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... it was changed irrevocably. It had digested an endless amount of shadows, and it had woken up as darkness itself. Death was only a tiny part of it now, no bigger than the lingering influence of the dead river that flowed by its lair.

It had been a god for years. Then, after that, when it had reconstructed its lair to replace its phylactery, it had become something greater, but it was only now that it fulfilled the promise of that terrible potential that it had created. At this point, it ...

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The night is coming, and evil whispers in my ear:

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A Professional Transmigrator meets a newbie Regressor.

❄️❄️❄️

He lived an average, fulfilling life and died of old age. The next moment, he opened his eyes as the Princess of Asmaria.

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