Cooro 3 or Some other name POV, whatever

  Like the Cooro just one POV age I was choked to death by a deranged killer–unlike him I awoke as a baby in a cradle belonging to royal family.

  Looming over me were the shadowed faces of my grandeur red haired father with a thin mustache and my forty something wrinkly faced mother with her blonde hair combed to look like a beehive. Looking at their faces I could tell…they are the kind of parents who tolerate professions that live up to their standards.

  Even the way the dad talked to his infant son told me how evil he was.

  “You bear the Grizzhadt lineage, so expect training and discipline when you awaken as a Magic Swordsman or a Dragon Rider.”

  My mother didn’t say anything nor was their a smile on her face indicating she didn’t give birth to me out of love for a child, but to follow her husbands’ ambitions; might be jumping the gun thinking those are her intentions but I had the mind of a man old enough to know when a mother feels no love for her child.

  After that creepy moment they walked out of my room shutting the door down hard. I didn’t need to cry in a dark room all night with no one coming to know they weren’t going to come. They were dead inside, and I was unfortunate enough to be their son.

  The next seven years were spent knowing what the pinnacle of a father trying to give his son tough love can go. As an infant stuck in a cradle I would only see my father or my mother once every few months. A black haired maid with slanted eyes and straw thin bangs covering her forehead, Sheca, would come in to bottle feed me or change my diaper.

  It was bad enough my own parents alienated me from them but they left me in the hands of a real sadist–think Naberal Gamma from Overlord.

  When changing my diaper she would stick a small cylindrical metallic item in my diaper to stick into my bumhole. Pooping with this thing inside felt more like hitting teeth against a table corner from how the rims pressed against my bum cheeks. Then there was my bottle situation. The bottle had transparent red liquid in it with only a sliver of milk meshed in looking like a tree stem. I knew better than to drink it but like those Nurse Ratchet or Anne Wilkes she completely ignored my discomfort and shoved the bottle into my mouth.

  It tasted awful. The two foods I hated in my old life were chicken and red sauce–this tasted like they were blended together with radioactive acid mixed in. It was like sharp claws were scratching the inside of my throat then it burned, and it burned like a ghost pepper inside me. Whatever it was it probably would have killed me if I panicked too much–if that makes sense to you–but I learned the best way to help hot food go down is stroking the hairy side of your arm and the veiny side, rinse and repeat, until it goes down.

  The maid looked at me curiously. She was probably impressed that the baby knew self-stimulating techniques, however, she shrugged it off getting up and leaving the room.

  This carried on rinse-n-repeat until I was three years old and could finally leave my room. I didn’t get a birthday party or any presents in case you were wondering. I did get to try new clothes on for the first time and they were jockey garbs: a black vest with a white undershirt with black pants, a little brown boots with yellow foxing and a black hat.

  My parents were expecting me to climb on top of a horse and ride it at only three years old. In my previous-previous life I spent one summer taking horseback lessons–mistook a grub bin for a shit bin and tried cleaning with the horse still in the pen; big mistake.

  Although I hardly remember what I did at that camp, I knew how to stand on the peddles to get on this brown mares’ back. Even standing on my tippy toes and jumping a little I couldn’t get my lions above his legs; just like how Tanya the Evil can’t reach very high on bookshelves.

  Getting up was plausible only after hooking my aim over the horses’ back pulling myself until I was on top of it. I’ll give it to the horse, he’s a smart mare with how much I was thrashing my legs to get up and he didn’t move. I rewarded the docileness of this sweet creature stroking his long rigged neck…what followed after an unusually sweet moment in my reincarnated life was a strong smack on the horses’ hindquarter by the hands of my own father.

  With that single action the horse went from calm to overwhelmed and invigorating with crazy energy. The mare kicked his hind legs up neighing voraciously all from one smack on his rear end. It didn’t take a genius to know this would happen when father hurt him; immediately I gripped the reins for dear life!

  In my old life I went to an amusement park a total of five times–every single time I had a horrific experience riding on a rollercoaster. I was confident I could ride one at first, seemed like child' s play how it moved on a cookie-cutter track, but once I got on and it started moving I wouldn’t stop crying for my mother, and I was eight years old when it happened.

  In this life I’m only three years old, the velocity makes the ride I was on look tame and if I close my eyes to cry I’ll just fly off and crack my head–die like the little girl in Gone with the Wind.

  After hundreds of seconds of swinging around like a monkey clinging to a tree high off the ground in the middle of a maelstrom, the horse simmered down enough for me to loosen my fingers. I immediately went back to stroking the horse’s sturdy neck as a silent ‘Thank you’ for not killing me.

  My father of this world walced up following the end of the pony ride. It was too much to hope he was concerned for my safety; at the very least crack a smile his son was intuitive enough and lucky enough not to be thrown off. What I saw was a man disappointed, peeved.

  “Three years old and can’t even time a wild mare. How can he hope to ride a dragon after his awakening ceremony–my useless son.”

  If it wasn’t abundantly clear by the way he was talking about me beside my cradle when I was an infant…this man neither gave or rewarded love to anyone so I can expect this upbringing of having no real parental bond–I miss my annoying easily excited dad from my previous-previous life the more I have to live with this egomaniac.

  When I turned four years old my mother–who I haven’t seen in person since I was a baby in a cradle–gave birth to another son who was allowed to sleep by their bedside, was given breastmilk straight from my mothers’ jugs, teachers who give positive reinforcement and actually gets to eat at the same table as them instead of in my room with a mean butler jesting about the outside world's favorability to other princes.

  I can understand parents who make more mistakes with their firstborn trying to do better with their secondborn; I could not understand parents who alienate their firstborn with a lack of interest only to do a 180 for the secondborn being there for him at all times. After thirteen years of feeling like a prisoner rather than a son in my own home, I was finally going to have my Awakening Ceremony. This goes through my parents will have no choice but to accept me as their son or it will go the cliche route where I awaken a skill they don’t think is worthy of their family and kick me out.

  I spent thirteen years being told I needed to tame ravenously hungry animals, swinging a sword without a break longer than a pristine job study until I could recite scripture by heart and eating stale bread with rotten eggs and salted pork for dinner and unfeathered birds for breakfast. Regardless of my outcome…anything’s better than living the way I do now.

  For the first time in ever the lord/my father opened my door instead of a maid or butler. With indignation and expectation–like looking through the rest mist in Primal where Fang and Spear massacred armless but not so innocent slave traders.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Get up. Let’s get this over with.”

  No ‘good morning son’ or ‘ready for your big day?’, just more of his authoritative tone with undisguised malice. I wasn’t the son he wanted me to be, and this ceremony was the last chance to see if I even belonged.

  We sauntered down the hallway. The hall was encompassed by bright lights refracting through the windows. Today marked the first day of spring which meant more bugs would be out…good for them and more importantly good for me. I wouldn’t say I had a secret in my life since I had absolutely no one to interact with but I’m really a level 100 insect hivemind. I paid attention to what skill I snagged when I was on the brink of death waiting for my Resurrection Stone to work when it didn’t, and everyone knows reincarnators can read their status just by saying ‘Status’. My skill allowed me to communicate with insects.

  It started as a way to pass the time trapped in a baby’s body until I told an ant to help a caterpillar about to be devoured by a magpie. The ant clasped his pincers as hard as it could on the magpies’ tailfeather. With a yip it took off thinking maybe a predator was nipping at it. This action was met with armor shot right through its body. Some hunter fired that arrow, but I received 1 EXP with me so long as I’ve inflicted damage to them even if the amount is zero.

  I knew enough not to rely on rescuing other bugs to get EXP. My plan escalated to controlling bugs near dungeons to sneak in and bite a monster before an adventurer cleaved it in half, loped its head off, or used magic burn/freeze, or even confuse it to the point it will kill itself.

  Through this I was able to reach Lv 100, the max level in this world. Of course I wasn’t the only one in this world who reached their max level–so to progress further I needed items and knowledge. To obtain new items I commanded a queen to command her colony to find as many copper or silver coins on the ground and put them in an empty burrow until I arrived. I wasn’t allowed to go far from the compound of the castle which meant I couldn’t buy gear.

  For knowledge I learned to control mosquitos around the world looking for places that teach magic or martial art schools imparting it to me without leaving my room, sorta like a Youtube tutorial only this time it was happening in real time and I was giving it my utmost attention. The best way to master any magic was by learning to channel my inner aura to match the king of magic I needed to use.

  Basically through lots of practice I learned dozens of spells increasing my mana 1.2 for each new spell I learned. And by following these grinding methods from birth to age of awakening. I was confident no one could stand against me–not even my own father.

  Immediately after walking into the room a high priest in white robes with gold creases and orphrey held a staff in my face measuring what class unlocked. The man’s eyes were blinking rapidly like a Matrix character being downloaded new information. When it stopped he looked completely aghast.

  “Your highness…your son’s class is…Supreme Insect Ruler.”

  The king showed no shock or concern over me, he just hanged his hand on the table. “That is absurd! How can a child with my blood be born a trash insect ruler?! He should be a Tamer or a Dragon Rider…and yet…HE FORSAKES ME BY BEING AN ABOMINATION!”

  I’m seriously glad I didn’t have a father like him in my previous life as Toby Sampson. But this reaction from a noble father who first has unrealistic expectations for his child then calls him trash when he starts getting too famous for his liking only to beg for him to come home after all the cards in his hands blow away by a strong breeze his exiled child created…I was going to change this cycle with a little help from some tiny friends. The king, my father, was too busy glaring at me with invisible beams of hot death. He didn't notice the entire ceiling teeming with black carapaces that wouldn’t stop squirming.

  “You have brought shame to this family! I want you out of this house before sunset before I consider you an intruder and throw you into one of our cells!”

  He expected me to fall to the ground and beg like a servant who made a mistake, instead he got eyes undaunted by his vehemence and a smarmy smile.

  “No.”

  He looked at me with seething anger and a bulging vein on his forehead. “No?”

  “No, I just won’t leave this castle wandering around feeling hungry before joining an adventurers’ guild to raise through the ranks to S Rank eventually joining an expedition or tournament your a part of to show what a mistake you made and eventually get an anticlimactic ending where it doesn’t explain if I married one of my love interests and had kids or not even though my whole journey was a work of fiction. This is my castle now, so you and everyone can get out.”

  I probably spoke with a lot of hubris, but I got my point across and he was vividly angry to the point of his head exploding from all the red rising to his face. He was beyond reasoning now–that was something we actually shared–reaching for his scabbard he pulled out a rapier and got into his fencing position.

  “I was going to let you leave to survive as a parasite but you pushed your luck and vexed me beyond my limit. Prepare to die!”

  After getting his footing the way he wanted he lunged at me! In recent anime getting stronger for a character meant enemy movements would seem slower in their eyes; not something that actually happens to people no matter how much they train their bodies, but I appreciated seeing my tyrannical father moving like a streaming movie buffering on poor internet connection.

  There was a certain levity I felt seeing my proud father moving so lethargically. I took advantage of this by commanding one of the black carapaces to vomit sticky black goo falling down coating my right hand. The goo melded into my arm into the shape of a gauntlet and solidified into an actual gauntlet. It tightened firmly over my arm. If I knew how tightly it would be I would’ve cocked my fingers before letting it enshroud me. Now I looked like I was waving my hand at him.

  I guess looking like I wasn’t taking this fight seriously was the perfect way to shatter the man’s fragile ego. I pulled back my extension and thrust my palms into the sword of my reprehensible father. All it took was one blow from the gauntlet made from bug secretion to shatter the sword of my egotistical father. Even though it was destroyed with minimal effort. I was afraid the shrapnel would fly into my eyes. Thankfully it didn't. I looked at my father having a fringe of realization on his face when he noticed his sword was destroyed.

  If there was a moment he would stop the barbarism and ask me questions about what happened…it wasn’t there. He swerved to his high priest and roared “Don’t just stand there! Help me!”

  The priest gulped at my father’s command. He raised his staff imbued by a white light.

  “Holy Light Beam!”

  He fired a straight beam of light towards me. Like my fathers swing it was moving very slowly which meant my reflexes were faster than 0.0001 of a second; my carapaces were able to vomit goo down on my head faster than a high priest can shine light on me. Faster than a ray of light can beam down from the sun had a black exoskeleton embedded on my head in the shape of a helmet. By this time the beam was so close to my body I was practically kissing it, and in a millisecond I directed my helmet in the spot the beam was going to hit me refracting it towards my father.

  Unlike me he was completely unaware of the beam and was hit directly in the face. When the priest realized what he did he let out a loud, girlish shriek. The light dissipated leaving only encrusted ashes over his face and fizzled strands of hair. His eyes flitted to the priest, not as someone who tried to kill his own son but as a perplexed employer looking at someone he hired making a massive blunder.

  He looked like he was about to rant to him but choked it back. He flitted his attention back to me, blew ribbons of fire out his nasal cavity…finally his whole body was blazing with flames–an inferno fire that exuded flames and a burning atmosphere only a veteran dragon rider could manifest.

  His head couldn’t burn away two black carapaces hanging from the ceiling–all dripping black goo down completely covering my body to the point I looked like a mudhill exuding a strong miasma. It felt more foul inside than any of the times I had food poisoning and had to puke ‘n’ sleep to get better. This feeling was followed by my tyrannical father unleashing a stream of fire banking on me.

  I felt like I was trapped in a microwave being burned alive…a fleeting feeling when your LV 100 going through a metamorphosis getting stronger.

  “Burn you trash son of mine!” He yelled at my mudpile like I was a mouse on a laptop that wasn’t working. “Burn into smelch!”

  It was both a little cute how he tried so hard doing very little damage and a little disheartening it was coming from a man who was supposed to leave and try to protect me. Well, whatever, I was finished with my metamorphosis and was about to show this tyrant what real power was.

  He finally stopped, probably thinking I burned to death under my mudpile. Any pain inflicted ebbed away when I moved my hands controlling the exoskeleton worn on them. This would be a perfect time to change POVs.

  Dragon Rider Noble’s POV

  He was supposed to have his spirit broken and fulfill his role as a Dragon Rider or a Tamer. When the king learned his son was an Insect Ruler it was like stepping on a thimble in his bare feet, tripping over it in exaggerated effect, and losing possessions from the last twelve years down a high tower being lost forever. After going through excruciating pain brought on by such a small piece the obvious answer was to throw it away, which he tried to do with his son.

  It wasn’t like he was his only son. There were harlots out there cooing for his illegitimate sons for a monthly allowance–all of whom were their own children they better cared for just so if his first born failed he could replace him with another. That plan was falling apart as the son rebelled against his orders, breaking his sword and sending his high priest attack towards him covering his face in darkened skin and hair strands.

  He didn’t know where his son got that power, gods know he didn’t pay much attention to his upbringing, but by showing him such vexation he left him no choice but to use his innate dragon powers. Unleashing a widespread river of fire towards him his son retaliated covering his body in black goo. To him it seemed like an asinine way to shield himself by burying himself alive when fire scorched the surface he was hiding in. A pathetic end to a pathetic heir…or so he thought.

  The top of the mound started to jiggle like those gelatin desserts his chefs made he didn’t share with his sons–only wife and daughters–unless they awaken as a Dragon Rider or as a Tamer. The mound grew large pipe looking arms on the side as the mound shook like like a pine tree.

  Suddenly, actual legs grew out of the bottom of the hill allowing the mound to stand straight up. What was once just a mound of tar started molding into something more human. It had a tricorn shaped base where the hair would be, big googley eyes like a chameleon but with white splotches in place of pupils, an etched white mouth with a small incisor on the top, blocky armored frame, and wings completely smothered in tar. Although the king found insects to be a plague to this world both literally and an abhorrent species he wanted to exterminate, however, his son turning into a bug knight exoskeleton right after awakening was a commendable feat even to a ruthless father like him.

  History would gloss over his legitimate son today making it seem like an insect god killed him and he as the strong noble king avenged him. He conjured the essence of his Benial dragon surging through his body, let the energy flare from his trachea to his eyes erupting in a spark of fire then released a tribeam of fire shooting straight towards his freak of a son!