Absolutely. Here's your dramatically reimagined and immersive version of the prologue, infused with rich internal monologue, dramatic tension, and the cold, elegant intensity fitting of a Sesshōmaru-inspired protagonist.
Prologue — "Requiem Before Rebirth"
No One's POV
The sun scorched the Texas pavement like a brand, gleaming against the hoods of cars and glass towers. The city pulsed with life. Children laughed. Vendors shouted. Life moved with the careless grace of routine.
Inside a downtown bank, the air was cool and sterile. A clock ticked. Conversations hummed softly.
At the rear of the line stood a young man named Ben Bartlett—tall, lean, poised with an unnatural stillness. His golden eyes scanned the room with detached calm, though none seemed to notice. Clutched in his hand was a withdrawal slip, the final key to a minor victory: purchasing a PC copy of Inuyasha: Secret of the Cursed Mask—a relic of his childhood, but something sacred.
Ben's POV
(Soon. It will be mine. Not because I need it—but because it is owed to me. A tribute to who I once was... and what I intend to become.)
I had watched every episode of Inuyasha, memorized every cadence of Sesshōmaru's voice, every motion of his blade. It was more than nostalgia. It was legacy.
But peace is a fragile illusion.
Robber:"GET ON THE GROUND!"
The scream tore through the bank like a gunshot. A child cried. Panic bloomed like fire. People dropped. Others froze.
My eyes turned—unhurried, cold.
They came in masks and Kevlar, weapons raised. Five men, one at each entrance. They moved like sharks through a school of fish.
I knelt slowly, deliberately, as chaos erupted. One of them moved toward a girl not far from me—maybe eighteen, maybe less. She whimpered. He struck her with the stock of his rifle.
Robber:"Stay on the ground, bitch!"
(Fool.)
I felt it then—a familiar burn. Not of fear, but of contempt. I clenched my fist. Not yet. Precision requires patience.
~ Ten Minutes Later ~
The air grew thick with sweat and fear. The sound of distant sirens wailed through the walls.
One of the robbers near me cursed.
Robber:"Shit—it's the cops!"
I shifted slightly, unseen. My fingers found the cold hilt of a pocket knife hidden beneath my sleeve. A gift from my grandfather. One I had never needed—until now.
The other robbers scrambled to reinforce the front. He turned his head. That was his final mistake.
I rose, silent as mist. My hand seized his mouth. The blade plunged upward—skull base to brainstem.
No sound.
He collapsed in my arms like a puppet with severed strings.
I stripped his rifle and sidearm—AK-47, Glock 19—and turned to the girl. Her eyes were wide. Disbelief. Relief.
Me: "Are you injured?"
She shook her head.
Tears fell.
She kissed my cheek.
I raised a hand to her lips.
Me: "Spare your gratitude. Gather the others. Take them through the rear exit. I will draw them away."
I handed her the rifle. She hesitated. I held her gaze.
Me: "We do not have the luxury of fear. Are you ready?"
A trembling nod.
I moved through the hall like a phantom, each step silent and sure. I rounded the corner and saw them—three clustered near the entrance. Alert. Nervous.
I raised the rifle.
(Let precision guide me.)
BANG.
The first dropped.
They turned.
BANG.
A second fell.
The third fired. I pivoted behind cover. Bullets sparked against marble.
I fled down the hallway, boots pounding against tile.
(If they follow, the girl escapes. That is enough.)
But fate, cruel and predictable, met me at the end of a hallway—a door, locked. Dead end.
Gunfire behind me.
Then—
Silence.
3rd Person POV
Ben's body lay still, curled in the embrace of death.
But his soul drifted skyward, weightless and unbound, until it floated above a field of cloud and starlight. At the center stood a robed figure—majestic, ancient, radiating a warmth that stilled even time.
God.
Ben's POV
God:"Young man... I'm sorry. You died."
I looked down at my hands. No blood. No wound. Only clarity.
Me: "Hmph. It was inevitable. Am I to ascend?"
God:"Ordinarily, yes. But what you did..."
I turned sharply.
Me: "The girl. The others. Are they safe?"
A soft, fatherly smile spread across his face.
God:"All of them. They escaped because of you. The girl you saved became a police officer. You—Ben Bartlett—became a symbol. A name remembered in prayers and classrooms."
I felt something unfamiliar stir. Not pride. Not joy.
Peace.
Me: "...Then that is enough. Do not tell me of my family. Let them mourn in silence. I would rather remember their smiles."
A single tear traced God's cheek.
God:"You have a noble heart. For that... I grant you something rare: reincarnation. Into any world you choose."
Me: "Will I retain my memories?"
God:"Yes. And you may have two wishes."
I took a breath.
And for the first time in this life... I made a true decision.
Me: "Send me to the world of Overlord. My first wish: to be Sesshōmaru—his power, his elegance, his soul. My second: to serve at Ainz Ooal Gown's side as the Overlord of Life—his enforcer, his executioner, his balance."
God raised his hand.
God:"Wish granted."
The light consumed me.
Overlord Universe – Nazarick, 12th Floor
The air was heavy with magic, rich and ancient.
Ben opened his eyes.
No... not Ben.
Sesshōmaru.
He stood in a chamber of obsidian and gold. His silver hair flowed down his back like moonlight on silk. His claws curled with quiet strength. His armor gleamed, unmarred.
A HUD flickered into view:
Name: Sesshōmaru, Overlord of Life
Race: Daiyōkai
Class: Demon Warlord
Rank: Second-in-Command of Nazarick
He glanced at his reflection—cold, regal, beautiful.
The crescent moon shone on his forehead.
He turned from the mirror.
Me: "So be it. Let the age of demons begin."