"As the wind swept across the battlefield, its sound felt uncertain.
Wind usually carried strength, gentleness, or something in between—but now it trembled, like the cry of an unsure child.
Perhaps it was only reflecting the sight before it.
The setting sun gently illuminated the battlefield, revealing countless corpses—humans, elves, beastfolk, and more.
At the center stood a lone human man.
Before him stood an angelic yet devilish being.
The being looked down at him and spoke.
'The gods blessed this world with everything… except time.
This is your world's end.
The beings you once worshipped as gods have fallen.'
Its voice was colder than winter itself.
Wings—far too beautiful for such a creature—spread wide behind it.
The young man stood his ground. There was little he could do, yet he met the being's gaze with a fierce glare.
The veins in his eyes bulged unnaturally, the stare filled with regret, rage, hatred, and sorrow—alongside something unfamiliar.
Blood dripped from the bodies of his comrades, pooling on the ground with a soft tap… tap.
In that sound, the strange emotion became clear.
It was determination.
Determination to end it all."
The lone human finally whispered,
"Monster from afar… I will end your existence here.
Even if it means the end of my planet, I will take revenge for the countless lives slaughtered by your hands."
He surged forward, delivering a horizontal slash.
The being countered instantly, driving a fist into his gut and sending him flying back. Blood spilled from the man's mouth, but he didn't care. At that moment, only one thing mattered—the death of the creature before him.
He attacked again and again. Wide slashes. Relentless thrusts. Strikes that would have ended even a seasoned general.
Yet they meant nothing.
The being dodged effortlessly.
Still, the young man refused to stop. His muscles tore under the strain, pain screaming through his body—but he pushed on.
A silvery light suddenly enveloped him.
The light was pure.
He raised his sword into the air, his breathing slowing, his mind clearing. In an instant, he vanished in a flash of light. Thunder wrapped around his blade as he brought it down.
The being's arm was severed.
Blood poured from the wound—but the creature only smiled.
It was a calm, unsettling smile.
"It doesn't matter," the being said hollowly. "Your end is destined."
With a final cry, the young man sliced the creature in half, ending its life. He exhaled, his shoulders finally relaxing—
Only for shadows to descend from the sky.
More of them.
One stepped forward and spoke,
"Grand Marshal Ronan of Planet X… you shall die."
Ronan's eyes widened. His lips trembled. A lump formed in his throat as his body shook violently.
"There's… more."
Two simple words—yet to him, they felt as impossible as pushing the sun itself.
As the sun and moon aligned into an eclipse, it felt as though the world was mocking him. Frustration consumed him.
"Stop it! Stop it!" he screamed, pounding the ground until his hand broke. Still, he couldn't stop.
Finally, with an expression that accepted defeat, he reached for a sword.
Not steel.
A wooden sword—one he had made as a child.
To the beings, it was mockery.
To Ronan, it was his final way of holding onto hope.
As the eclipse deepened, something unnatural occurred. All mana and aura across the planet converged upon him. The sun and moon focused their light on his broken form.
A mysterious being appeared.
"The gods failed you," it said softly, "because there are no gods. In this world, only power decides who is divine—and who is not."
It looked at Ronan.
"I will give you power. Others will as well. But you must learn it. Control it. Make it your own. Take vengeance for the countless planets lost to these beings."
As the enemies lunged forward, the voice spoke one final time:
"Take vengeance.
Take your second chance."
Ronan died.
And then—he woke up.
Not on a battlefield…
but in a field of flowers. A place filled with warmth and hope.
He had regressed.
He was twelve years old again.