The darkness didn't last long anymore.
It barely had time to exist.
What once felt endless now felt like a passing moment—thin, fragile, almost meaningless. Each time he entered it, it held less power over him. Less fear. Less weight.
Like it was losing its grip.
Or like he was.
Then—
The pull came again.
Violent.
Unforgiving.
It didn't drag him this time.
It slammed him forward.
Everything hit at once.
Pain.
Not sharp.
Not sudden.
Constant.
It wrapped around him before he could even breathe, before he could even think. His body existed in pain before it existed in anything else. Muscles ached. Bones felt heavy. Something deep inside him burned with a dull, grinding force that never quite faded.
He inhaled.
Air came in rough.
Thick.
Heavy.
His lungs expanded slowly, like they were made for something stronger, something harsher. The air itself felt different—dry, dusty, filled with the scent of earth, sweat, and something… metallic.
Blood.
The thought came naturally.
Too naturally.
His eyes opened.
Darkness.
But not complete.
Dim firelight flickered somewhere nearby, casting shifting shadows across rough stone walls. The space was enclosed, but not tight like before. Larger. Cruder.
A cave.
No—
A shelter.
Something made.
His body shifted.
The movement was slow, heavy, controlled by strength he hadn't felt before. Not fragile. Not small. Not fast.
Strong.
Too strong.
His hand—no, not a hand, something thicker, broader—pressed against the ground as he pushed himself upward. Muscles responded instantly, coiling and tightening with raw power as he lifted himself into a sitting position.
The ground cracked slightly beneath him.
…What?
The thought came slowly.
His head turned.
Everything moved with weight.
With purpose.
Around him, shapes formed in the dim light—large figures, hunched or resting, their bodies thick with muscle, their skin dark and rough. Some moved. Some didn't.
Breathing.
Grunting.
Alive.
Like him.
Then—
It hit him.
Not a memory.
Not fully.
Something deeper.
A name.
Thruk.
It settled into him like it had always been there.
Not Ethan.
Not the thing from before.
Something else.
Something this body understood.
Thruk.
He stood.
The motion was natural, effortless despite his size. His body rose to its full height—taller than anything he had been before, broader, heavier. Strength coiled beneath his skin like it was waiting for something.
Waiting for a reason.
A sound echoed through the cave.
Laughter.
Rough.
Sharp.
Mocking.
His head snapped toward it instantly.
Across the fire, another figure stood.
Bigger.
Scarred.
Watching him.
Their eyes met.
And something inside him reacted.
Not fear.
Challenge.
Rival.
The word came without thought.
Instinct again.
But deeper now.
More structured.
The larger orc stepped forward, his movements slow but deliberate, each step heavy enough to echo against the stone floor. The others in the cave shifted slightly, watching now, their attention sharpening.
Waiting.
For something.
The larger one spoke.
Low.
Rough.
"You fall again."
The words were broken.
Simple.
But clear.
Thruk didn't respond.
Not because he couldn't.
Because something told him not to.
The other orc smirked—if it could even be called that—his lips pulling back slightly to reveal thick, worn teeth.
"Weak."
The word hung in the air.
Something moved inside Thruk.
Not anger.
Not yet.
Something colder.
Recognition.
This had happened before.
Not to him—
To this body.
Beaten.
Fallen.
Laughed at.
The other orc stepped closer.
Too close.
"You not lead."
A pause.
"I lead."
Silence filled the cave.
Heavy.
Expectant.
The others watched.
Waiting.
For Thruk to bow.
To submit.
To accept it.
His body didn't move.
Not back.
Not away.
Forward.
One step.
The ground cracked beneath his foot.
The cave went still.
No.
The thought wasn't loud.
But it was absolute.
The other orc's expression shifted.
Just slightly.
Then—
He lunged.
Fast.
Faster than something that size should have been able to move.
His fist came down like a hammer, aimed straight for Thruk's head with enough force to crush bone—
Thruk moved.
Not away.
Into it.
Their bodies collided with a thunderous impact that shook the cave walls, the force of it sending dust and small stones falling from above. Pain shot through his arm as he blocked the strike, but it didn't slow him.
It grounded him.
Strong.
The realization hit instantly.
Not just him.
Both of them.
The rival snarled, pulling back before striking again, faster this time, harder. Thruk took the hit—felt it crack against his shoulder—but his body didn't fall.
It adapted.
He swung.
No technique.
No thought.
Just force.
His fist connected with the other orc's side with a sickening impact, the sound of it echoing through the cave as the rival staggered back, more from surprise than damage.
The others reacted.
Not interfering.
Watching.
Waiting.
This is how it works.
The understanding came clearly now.
Strength decides.
Nothing else.
The rival roared, charging again, his movements more aggressive now, less controlled. Thruk met him head-on, their bodies slamming together again as the fight turned brutal, raw, unforgiving.
Blow after blow.
No pause.
No hesitation.
Pain built with every strike, but it didn't slow him.
It fueled him.
Fight.
The command echoed through him.
And for the first time—
He didn't question it.
The fight ended as suddenly as it began.
Thruk's final strike landed clean.
A crack.
The rival's body dropped.
Silence.
Heavy.
Final.
No one moved.
Then—
One of the others stepped forward.
Slowly.
Carefully.
They looked at the fallen orc.
Then at Thruk.
And lowered their head.
Just slightly.
Another followed.
Then another.
Until the cave shifted.
Not in sound.
But in something deeper.
Something unspoken.
Change.
Thruk stood still, his chest rising and falling slowly, his body covered in fresh bruises, cuts already forming across his skin. The pain was still there.
But it didn't matter.
Because something else had taken its place.
Something stronger.
Something that stretched beyond this moment.
A feeling he hadn't had in any of the lives before.
Not as prey.
Not as something small.
Something else.
Control.
His gaze lowered to the fallen rival.
Then lifted.
To the others.
They were watching him now.
Not with mockery.
Not with indifference.
With recognition.
And something close to respect.
Thruk.
The name settled deeper this time.
More real.
More his.
And somewhere beneath it—
Buried but not gone—
Another name stirred.
Ethan Voss.
Faint.
Distant.
But still there.
The fire crackled.
The cave breathed.
And in that moment—
Something began.
Not survival.
Not just instinct.
Something larger.
Something that would grow.
Into war.
Into legend.
Into something that would not die easily.
Not this time.