The silence in the apartment was broken only by the wheezing hum of the central processing unit and the frantic clicking of the stylus on the tablet. Leo could no longer feel his fingers. To be honest, he couldn't feel much else either, except for a red-hot iron bar that seemed to be piercing his skull.
"Just one last touch-up on the shadows..." he murmured, his eyes bloodshot.
A notification popped up at the bottom of his screen. An email from Giga-Corp: "Following a restructuring, we will be using AI to finalize your renderings. Payment within 90 days."
Leo remained motionless. Then, darkness. Not the darkness of a power outage. A deep, organic darkness, as if the universe had just been erased with a giant eraser. His heart stopped with a final sense of injustice, but his mind was sucked elsewhere.
The Rebirth:
When Leo opened his eyes, he saw no white light. He saw ink.
He was standing in the center of a massive circular room, carved out of stone so dark it seemed to absorb the faint glow of the blue torches. His hands... his hands were long, ebony claws. He wore black leather armor with purple highlights, its plates pulsating like a living creature.
In the center of the room stood a massive seat made of bone and obsidian: The Small Throne. A creature with pointed ears and parchment-like skin, dressed in a butler's livery that was far too large for him, bowed low in the shadows.
"Congratulations, Master Leo. You have survived the transition. Welcome to your dungeon. I am Vark, your evil advisor."
Leo tried to speak, but his voice came out like the rumbling of crushed basalt.
"Where am I? And why do I feel like I'm anchored to the ground?"
"You are the Dungeon God, Master. You cannot leave these walls, for you ARE this stone. Your essence is bound to this domain. But in exchange..." Vark pointed to a massive book floating in front of the throne. "You possess the Grimoire of Source. Everything you draw becomes reality."
Leo approached the book. He felt the power of the ink flowing through his demonic veins. He was a prisoner, yes, but for an artist who had spent his life in a nine-square-meter studio, this dungeon felt like an infinite canvas.
"I will redraw this world," Leo began, his claws grazing the first blank page. "And this time, no one will ask for free revisions."