Hybrid's Dominion

 ** Chapter 1 Transmigration**

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the bustling streets of Ikeja, Lagos.

The air was thick with the scent of roasted plantains, fried akara, and the faint tang of exhaust fumes from the endless stream of cars. 

Paul Vaneke, a young university student with a backpack slung over one shoulder, weaved through the crowded marketplace.

 His mind was elsewhere, preoccupied with the upcoming exams and the weight of his future. He barely noticed the commotion brewing a few blocks away.

From nowhere, a sudden burst of gunfire shattered the relative calm.

 It was a gunfight between two local cult groups, their rivalry spilling into the streets with deadly consequences. 

Panic erupted as people scrambled for cover, their screams blending with the cacophony of honking cars and shouting vendors. 

Paul ran with the crowd, his heart pounding in his chest. He ducked behind a stall, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

But before he could find a safer place to hide, a searing pain tore through his side. 

A stray bullet from the fight had found its mark. He looked down to see blood spreading across his shirt, staining the fabric a deep crimson. 

His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the cracked pavement.

The world around him blurred. The shouts of people, the wail of distant sirens, the feel of the rough ground beneath him—it all faded into a muffled haze.

 Paul's vision darkened, and his last thought was a quiet, resigned realization: 'This is it. I'm going to die.'

---

When Paul opened his eyes again, he was no longer in Lagos.

The first thing he noticed was the cold. It seeped into his bones, sharp and biting, as if the very air was alive with frost. 

The second was the sound—a low, rhythmic drumming that he soon realized was the pounding of rain. 

He was lying on a bed of damp leaves, the ground beneath him soft and muddy. 

Above him, the sky was a swirling mass of dark clouds, lit intermittently by flashes of lightning. 

Thunder rolled across the heavens, a deep, resonant growl that seemed to shake the very earth.

Paul tried to sit up, but his body felt… different. Heavier. Stronger. 

He looked down at his hands and gasped. They were small, resembling those of a baby, but his fingers ended in sharp claws. 

His skin was a dark, earthy brown, and when he touched his face, he felt the faint protrusion of tusks. His heart raced as he realized the truth: he was no longer human.

'What… what am I?'.he thought, his voice—a child's voice—trembling with fear and confusion.

A shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see a towering figure standing above him. 

She was an orc, her green skin marked with scars that spoke of countless battles. Her tusks were slightly longer and more pronounced than his, but her eyes were soft, filled with a warmth that immediately put him at ease.

"My son," she said, her voice a low, guttural rumble that carried a surprising tenderness. She knelt beside him, her large hands gently cradling him in her arms.

"I am Mira," she said, her thumb brushing away a streak of mud from his cheek. "Your mother."

Paul's mind reeled. 'Mother?'

He wanted to protest, to tell her that this was all a mistake, but the words caught in his throat. 

Instead, he stared up at her, his small, clawed hands gripping her arm as if she were his only anchor in this strange new world.

Mira carried him up, her strength effortlessly supporting his unsteady limbs. 

Paul's new body felt foreign, but Mira's presence was a grounding force.

She carried him through the rain-soaked forest, her hands wrapped protectively around him. 

The trees loomed overhead, their branches swaying in the storm, and the scent of wet earth and pine filled the air.

As they approached the outskirts of a small village, Paul noticed the stares. The other orcs watched them from a distance, their expressions a mix of curiosity and disdain. Whispers followed them, carried on the wind.

"A hybrid…" 

"An abomination…" 

"The storm… it's an omen…"

Mira ignored them, her head held high. She led Paul to a small hut on the edge of the village, its roof patched with animal hides and its walls reinforced with thick logs. 

Inside, the air was warm, the scent of herbs and smoke filling the space. A fire crackled in the hearth, its light casting flickering shadows on the walls.

Mira laid him down on a pile of furs and began tending to him. She wiped the mud from his skin, dressed him in warm furs, and breastfed him. 

Paul sucked in silence, his mind still struggling to process everything that had happened. The warmth of her milk and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his tiny body brought him a strange sense of comfort.

As the storm raged outside, Mira cradled him, her large frame casting a protective shadow. She reached out, her hand resting on his.

"You are special, my son," she said, her voice soft but firm. "The heavens themselves announced your arrival. I will not let the doubts of others cloud my heart. You are my child, and I will love you no matter what."

Paul looked up at her, his eyes wide. 'So that's what their expressions were all about,'he thought.

Mira's expression softened, and her touch remained gentle. "They fear what they do not understand. You are different, and that frightens them. But you are not alone. I will always be here for you."

Tears welled in Paul's eyes, and he leaned into her embrace. For the first time since his rebirth, he felt a sense of safety, of belonging. The storm outside seemed to echo his tumultuous emotions, the thunder rolling like the drums of fate.

Mira whispered, her voice barely audible over the storm. "No matter what happens, know that I will always love you."

Paul closed his eyes, the weight of her words settling over him like a warm blanket. In that moment, he knew that his journey was just beginning—a journey that would take him from the depths of despair to the heights of greatness.

And it all started with a mother's love.