As the blood dripped from his body, it soaked into the ground, staining the soil a deep, unnatural red. The battlefield was silent, save for the groans of the wounded and dying in the distance. Kael Draven, the warlord who had brought terror to the world, was on his knees, his chest pierced by countless weapons.
One of the three men standing before him sneered, his voice cold and filled with hatred. "Kael Draven, you are dead."
Kael's head hung low, his breath ragged, but then, from the depths of his chest, a low, sinister chuckle began to rise. His shoulders shook as the laughter grew louder, darker.
"Ha... ha ha... ha ha ha... HAAAA HAAA HA HA HA!" His maniacal laughter echoed through the blood-soaked battlefield.
The man who had spoken took an involuntary step back, his eyes wide with shock. Kael looked up, blood trickling from his mouth, but his eyes—those piercing, hateful eyes—still burned with defiance.
"I don't know what you're so proud of," Kael rasped, his voice dripping with venom. "It took five nations... five entire armies... and your best fighters to bring down just one man—me." He grinned, his teeth stained red. "And you're fucking proud of that? Are you fucking kidding me?"
The man's face paled, his bravado cracking as fear crept into his eyes. He glanced at his companions, panic bubbling up inside him. How is he still so confident? The man's heart raced, his hands trembling on his weapon.
Seeing his comrade falter, the second man stepped forward, sneering down at Kael. "Oh, really? Now come the excuses," he spat, his grip on his sword tightening. "You think you're special? You're nothing but an insect to us."
He leaned in closer, twisting the sword that was already buried deep in Kael's chest. Blood gushed from the wound, but Kael's expression didn't change. If anything, his grin widened.
"Think about it," the second man continued, his voice full of disdain. "You had to kill almost the entire world just to get to us. And for what? Your empire lies in ruins, your name will be forgotten."
Kael coughed, blood splattering onto the ground. His gaze, however, never wavered. He locked eyes with the man in front of him, a wicked smile tugging at his lips.
"You think this is the end?" Kael whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with malice. "This... is only the beginning."
Suddenly, a faint blue light flickered around Kael's body. A magical circle began to form beneath him. The ethereal glow intensified, casting a cold, eerie light over the battlefield.
"What the hell is this?!" one of the men shouted, startled, taking a step back. The others followed suit, their eyes wide with shock. "Is this some kind of trick?!"
Kael's chuckle grew into a full-blown laugh once again. "Ha ha ha ha ha... did you really think... you could kill me that easily?" His voice was laced with mockery.
The light around him grew stronger, the magical circle now fully visible beneath his feet. The wind began to howl, whipping around the battlefield in wild gusts, as if the very air was responding to the immense power Kael was unleashing.
"What... what the hell are you talking about?!" one of the men demanded, his voice breaking with fear as he struggled to keep his footing.
Kael's eyes, glowing with malice, locked onto the man's. "I activated a spell long before you could even notice. A spell to ensure you would never truly defeat me."
"A... a spell?" the man stammered, his confidence crumbling. "You're not serious. This is... this is cheating! I don't agree to this!"
Kael threw his head back and laughed again, his voice a symphony of madness. "I don't care what you agree to, you fool."
The light flared, blinding in its intensity, as Kael uttered a single word.
"Regression."
In an instant, the battlefield was consumed by the light, and Kael's body vanished into the blinding brilliance, leaving the three men standing in stunned silence, their weapons still stained with his blood. He was gone.
For a moment, none of them spoke. The only sound was the wind, now gentle, whispering across the blood-soaked earth.
"He... He's gone," one of the men muttered, disbelief and terror etched into his face.
But deep down, they all knew the truth.
Kael Draven wasn't dead.
He was coming back.
Eyes opened, and all Kael Draven could see was an expanse of darkness. It wasn't the comforting, familiar darkness of night—it was the kind that clung to him, oppressive, suffocating.
"Where am I?" The thought echoed in his mind, and for the first time, there was uncertainty in his voice. What is this place?
Suddenly, the darkness shifted. The emptiness that had surrounded him began to dissolve, giving way to something entirely unfamiliar. A room. A modest, well-kept bedroom with wooden floors, a soft bed, and a mirror hanging on the wall. Kael blinked, his mind struggling to make sense of the sudden shift in his surroundings.
"What the hell...?" He muttered, sitting up slowly, his body still aching from the phantom pains of the battlefield. "Where the hell am I?" He rubbed his head, trying to clear the fog that clouded his thoughts.
And then it hit him. The Regression Spell.
Kael's eyes widened as the memory came flooding back. "Right... I activated the Regression Spell... so does that mean..." His voice trailed off as his gaze fell to his hands. He flexed his fingers, studying his body. But something was wrong. Very wrong.
"No..." he muttered to himself, running his hands over the fabric of the clothes he was wearing. These weren't the ragged clothes of a warlord on the battlefield, nor were they the tattered rags of the orphan he once was in his youth.
"This isn't right," Kael whispered, rising to his feet with a growing sense of unease. "These clothes... they're too well-made. I was an orphan... there's no way I should be wearing something like this at such a young age..." His heart began to race, panic creeping into the edges of his mind. "No, this is probably a dream," he muttered, trying to calm himself as he stood up.
But then, something caught his eye. The mirror.
Kael hesitated, the cold feeling of dread crawling up his spine as he approached the mirror. This can't be real... he thought. I was supposed to go back to my younger self... back to the orphan I was before I became a conqueror...
He stepped in front of the mirror and froze.
The face staring back at him was not the Kael Draven he remembered.
He gasped, his hands trembling as he touched his face, his reflection mirroring every movement. His hair, once dark and wild, was now shorter, neater. His body was smaller, weaker, and his features—they were not his own.
"Is... is this really me?" Kael whispered, his voice filled with disbelief. He stumbled back from the mirror, his mind racing. "What the hell happened?!"