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The Regnum Auternum: The Fallen Messiah's Tainted's Doctrine

rielmoon
> **"Again and again, I'll repeat the cycle. My existence itself is a threat to any world—but I will have my freedom."** > **Leornars** is the multiverse's most enduring prisoner. His true body is sealed in the Silver Tower beyond the Silver Sea, bridging two massive Link Realms of infinite dimensions. To survive, he projects avatar bodies into the worlds below. He has traversed 83,000 realms, lived in 59 million worlds, and died over half a billion times—with every ounce of agonizing pain wired directly back to his true body. The cruelest rule of his existence? The **Monarchs**. Every time Leornars’ avatar turns 19, these absolute entities descend and completely erase the world he is in. He has been a hero and a villain, fighting alongside and being betrayed by the same souls reincarnated across different universes. Now, his time is running out. With every reincarnation, his avatar's abilities deplete. If they empty, he faces permanent death. To survive, Leornars must find a world dense enough to sustain his existence, cultivate its inhabitants into allies strong enough to defy the supreme **Goddess Minum**, and locate his mother—whom he believes is still alive in her true form. The 500,000,001st cycle begins now. This time, Leornars isn't just trying to survive until 19. He is preparing a revolution. Leornars was born in a small, forgotten village, raised only by his mother — the only person who ever loved him. Their quiet life was shattered when he was framed for a crime he never committed, branded a monster, and forced to watch his own mother be executed by the very people they had lived alongside. Betrayed, broken, and filled with burning hatred for the unfairness of the world, he died… only to wake up reborn in a realm far crueler and more divided than his own. This new world is ruled entirely by humans, who see themselves as the supreme race. Demi‑humans, beastfolk, elves, orcs, and all other beings are treated as nothing more than slaves, tools, or pests — abused, exploited, and killed without consequence. The Holy Church and royal kingdoms enforce a twisted morality: only humans deserve justice, only humans have value, and anyone else exists to serve or suffer. Leornars is not reborn as a hero chosen by the light. Instead, he is forged from the Abyss itself — a unique hybrid of celestial and abyssal blood, granted power that is both holy and cursed. He is named the Fallen Messiah, and to the powerful, he becomes known as the White Plague: a terrifying force that sweeps across lands, toppling kings, burning down corrupt temples, and dismantling every law and belief that keeps the weak chained. He does not fight for “good” or “evil” — he fights to rewrite the definition of justice. Rejecting the fake righteousness of those in power, he stands with the oppressed: the demi‑humans, the outcasts, the abandoned, and all who have suffered under human tyranny. He gathers loyal companions — Stacian, Zhyelena, Shullah, and others — and builds an army not of conquerors, but of survivors. Together, they carve out a new land, and from it rises Regnum Aeternum — the Eternal Kingdom: a nation where every race stands equal, where power belongs to those who protect, not those who rule. Cold, brilliant, and ruthless to his enemies, Leornars is seen as a devil by the world’s rulers, but a savior by those he protects. He knows his hands are stained, his doctrine is “tainted”, and his path is bloody — but he believes that a new, just world can only be built by tearing down the rotten one that exists. His war is not just for land or power; it is a war against the lies, hypocrisy, and cruelty that have poisoned the world since its beginning. As he faces ancient gods, hidden truths, and enemies who will do anything to preserve the old order, Leornars must decide: how far is he willing to go to make his doctrine the new truth of the world And will the “Eternal Kingdom” he builds be a paradise — or a grave he dug for
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The Dark Prince's Lover

The dance ended with a final, graceful spin. Lord Greyson released Dydra with a courteous smile, his admiration lingering in his eyes as he gave a slight bow. “A pleasure, as always,” he said lightly. Dydra returned the smile out of habit, though her thoughts were already elsewhere. She gave a small excuse and stepped away, her gaze drifting across the ballroom as if searching for something—someone. But whatever she sought, she did not find. A faint frown creased her brows. Without another word, she turned and slipped out of the ballroom, heading toward the quiet of the garden. The cool night air should have calmed her. It didn’t. “You’re letting other men touch you?” The voice came from behind her—low, unhurried… almost lazy. But Dydra’s entire body reacted instantly. A sharp shiver ran through her. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was. That voice carried something unmistakable beneath its calm surface—something restrained. Something dangerous. “I—it’s not—” Her voice broke mid-sentence. Panic tightened her throat as cold sweat formed along her skin. “Need I remind you,” he continued evenly, each word measured, “who you belong to?” The calmness was the most terrifying part. Not anger. Not shouting. Just control—tight, absolute control. Dydra parted her trembling lips again, but no sound came. Her mind went blank. Then suddenly— A hand closed around her waist. Firm. Possessive. Her breath caught as her eyes squeezed shut on instinct, her body going still. “Dydra,” his voice dropped to a whisper, closer now. “Who do you belong to?”
Lizzie_4218 · 166.8k Views

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