Malachar stood
alone in his private chambers, away from the eyes of his guardians, and allowed himself a moment of raw panic.
His hands—skeletal, pale, wrong—gripped the edge of an obsidian table hard enough that he heard the stone crack. The sound brought him back to himself. He had cracked solid obsidian with his bare hands. Without trying.
"This is insane,"he whispered to the empty room. "This is completely insane."
But the room didn't flicker or fade. The cold stone beneath his fingers remained solid. The weight of the robes on his shoulders, the crown on his head—all of it felt undeniably real.
He walked to the full-length mirror again, forcing himself to truly look at what he'd become. Lord Malachar stared back—tall, imposing, radiating power. His character had been designed to be intimidating, a figure of dark majesty. Seeing it from the outside was one thing. Being it was another entirely.
In the game, Lord Malachar had been level 95—the highest achievable level. He possessed legendary equipment, mastered over two hundred spells, and had stats that made him functionally a god compared to normal players.
But what did that mean now? If this world was real, could he still access his game abilities? His inventory? His status screen?
"Status,"he said aloud, feeling foolish.
Nothing happened.
He tried to make the gestures he'd used for the game's menu system. Still nothing.
Growing frustrated, he closed his eyes and tried to feel for the power that should be inside him. In the game's lore, he'd written that Lord Malachar drew his magic from the void itself, from the space between life and death.
There.
Like touching a live wire, he felt something surge through him—vast, dark, terrifying. Power beyond anything he'd experienced as a human. It responded to his will, eager, hungry, waiting to be unleashed.
Malachar's eyes snapped open, glowing purple light spilling from them. He raised one skeletal hand, and without thinking, without planning, he simply wanted fire.
Black flames erupted from his palm, cold rather than hot, flickering with purple edges. The fire of the void, one of his signature spells. It hadn't required an incantation or a menu selection. He had simply wanted it, and it had appeared.
He closed his fist, and the flames vanished.
His heart—did he still have a heart?—pounded in his chest. The power was real. All of it. Every spell he'd learned, every ability he'd acquired over twelve years of obsessive gameplay. It was all at his fingertips.
A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts.
"Enter,"he said, his voice automatically taking on the commanding tone of Lord Malachar.
Morgianna glided in, her movements supernaturally graceful. She carried a silver tray with a crystal goblet filled with dark red liquid. Blood, he realized with a start.
"Your evening repast, my Lord,"she said, setting the tray on a side table. "You missed the dinner hour, and I was concerned."
Malachar stared at the goblet. In the game, he'd given Lord Malachar the "Undead Lord"trait, which meant he sustained himself on life energy rather than conventional food. The game had represented this with a simple icon, a mechanic to prevent the need to eat.
But now...
"Thank you, Morgianna,"he said carefully. "But I'm not hungry at the moment."
She tilted her head, those blood-red eyes studying him with an intensity that was deeply unnerving. "Master, you haven't fed in three days. I can sense your energy levels declining. Please, you must maintain your strength."
Three days. The game's feeding cycle had been every three days of game time. Of course his NPCs would track that.
"I appreciate your concern,"he said, "but—"
"My Lord,"she interrupted, something he'd never programmed her to do. "Forgive my boldness, but you've been acting strangely since the server—since this morning. Please, be honest with me. Are you unwell? Has something happened?"
The genuine worry in her voice struck him. This wasn't a scripted response. She was truly concerned about him.
Malachar made a decision. If he was going to survive in this world, he needed allies. And who better than the beings who were literally programmed to be loyal to him?
"Sit,"he said, gesturing to a chair. "We need to talk."
Morgianna's eyes widened slightly—clearly not something she'd expected—but she obeyed, sitting with perfect posture on the edge of the seat.
"What I'm about to tell you will sound insane,"Malachar began, pacing the room. "But I need you to listen carefully. This morning, I experienced something... unusual. My memories feel fragmented. There are things I remember that don't seem to match this world. Another life, almost. A different existence."
He watched her reaction carefully. She leaned forward, listening intently.
"I remember being someone else,"he continued. "Someone weak, powerless. Someone who lived in a world without magic, without power. And then, suddenly, I was here. As if that life had been a dream, and this—"he gestured to the room, to himself, "—is the reality I've awakened to."
Morgianna was silent for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. Then she spoke, her voice gentle.
"Master, there are legends of such things. The ancient texts speak of the Transference—moments when souls slip between worlds, when the barriers grow thin. It's said that the most powerful beings sometimes exist simultaneously across multiple realities, and that occasionally, their consciousness shifts between them."
Malachar stopped pacing. She wasn't dismissing him as insane. She was taking him seriously.
"So this has happened before?"
"In legend only,"she said. "But you are no ordinary being, my Lord. You are one of the Eternal Overlords, a force of nature given form. If such a thing were to happen to anyone, it would be to someone of your magnitude."
It was a convenient explanation, one that fit within the game's lore system. Whether it was true or not, it gave him a framework to work within.
"And if this Transference has left me... disoriented? If I need time to adjust to this reality?"
Morgianna stood and moved closer, close enough that he could smell the faint scent of roses and copper that clung to her. "Then we will support you, my Lord. All of us. Thaxius, Celestine, Baelgor, and myself—we are yours, body and soul. If you need time to remember who you truly are, we will buy you that time. If you need to relearn your powers, we will protect you while you do so. You created us, gave us purpose and life. We will never betray you."
The fierce loyalty in her voice was both comforting and terrifying. In the game, he'd written elaborate backstories for each of his guardians, had spent hours crafting their personalities and motivations. He'd made them utterly devoted to Lord Malachar.
And now that devotion was real. These beings would die for him without hesitation. Would kill for him without question.
The weight of that responsibility settled on his shoulders like a physical burden.
"Thank you, Morgianna,"he said softly. "Your loyalty means more than you know."
She smiled, a beautiful and terrible expression. "It is my honor to serve, Master. Now please, drink. Even if your memories are confused, your body's needs remain. You must feed to maintain your strength."
Malachar looked at the goblet of blood. Every part of his former human self recoiled at the idea. But he was no longer human, was he? This body had different needs, different requirements.
He picked up the goblet and drank.
It didn't taste like blood should taste—metallic and revolting. Instead, it was rich, almost sweet, with an underlying warmth that spread through his body like liquid energy. He could feel his power stabilizing, strengthening. The drink wasn't just sustenance; it was pure life force condensed into physical form.
When he finished, Morgianna was smiling with relief. "Better?"
"Yes,"he admitted. "Much better."
"Good. Now, there are matters that require your attention. Several of our vassal lords have responded to your summons. They will arrive for the council in two days. Additionally, scouts have reported unusual activity along our southern border. A large force appears to be gathering, though we haven't identified their allegiance yet."
Malachar's mind shifted into tactical mode. A gathering force could be the Luminar Kingdom preparing their offensive, or it could be the Merchant Confederation making a move. Either way, he needed more information.
"Send aerial scouts,"he ordered. "I want to know exact numbers, composition, and capabilities. Also, double our border patrols."
"Already done, my Lord,"Morgianna said with a slight smile. "I took the liberty of anticipating your orders."
He nodded approvingly. His guardians weren't just powerful—they were intelligent and proactive. That would make his adjustment to this world much easier.
"Is there anything else you require of me tonight?"she asked.
Malachar considered. There was so much he needed to learn about this world, about the current political situation, about threats and opportunities. But he was exhausted—mentally if not physically. The shock of his transformation, the weight of his new reality, all of it was catching up to him.
"No, thank you. I need to rest and... collect my thoughts."
Morgianna bowed. "Of course, Master. I'll ensure you're not disturbed. Sleep well, and may your dreams show you the truth of your power."
After she left, Malachar stood alone in his chambers once more. He moved to the massive bed—an enormous four-poster affair with black silk sheets—and sat on its edge.
Did he even need to sleep? In the game, rest had been a mechanic to restore mana, but his character hadn't required actual sleep.
But he felt tired. The mental exhaustion was real enough.
He removed his crown and robes, setting them carefully aside, and lay back on the bed. The silk was cool against his skin, comfortable in a way his old apartment's bed had never been.
As he stared at the ceiling, watching shadows dance from the ever-burning purple flames in the braziers, Malachar thought about what came next.
He had power now. Real power. The kind he'd dreamed about during all those lonely nights in his apartment. He could reshape this world, bend it to his will. No more being overlooked, dismissed, powerless.
But power came with responsibility, with consequences. Every action he took would ripple out across this world. People would live or die based on his decisions.
Could he live with that?
The face of Morgianna came to mind—the genuine concern in her eyes, the fierce loyalty in her voice. She was real. They were all real. This wasn't just a game anymore. These were living, thinking, feeling beings who depended on him.
Lord Malachar had been a villain in the game, a dark overlord that players could fight against. But Kazuki had never thought about what it meant to truly be that villain. To make the choices that came with absolute power.
As sleep finally claimed him, his last conscious thought was a question:
Who was he now? Kazuki Yamamoto, the nobody who'd stumbled into power? Or Lord Malachar, the Sovereign of Shadows who'd always existed in this world?
Perhaps he was both. Perhaps he was neither.
Perhaps he would have to forge a new identity entirely—something that combined the strategic mind of the gamer with the terrible power of the overlord.
One thing was certain: The world would know his name, one way or another.
And he would make sure they never forgot it.