Although he had recently been killed, an indescribable warmth now surrounded him. He was held tight. His eyes were open. His glare was powerful, unlike any human child before him, enough to send shivers down your back.

- “Look! My son will grow up to be a mighty warrior! With eyes that can pierce through your soul, one cannot doubt the potential of this boy!“

The woman shouted out to no one in particular.

- “My son, I name you Lazarus! This piercing glare of yours, is a sign that you have been gifted by the gods. Lazarus, it is a most fitting name for you!"

As most mothers do, the woman held her son in the highest regards. To her, he was the most beautiful baby to be born in the long history of Amalus. He was the one. The one that was going to bring the gods back to the mortal planes, the one to bring the human race to salvation, and save them from the hopelessness and inferiority that almost seemed to drown what little pride they had left.

However, to any other onlooker it was just a normal baby. Average size, average weight, some screams here and there; well perhaps besides his eerily piercing glare. Almost as if the baby had already decided that, it was miles and miles above every being that had laid a foot on the land of Amalus.

This was however far from the truth. The meaning behind the piercing glare was never directed at anything of this world. Nay, the glare that came from the eyes of Lazarus was directed at the ones who had killed him back in his own world. He was furious. He felt that his rage could boil over any minute, erupt and the burn the world down to the last bit of life, only to then explode and disappear into the void.

As time passed, Lazarus noticed a terrible screech coming from somewhere near. He was not able to locate the source of the noise, but it was bugging him. Oh, it was bugging him. He wanted to shout and scream.

Who the hell is making noise when I’m trying to think here?!

The source of the scream was Lazarus himself, but he did not know. When he finally noticed it was himself, he had been screaming for what seemed like decades to the nearby gladiators, who were about to fight a battle to death, only to fight a few more and then… well fight some more.

The only one not bothered by the noise was the woman who held Lazarus in her bosom. She gently stroked him on the body, and nudged the body as if to calm the Lazarus down.

After taking in his surroundings for a while, Lazarus finally tried to organize all the new impressions he had gotten.

For starters, I was killed just recently but now I am alive again. Secondly, I am no longer in my old body but rather in the body of a baby. Thirdly, this woman keeps calling me her son and even named me Lazarus. From this knowledge, we can assume that I have in fact been reborn as Lazarus, and this woman is my mother. She sure is… well I would not call her a looker, but she certainly is not ugly. Now then, what is this place?

As Lazarus came to terms with his new form, he started to absorb every detail from the surroundings he could. What he could see however was limited. His body’s mobility was laughable, and his mother’s hold was terrifying to be honest. His eyes were pretty much locked onto her face, since he was not able to turn his head. Whenever she had to adjust her hold and slightly lifted him up, he had the chance to catch a glimpse of his whereabouts.

This whole situation is so bizarre that I do not know even where to start. Well I guess I can start by confirming that humans exist here. Or can I? Being in this situation itself is defying logic, so in that case it wouldn’t be strange if those battle-clad humans were some sort of shape shifters would it?

Due to Lazarus being so unattached to his old world in addition to the fact that he was naturally suspicious of everything (owing to the fact that he was bullied in the past), he was not one to dwell on the past too much.

Well besides the anger, he felt towards his killers. If he had died of natural reasons and then reborn in another world he would shout in happiness. This was a chance for him to start a new life, but this was not the case. The grudge he bore was comparable to weight of the world, or that is what it felt like to him anyways.

It was as if his nerves had been poisoned and his endorphins had been corrupted. Every time he felt just a speck of happiness from being reborn, the feeling was drowned out by a darkness many times more dreadful and absorbing. He felt the blood coursing in his veins, as if fueled by anger. However, he was calm. Calm like never before. As if the rage was had been forced-condensed into a smaller matter, and cultivated deep within his heart.

Lazarus made a decision right then and there. He would never stay passive like he did in his prior life. He would show every time he was dissatisfied. Moreover, he would not hesitate to get rid of pestilences that were a thorn in his side.

These convictions coupled with his already near-paranoia suspiciousness fueled by his rage would soon bear its results, and leave a small footprint on the history of Amalus; however, that is a story for another time...

Quote:The story is still immature and the chapters are short - so bear with me! My goal is having at least 2k words for every chapter, but for now they will be between 1-2k.