The world he had known slipped away as the blood stained his hands, and the life drained from his body. His final breath felt like a cruel joke.

Betrayed. Murdered. Alone.

Anshuman had always been feared, respected, and above all, powerful. His underworld empire stretched far and wide, built on blood, loyalty, and the cold steel of his will. But in the end, it was the very man he had trusted the most—the one who had once called him brother—that brought him to the brink of death.

As his body crumpled to the cold concrete floor, he felt no more pain, only a heavy, suffocating darkness pulling him into the void.

I should have seen it coming.

The world was dark, silent. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel. A void. Endless. He floated aimlessly, the weight of his final moments heavy on his chest.

Then came a light—a small spark of warmth in the distance. Slowly, he felt himself drawn to it, as though the very essence of his being was being pulled toward it. He tried to speak, but no sound came from his lips. His thoughts were a blur of rage and confusion.

He hadn’t finished his mission. He hadn’t avenged his betrayal.

The light grew brighter until, with a jolt, it enveloped him. And then—silence.

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Anshuman opened his eyes.

Everything was wrong. His body, his senses, his very being felt... different.

His first instinct was panic—he wasn’t in his old world anymore. The once sharp and dominating power within him felt... weak. What is this place?

The surroundings were unfamiliar, a stark contrast to the grim underworld he had left behind. The air smelled fresh, but it was mixed with the scent of decay, as if life itself had been forgotten here. He tried to move, but his limbs felt heavy, unresponsive.

"Grandfather, are you awake?" a voice broke through his thoughts.

Anshuman turned his head slowly to see a frail old man standing beside him, concern etched on his face. His grandfather—the one who had raised him. The only person left from the life he knew.

"I—" Anshuman’s voice was weak, unfamiliar, and he gasped in shock as he saw the hands that had once been strong and deadly, now frail and trembling.

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He tried to sit up, but his body betrayed him, crumbling back into the bed. "What... what happened to me?"

The old man’s face softened with sadness. "You were dying, Anshuman... but you’re alive now. The illness... it’s gone. You’re stronger than before."

The words barely made sense to him. His mind raced. This isn’t my body. This isn’t my world.

"Stronger?" Anshuman’s voice was low, confused, but something stirred deep inside him—an anger, a fire that he thought was lost. His hand instinctively clenched into a fist. He might be weak in this body, but his soul still burned. He felt the rage rising within him.

"What happened to me? Where am I?" Anshuman demanded, ignoring the questions that plagued his mind. His thoughts were jumbled, the world around him unfamiliar.

The old man, his grandfather, shook his head. "The sickness took you, but it seems... it didn’t take all of you." He paused, his eyes narrowing with a strange, unreadable expression. "You’re not the same, Anshuman. Something has changed."

The weight of the words settled on Anshuman’s chest. His memories of the human world—his betrayal, his last moments—flashed before him like a series of fleeting images. His best friend’s face—the one who had killed him. The betrayal. The rage.

"My memories..." he muttered. "I... remember being betrayed. I remember dying."

The old man’s expression darkened. "I’m not sure what happened to you, but you’re here now. Alive. And there’s much you need to learn about this world, about what’s happening here."

Anshuman sat up fully, ignoring the weakness in his body. He glared at his grandfather, his mind sharpening. "This world... who rules it?" His mafia instincts were already at work—he wanted power. He wanted to understand the hierarchy.

"The world is divided," his grandfather replied slowly. "The kingdom you belong to is just one part of a vast land. There are three major tiers of kingdoms, each with its own rulers. The strongest reside at the top, while the weakest fight to survive at the edges."

Anshuman’s gaze hardened. "The strongest, you say?" He was used to power. He knew how to take it.

"Yes," the old man said, his voice tinged with both fear and reverence. "But the path to strength is not easy. You will need to train, to fight, to survive. You are not the only one with power. There are beasts, dark creatures, and other humans—some of them far more powerful than you can imagine."

A twisted grin tugged at Anshuman’s lips. "I’ve survived worse than this."

He had been betrayed by someone he called a brother, but in this world, no one would betray him again. He would climb the ranks, use every ounce of his past experience, and become the shadow that ruled this place.

His grandfather’s worried gaze met his, but Anshuman was already lost in his thoughts.

"Tell me more about this world," Anshuman said, his voice cold, the fire in his chest building once again. "I will rise. And anyone who stands in my way..."

He clenched his fists, the power from his past life whispering through his veins.

"...they will fall."