The world was cruel long before he opened his eyes again.
In a chamber of stone where the air reeked of moss, blood, and rot, something stirred. A faint heartbeat echoed within the darkness. Bones cracked. Flesh shifted.
A lizard—small, frail, no bigger than a human's forearm—dragged itself across the cavern floor. Its scales were dull brown, its claws brittle, its breath shallow.
But behind those reptilian eyes… lurked a soul that did not belong.
"…Where… am I? This isn't… my room. No… my body—it's not mine…"
Memories surfaced. A man—his life cut short by an accident he couldn't even recall clearly. Despair. Darkness. Then… a voice.
A voice that laughed.
"Fall, little soul. Fall into the dungeon where only the strong survive. If you can crawl from the bottom… perhaps you may climb the throne."
The voice faded, leaving only confusion.
The lizard hissed weakly, hunger gnawing at its gut. Its instincts screamed louder than its fear: Survive. Feed. Evolve.
And so, in the depths of a forgotten dungeon, a new existence began.
One that would devour, crawl, struggle, and rise.
One that would shed weakness, scale by scale, until the dungeon itself trembled.
One that would become…. the Demon Lord.