in the entire multiverse:
A ROB — Random Omnipotent Being.
He yawned like someone who had just woken up in the middle of a coffee-free immortality.
"Seriously…?" murmured the ROB, looking at the recently deceased boy. "I've seen pathetic deaths, but this one… this one almost made me choke with boredom."
The boy opened his eyes.
He wasn't breathing, he had no body, but he perceived everything as if he were in the third person. At first he tried to freak out, but…
well…
he'd already read this kind of scene about five hundred times.
—I died, didn't I?
—You died—said ROB, fiddling with nothing as if it were an invisible tablet. —In such a stupid way that it created a cosmic cringe vibe. I felt it from here.
The boy took a deep breath, which was impressive, considering he didn't have lungs.
—And now?
—Now…—ROB gave another long, lazy yawn, almost poetic in its disinterest—…I'm going to have some fun.
The space behind him opened like theatrical curtains made of nebulae.
Seven lights appeared.
Not ordinary lights—they were crowns, each with an impossible weight, each bearing the spiritual signature of a legendary monster from human history.
Artoria Pendragon.
Gilgamesh.
Karna.
Ozymandias.
Solomon.
King Hassan. Heracles.
Not copies, not weak versions, not limited Servants.
These were his peaks.
His true essences.
—Instead of reincarnating you with one of these, I'll fuse them all.—The ROB smiled, and the universe trembled as if feeling chills.—You'll become a hybrid creature of seven legends. A fusion so absurd that even I don't know if I should do it.
—Why?—asked the boy.
—Because I'm bored—said the ROB, too honestly.—And because you died so lamentably that you deserve a second chance out of cosmic compassion.
The seven crowns melted into pure light.
The light enveloped him.
It entered his eyes, pierced his soul, tore apart old memories and planted new ones.
The strength of a demigod, the intellect of a king mage, the clairvoyance of a golden sovereign, the honor of Death himself.
All of this pounding in his heart like drums from the beginning of the world.
"When you awaken, you will have a new name," said the ROB. "Azraelion Vheros.
The Bearer of the Seven Crowns.
The future terror and glory of multiple realities."
The boy tried to say something, but the light began to pull him like a current.
"Ah, yes," said the ROB, snapping his fingers. "I'm going to throw you into 4000 BC in a universe that mixes DC and Marvel. Guaranteed fun. Or a horrible death. Or premature divinity. It depends on the mood of the story."
The ROB nodded without enthusiasm.
"Good luck, boy. And thank the dove later."
The light exploded.
The cosmos changed its tone.
And the boy was reborn as Azraelion—silver hair, eyes divided between scarlet and topaz, a soul carrying seven destinies, and a future that would make even the gods pray.