My eyes flew open.
The battlefield was gone. The blood, the fire, and the blade in my chest had vanished.
I found myself lying on a narrow, decaying bed, the scent of mold overwhelming my senses. My hands shook as I felt my chest—no wound, no scar. My heart raced within my ribcage, alive and intact.
I stumbled toward a cracked mirror in the corner of the room. The reflection that met my gaze was younger, frailer, and gaunt. My cheeks were hollow, my eyes sunken; I was no longer clad in armor but wrapped in tattered rags.
I recognized this face. I recognized this place.
This was my room from years past, before destiny labeled me a hero. Back when I was just a starving orphan in a forgotten village.
I gripped the edge of the mirror, breath coming in ragged gasps.
"I… I came back?"
Memories surged through me—battles yet to be fought, victories yet to be claimed, betrayals yet to be faced. I recalled Darin's smirk, the laughter of those I trusted, and the blade that pierced my chest.
No. Not again.
I wouldn't tread that same path. I wouldn't fight for them, bleed for them, or die for them.
This time, I would not be their savior.
A sudden burning sensation ignited on the back of my hand. I winced and raised it to catch the moonlight filtering through the cracked shutters. A black sigil etched itself into my skin, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Then came a voice echoing inside my mind.
> [Tyrant's Path Activated]
"Wield ruin. Claim power. Bend the world to your will."
I staggered back, clutching my hand as knowledge surged into my mind—a system dark and twisted, unlike any holy blessing I'd once known. It wasn't a gift meant to save the world; it was a weapon meant to destroy it.
A new notification flashed across my vision:
> Quest: First Blood
"Punish one who wronged you in your past life. Reward: +100 Tyrant Points."
I froze as Rogan's face flashed through my thoughts—a coward who abandoned me at the start of my ascent. In my previous life, I had spared him, believing mercy would earn loyalty. Instead, he became one of my first betrayers.
A bitter smile curled at my lips—ruthless and cold.
Mercy was weakness. Mercy led to downfall.
Not this time.
I clenched my fist as the sigil burned hotter against my skin.