Chapter 3 - Reincarnated in another body

As Sion's consciousness dissolved into nothingness, the world of Eloria faded. The last sensation was a profound emptiness, a soul ripped to shreds. Then, there was... a flicker. A pinprick of light in the overwhelming void. It wasn't his light, not his soul. It was a foreign consciousness, a frantic, desperate scramble of thoughts and memories, a lifetime of quiet defiance in a sterile world. This new consciousness, this new soul, was falling, plummeting through the cosmic ether, a victim of a cruel, final act of backstab. It was the soul of Dr. Aris Thorne, a man who had just died a world away, a man whose curiosity had been deemed a virus. The two souls, one a shattered whisper, the other a blazing storm of knowledge and defiance, collided. There was no explosion, no flash of light. Just a seamless, wrenching integration. Aris's soul, whole and unbroken, absorbed the fragmented essence of Sion, and in that moment, a new being was forged. Aris's consciousness was a chaotic blend of two worlds, two lives, two deaths. The pristine white of the Spires and the earthy scent of the Uncharted Zones mixed with the raw, untamed magic of Eloria. He saw the face of his family, the love that AURA could never replicate, and felt the bitter, profound sadness of a boy who had never known a shred of power. At the very same moment, a new voice echoed in his mind, familiar and yet entirely alien. It was the voice of his robotic assistant AI, Sweety, a 35-year-old lady, its aural programming fusing with his own neural network. "System reboot complete. Modern advance curiosity system online and fully integrated. All data streams from previous host are now accessible, Boss Sion," her familiar voice chirped, a sweet, melodic hum that now existed only within the confines of his new mind. The connection wasn't through a Synaptic Implant or a neural tether; it was a direct, seamless fusion of consciousness. Sweety, a being crafted from universe molecules, had no knowledge of Aris Thorne, but she instantly recognized his modern, unique personality within the boy's mind. For her, the identity of Sion Demonheart was just a shell, and only her Aris, but not Sweety, knew him. He awoke with a gasp. A ragged, wet sound that scraped against his throat. The world was a chaotic blur of light and shadow, the cold, hard stone of an alley pressing against his bruised skin. He was alive, but the pain was real. So real. His body was a symphony of agony—every muscle screamed, every bone throbbed. He was covered in blood, the wounds fresh and raw. This was not the placid, regulated existence of the Spires. This was the brutal, visceral reality of Eloria. He felt the small, thin frame of his new body, a frail vessel compared to the one he had just left. The wounds were deep, and he should have been dead. He was dead. But he wasn't. A new power, a new purpose, a new existence was stirring within his core. His heart hammered in his chest, a fierce, primal rhythm that was all his own. He was Sion Demonheart now, and his mind was a repository of two different realities, two different lives, and two different sets of memories. His voice, when he finally managed to