Smoke choked the air, and the distant screams of dying men. Yet, amidst the chaos, Kaelor stood at the center. His black cloak puffed out in the wind, and his gaze was cold and unyielding. This was not a battle he could win, but neither would he lose quietly without a hard fight.
Surrounding him were the last remnants of a once grand alliance. Their banners were torn and their weapons were stained with blood. They had come for him, Kaelor Bassit— the Vengeful one, the scourge of kingdoms, the betrayer of kings.
And now, they would pay the price for their arrogance.
Lightning moved across the clouds as Kaelor raised his staff high above his head, with its cursed jewel shining with a sinister light. The power within it vibrated through his veins, filling him with power. Dark flames, blacker than night, coiled around him like serpents, ready to lash out at his enemies.
"Fall back!" someone shouted from the enemy lines. They had heard the stories of the mage who had once torn down a city with a single spell, the warlord who betrayed every alliance for his insatiable hunger for power.
Kaelor smirked.
"Fools," he muttered under his breath. "You cannot run from death."
With a wave of his staff, the flames surged, engulfing the nearest soldiers. Their screams were swallowed by the roar of the fire, while their bodies reduced to ashes in the blink of an eye.
He took a step forward, and the ground beneath his feet trembled. Even the earth feared him.
Yet, as the flames receded, Kaelor felt a hint of weakness moving through him. A brief flicker of doubt. The cursed artifact in his hands pulsed ominously, its power was as volatile as it was immense. He had known from the start that it would eventually consume him, but he had been too ambitious to care. Now, with the tide of the battle turning against him, he wondered if this was the moment it would all come crashing down.
From the smoke, a figure emerged. It was a man in shining armor, his sword gleamed with magic. Kaelor recognized him instantly— Lord Zeph, leader of the alliance, the one who had sworn to end Kaelor's reign of terror.
"Kaelor!" Zeph's voice echoed across the battlefield. "This ends now. Your dark magic will no longer plague this world."
Kaelor sneered.
"You think you can kill me, Zeph? You and your pitiful army?"
Zeph raised his sword.
"We will, because we must."
In that moment, Kaelor's rage boiled over. He slammed the base of his staff into the ground, sending shockwaves through the battlefield. A wall of black flame erupted between him and Zeph, but even as he summoned it, the artifact in his hands pulsed again, sending a searing pain through his arm. He winced, his control slipped for the briefest of moments.
That moment was all it took.
A sudden surge of power from the cursed artifact spiraled out of control, turning inward, and Kaelor felt the energy twist violently within him. His grip on the staff tightened, but it was no use, for the curse had taken hold.
"No," Kaelor whispered, his heart beating fast as the flames surrounding him began to die.
Before he could react, a sword pierced his side.
He gasped, the cold steel drove deep into his flesh. His vision blurred as blood poured from the wound, staining his robes. Zeph's face was fixated on him.
Kaelor staggered, as his grip on the staff weakened. The cursed artifact pulsed one last time, and then…utter darkness.
***
Pain.
It was the first thing Kaelor felt as consciousness returned to him. A deep, throbbing pain in his chest, as if his very soul had been torn apart and stitched back together. He groaned, his body felt heavy and foreign. Slowly, his opened his eyes, and he was met with a blinding light that forced him to squint.
The world around him was… wrong. He blinked, trying to make sense of it. Gone were the rolling hills of the battlefield, the smell of smoke and blood, the cold steel of the sword in his side. Instead, he lay on a cold, hard surface, surrounded by tall structures made of glass and steel that stretched far into the sky. Strange, glowing signs blinked in and out of view, projecting an unnatural brightness over everything.
Kaelor pushed himself up onto his elbows, his head spinning.
What had happened?
He had been… dead.
The sword…
The cursed artifact…
His enemies had finally overwhelmed him.
So why was he here, in this strange new world?
His heart continued to beat fast as fragmented memories of his past life flooded back. The betrayal. The thirst for power. The cursed artifact that had consumed him in the end. It had all been so clear, so final. And yet, here he was, alive…or something close to it.
"Where…?" Kaelor muttered, his voice raspy and unfamiliar in his ears. "Where am I?"
The atmosphere was loaded with unfamiliar smells and sounds— metal beasts roaring down smooth roads, strange contraptions whirring above him. He staggered to his feet, his legs were unsteady beneath him. His hands, once filled with power, now felt weak and trembling. The weight of his staff—his cursed artifact—was gone.
He felt naked without it…
A shadow fell over him, and Kaelor looked up to see a figure standing over him. A man. No, not just a man. There was something about him, something ancient in his eyes, despite his youthful appearance.
"You look like you've been through hell," the stranger said with a chuckle. "Lost, are we?"
Kaelor glared at him, instinctively summoning magic to his fingertips, but nothing happened.
His eyes widened in shock. His powers! Where were they? How had he come to be here?
Was this some trick of the artifact?
Had it flung him across time and space in its final moments?
"Where… am I?" Kaelor demanded.
The stranger raised an eyebrow.
"New York City, mate. You look like you've never heard of it before."
New York City.