The Animagus: From Hunter to Monster

Here's the prologue for Financial Emperor: After I Rose from the Dead. It's designed to hook readers with Ethan's tragic fall, vivid emotions, and the mysterious twist of his regression—all within the 1300-word target. The tone is dark and gripping, setting the stage for his triumphant return. Let's dive in!PrologueThe glow of the dual monitors bathed Ethan Carver's face in a sickly blue hue, casting jagged shadows across his hollow cheeks. The room was a tomb of clutter—empty coffee cups stacked like gravestones, crumpled notes scrawled with market predictions, and a half-eaten sandwich fossilizing on a plate. Outside, the city hummed with late-night traffic, oblivious to the man unraveling within these four walls. It was 2:47 a.m., March 22, 2025, and Ethan was 28 years old, though he felt a century older.His bloodshot eyes darted between candlestick charts and crypto tickers, numbers dancing like cruel specters. Forex pairs blinked red and green—EUR/USD dipping, BTC/USD teasing a breakout. He muttered to himself, a fractured mantra: "It's there. It's there. I can still fix this." His fingers, trembling from caffeine and exhaustion, hovered over the keyboard, hesitating. The screen flickered, or maybe his vision did. He couldn't tell anymore.Three weeks ago, he'd had it all. A $2 million loan from First City Bank, leveraged to the hilt on a dream no one else believed in: digital money. Forex trades that turned thousands into tens of thousands overnight. Crypto bets that soared while skeptics sneered. The stock market, a slower beast, but one he'd tamed with precision. He was a visionary, a pioneer in a world that clung to paper cash and factory jobs like relics of a dying age. They called it cyber crime, a fool's game. Ethan called it the future.Then Jake happened.Jake Russo, his best friend since high school, the guy who'd shared cheap beers and big dreams. Jake, with his easy grin and promises of "one last deal." Ethan had trusted him with everything—the bank codes, the trading accounts, the plan to go all-in on a crypto surge. Two days later, the accounts were empty. Jake was gone. The $2 million? Vanished into a maze of offshore wallets Ethan couldn't trace. The bank called daily now, their polite threats turning feral. Foreclosure loomed. Prison whispered closer.His father's voice echoed in his skull, a memory from their last fight: "You're chasing ghosts, Ethan. Digital money? It's a scam, and you're the mark. Get a real job, or don't come back." The old man had slammed the door, leaving Ethan with nothing but his screens and his stubborn faith. Now, that faith was crumbling.He rubbed his temples, a dull ache blooming into a storm. Dementia, the doctor had said. Stress-induced, accelerated by sleepless nights and a mind stretched too thin. It came in waves—moments where the charts blurred into nonsense, where he forgot his own name. He'd laughed it off at first. Not anymore. Tonight, it gnawed at him, a beast clawing through his thoughts.The screen flickered again. BTC/USD spiked, then crashed. Ethan's heart lurched. He typed furiously, chasing a trade, but his hands betrayed him—fingers slipping, hitting wrong keys. "No, no, no," he hissed, voice cracking. The room tilted. His chest tightened, a vise squeezing the air from his lungs. He clutched the desk, knocking over a cup. Cold coffee soaked his sleeve, but he barely noticed.Memories flashed, unbidden. Jake's smirk as they signed the deal. His father's disgust. The bank's cold letters. The world laughing at his "cyber nonsense." Ethan's vision doubled—two screens, four charts, a kaleidoscope of failure. He gasped, a ragged sound, and slumped forward. His forehead hit the keyboard, a random string of letters typing into the void: asdjklf. The monitors buzzed, static creeping into the edges.This was it. The end of the line. No money, no hope, no one left to care. His pulse slowed, a fading drumbeat. The last thing he saw was the BTC ticker—$42,317—mocking him as the darkness swallowed it whole.Ethan Carver died.He woke to sunlight.It streamed through a window he didn't recognize, warm and golden, cutting through the fog in his head. He blinked, disoriented, sprawled on a bed that smelled faintly of teenage sweat and cheap laundry soap. His hands—smaller, smoother—patted his chest, his face. No stubble. No exhaustion etched into his bones. He bolted upright, heart hammering.A cracked mirror hung on the wall, reflecting a stranger. No—a ghost. Himself at 18, wide-eyed and unscarred, ten years younger than the man who'd died at that desk. The room was his old bedroom—posters of rock bands peeling at the edges, a clunky desktop in the corner, the one he'd used to dabble in stocks before the world crushed him. His father's house. A decade ago."What the hell?" he croaked, voice higher, unbroken by years of shouting at charts.A chime rang in his mind, sharp and alien. Words materialized before his eyes, glowing like a hologram:[Investment System Activated. Welcome, User: Ethan Carver. Objective: Build Your Empire.]He stared, breath catching. The text shifted, a menu unfolding—Forex trends, crypto forecasts, stock alerts, all dated March 22, 2015. Real-time data from a past he'd already lived, paired with predictions he'd kill for in his old life. A second chance. A system.Ethan laughed, a raw, jagged sound. Jake was out there, still his friend, oblivious to the betrayal he'd one day commit. The bank hadn't met him yet. His father's rejection was just a storm on the horizon. And the markets? They were his playground now.He stood, fists clenched, a fire igniting in his chest. The world had mocked him, broken him, killed him. But he was back. And this time, he'd make them all pay—starting with the fortune they'd never se

Here's Chapter 2 of Financial Emperor: After I Rose from the Dead. It picks up right after Ethan's death, diving into his shocking return to the past with the Investment System. The pacing is medium, the language is simple and storytelling-focused, and it's around 1300 words. Let's move forward!Chapter 2: Back from the EdgeEthan Carver jolted awake, his chest heaving like he'd been pulled out of deep water. Sunlight streamed through a dusty window, hitting his eyes and making him squint. He was on a bed—a creaky one with a lumpy mattress—not the hard desk where he'd died. The room smelled like old socks and cheap laundry soap. Posters of rock bands hung on the walls, faded and curling at the edges. A clunky computer hummed in the corner. He knew this place. His old bedroom, back in his dad's house. But that was impossible.He swung his legs off the bed and stood, wobbly at first. His hands caught his attention—smaller, smoother, no calluses from years of stress. He stumbled to a cracked mirror on the wall and stared. A younger face looked back—18 years old, fresh and wide-eyed, not the worn-out 28-year-old who'd collapsed at his screens. "What's happening?" he said, his voice higher, unbroken by time. His heart raced, half from confusion, half from a spark of hope he couldn't name yet.A sharp chime rang in his head, like a bell but louder. Words appeared in front of him, floating like a sign only he could see:[Investment System Activated. Welcome, User: Ethan Carver. Objective: Build Your Empire.]He blinked, but the words stayed, glowing bright. They shifted into a list—stuff like "Forex Trends," "Crypto Prices," and "Stock Alerts." Dates flashed next: March 22, 2015. Ten years ago. Ethan's knees went weak, and he grabbed the desk to steady himself. He'd died in 2025, alone and broke, betrayed by Jake, crushed by debt. Now he was back? With some kind of… system?He sat hard on the bed, breathing fast. His mind raced through the pieces. Last night—or what felt like last night—he'd been 28, watching Bitcoin crash while his life fell apart. Jake had stolen his $2 million, the bank was closing in, and his dad had written him off. Stress had messed up his head, and he'd died chasing one last trade. But this wasn't a dream. The sunlight felt warm, the floor solid under his feet. He pinched his arm, hard. It hurt. This was real.The system chimed again, pulling his eyes back to the floating words. It showed him numbers now: "EUR/USD: Buy at 1.0800, Sell at 1.0850." Simple trades, clear as day. Then another line: "BTC/USD: Buy at $250, Sell at $260." Ethan's jaw dropped. Bitcoin at $250? He remembered it hitting thousands later. If this thing was right, he could make money—real money—starting now.He laughed, a short, shaky sound. "Okay," he said to the empty room. "Let's see if you're for real." He grabbed an old notebook from his desk, its pages yellowed and scribbled with doodles. He jotted down the system's tips, hands still trembling but steadying with every word. Fifty bucks—that's what he had back then, stashed