A Tyrant In Dc

The room was impossibly warm, almost suffocating, as if the air itself was pressing down on me. My cries were uncontrollable, my tiny lungs pushing out pitiful wails I couldn't stop. Every movement I made felt foreign, uncoordinated, like my body wasn't mine—because it wasn't.

I flailed my tiny arms and legs, desperate to understand what was going on. The enormous shapes and blurry colors around me started to coalesce into a scene: a bed, bright medical lights, a woman lying down. The soft, rhythmic beeping of machines created an eerie lullaby.

"What… the hell?" I mumbled in my head, though all that came out were incomprehensible gurgles.

The woman—the one lying in the bed—looked down at me. Her face was pale, her dark hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. Despite her obvious exhaustion, she smiled. A tender, warm smile that instantly silenced my cries.

"He's beautiful," she whispered. Her voice was weak, barely more than a breath, but it carried an emotion I couldn't ignore.

She reached out, her fingers trembling, to touch my face. My tiny hand involuntarily grabbed one of her fingers, and for a moment, a strange sense of calm washed over me.

"You'll be called… Allen Walker," she said, her voice breaking slightly.

My heart—or whatever tiny organ I had now—skipped a beat. The name hit me like a freight train. Allen Walker? From D.Gray-Man? My mind raced, trying to comprehend what was happening.

"Wait, wait, wait," I thought, the absurdity of the situation dawning on me. "Is this… a joke? Did I get isekai'd into some weird parody?"

I tried to move, to speak, to do something, but all I could manage were feeble whimpers. "Oh my God," I thought, panic creeping in. "I'm a baby. A baby! Do you know how embarrassing this is? I'm going to have to grow up again! I have to learn to walk again. And talk. And… oh no, diapers. I am going to die of humiliation."

But before I could spiral further into my own ridiculous internal rant, something pulled me back to the present.

The woman—my mother—started to convulse. Her body jerked violently, her hand slipping away from mine. The serene smile vanished, replaced by a pained grimace.

"M-Mom?" I thought instinctively, the word foreign and unfamiliar on my mental tongue.

The machines erupted into chaos, alarms blaring as her body arched and twisted. My cries returned, loud and desperate, but not out of fear for myself this time. I was being lifted away, a nurse quickly pulling me from her arms and cradling me against their chest.

"Take the baby!" someone shouted. "She's seizing—get her stabilized!"

I watched as the nurses and doctors surrounded her, their voices frantic as they worked to save her.

"BP dropping—she's crashing!"

"Push another epi—come on, stay with us!"

"She's coding!"

The words blurred together, but the urgency in their tone was unmistakable. I couldn't look away, even as my tiny body trembled in the nurse's arms.

And then, silence.

The machines stopped their relentless beeping, replaced by a flat, monotone whine. The doctors and nurses froze, their faces falling as the reality set in.

"She's gone," someone said softly.

I didn't know her. She wasn't my real mother. But something inside me shattered at that moment. Tears streamed down my face, my cries filling the room again.

"Damn it," I thought bitterly. "I'm going to have to grow up without a mother. Again."

The staff around me exchanged glances, their expressions somber. Even the nurse holding me seemed to cradle me closer, as if to offer some small comfort.

"She knew this might happen," one of the doctors said, their voice tinged with guilt. "We told her she was too weak to deliver…"

"But she didn't care," another added. "She said she didn't care if it killed her. She wanted to meet her baby."

"She was smiling," one of the nurses whispered, her voice trembling. "Even at the end, she was smiling."

The weight of their words pressed down on me. I didn't know this woman—my mother—but she had died for me. She had given up everything just to bring me into this world. And I felt… nothing. No sadness, no connection. Only the faint echo of guilt for not feeling more.

I was placed in an incubator, the sterile environment surrounding me in a cocoon of glass and warmth. My cries had stopped, replaced by a heavy silence as I tried to process everything.

"Congratulations, Host. You have awakened the Tyrant System."

The words appeared again, glowing faintly in my mind. They were clear and calm, a stark contrast to the chaos I'd just witnessed.

"Great timing," I thought sarcastically.

The system didn't respond to my tone. Instead, it displayed more text:

System functions locked until Host's fifth birthday. Please grow and adapt.

"Five years? Are you kidding me? What am I supposed to do until then? Chew on rattles and cry for milk?"

No response. The system was silent, as if mocking me with its indifference. I let out a mental sigh, exhaustion finally catching up to me.

"Fine," I thought. "I'll deal with you later."

As my tiny body gave in to sleep, my last thoughts were of the woman who had given her life for me.

The next five years wouldn't be easy. But if this was my second chance, I wasn't going to waste it.

And so, Derek Carter—now Allen Walker—began his new life. The first five years passed in a blur of growth and preparation, his thoughts always lingering on the future.

But the story truly began on the day of his fifth birthday.