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Immortal Across Worlds

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Synopsis
Every death leads to a new world. Every world brings him closer to the truth. Cursed with eternal reincarnation, the Eternal Blade awakens in a new universe every time he dies. From realms of magic to futuristic dystopias, he must adapt, fight, and survive as he pieces together the mystery of his immortality and the crumbling multiverse. But as madness and betrayal haunt his endless journey, one question remains: is he destined to save existence—or destroy it?
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Chapter 1 - Chapter 1: Death #1 - Betrayal on the Battlefield

The air reeked of blood and burning flesh, a sickening miasma that clung to the battlefield like a curse. The cries of men and the clash of steel rang out in an endless cacophony, blending into a symphony of death. The ground, once fertile and green, was now a wasteland of mud and gore. The war between the Kingdom of Velnor and the Dominion of Vradis had consumed countless lives, and today, the final battle would determine the fate of both nations.

Amid the chaos, Kaelin Veynar, the greatest general of Velnor, stood unyielding. His longsword, forged from the rarest of starsteel, gleamed unnaturally in the crimson light of the setting sun. Around him, his soldiers fought valiantly, clinging to the hope he embodied. Kaelin was their pillar, the unshakable rock upon which their faith rested. To them, he was invincible, a hero born of war.

"Hold the line!" Kaelin roared, his voice cutting through the screams of the dying. "For Velnor! For the King!"

The men responded with a desperate cheer, their battered bodies surging forward to meet the enemy's relentless charge. Kaelin charged alongside them, his blade cutting through flesh and steel with an ease that spoke of decades of mastery. Each swing of his sword was precise, deliberate, a dance of death honed over countless battles.

But even as he fought, Kaelin's mind was clouded with unease. There was a wrongness in the air, a tension that gnawed at his instincts. His eyes darted across the battlefield, scanning for the source of the disturbance. And then he saw him.

Cyran Ashval.

The man Kaelin had trusted above all others, his blood-brother in arms, stood atop the ridge overlooking the battlefield. Cyran's silver armor glinted in the fading sunlight, a beacon amid the carnage. But there was no warmth in his stance, no camaraderie in his gaze. The banner unfurled behind him was not that of Velnor, but the crimson serpent of the Dominion.

Kaelin's breath caught. A cold dread gripped his heart, squeezing the air from his lungs.

No. It couldn't be. Cyran, his brother-in-arms, his closest friend—betraying him? The thought was a dagger to his chest, sharper than any blade on the battlefield.

Before Kaelin could process the enormity of what he was seeing, Cyran raised his hand, and the tide of battle shifted. Dominion soldiers, who had been retreating moments ago, surged forward with renewed vigor. The disciplined lines of Velnor's forces crumbled under the onslaught, their formation breaking like a dam under a flood.

"Retreat!" Kaelin bellowed, his voice cracking with urgency. "Fall back to the ridge!"

His men hesitated, their loyalty to him warring with their fear of dishonor. But as the enemy pushed closer, survival won out. They turned and fled, their retreat a chaotic, desperate scramble.

Kaelin remained. He fought like a demon, his blade a blur of silver as it carved through the advancing Dominion soldiers. Blood sprayed across his armor, coating him in crimson as he cut down man after man. His heart burned with rage and confusion. Why? Why had Cyran done this? They had fought together for years, bled together, dreamed of peace together. How could he turn against everything they had built?

Through the haze of battle, Kaelin's eyes remained locked on Cyran. The man was descending the hill now, moving with the deliberate stride of one who knew victory was assured. His face was calm, his gaze cold, devoid of the warmth Kaelin had once relied upon.

"Cyran!" Kaelin roared, his voice raw with betrayal. "Face me, you coward!"

But Cyran did not respond. He did not even look at Kaelin. Instead, he raised his sword and pointed it toward Kaelin's position. It was a command, and the Dominion soldiers obeyed without hesitation. They surged toward Kaelin, a wave of death that threatened to overwhelm him.

Kaelin gritted his teeth and planted his feet. If Cyran wanted him dead, he would have to do it himself. Kaelin's blade danced through the chaos, each strike precise and devastating. But for every enemy he cut down, two more took their place. His strength was waning, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The wounds he had ignored were beginning to take their toll.

And then it happened.

Kaelin turned, his instincts screaming a warning, but he was too slow. A blade pierced his back, the steel sliding through his armor and into his flesh. The pain was blinding, a searing agony that stole the strength from his limbs. He staggered, his sword slipping from his grasp as he fell to his knees.

He turned his head, his vision blurring, and saw the face of his betrayer. Cyran stood behind him, his sword still buried in Kaelin's back. His expression was one of cold detachment, as if Kaelin were nothing more than an obstacle to be removed.

"Cyran…" Kaelin rasped, blood bubbling from his lips. "Why?"

Cyran's gaze did not waver. "Peace has a price, Kaelin. And you were the cost."

Kaelin's heart shattered. Not from the betrayal, but from the realization that Cyran truly believed what he was saying. That he had justified this act in his mind, convinced himself it was necessary.

The world around Kaelin began to fade. The sounds of battle grew distant, the colors of the battlefield muted. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision, and he knew his time had come. His final thought was not of anger or vengeance, but of regret. Regret that he had failed his men. Regret that he had trusted the wrong person.

And then… he died.

Kaelin awoke with a gasp, his lungs burning as though he had been drowning. He clawed at the ground, his fingers sinking into cold, damp earth. His heart thundered in his chest, and each breath felt like fire.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. The battlefield was gone. The blood, the screams, Cyran—all of it was gone.

He was lying in a forest, the air heavy with the scent of moss and rain. Towering trees surrounded him, their branches twisting like skeletal hands against a pale gray sky. The earth beneath him was soft and cool, a stark contrast to the heat and chaos of the battlefield.

"What… where am I?" he muttered, his voice hoarse.

He pushed himself upright, wincing at the ache in his muscles. His armor was gone, replaced by simple black robes. His hands, unscarred and clean, were unfamiliar. It was as if his body had been remade.

At his side, half-buried in the dirt, lay his sword. Its blade gleamed faintly, as if alive. Kaelin reached for it, his fingers trembling. The moment he touched the hilt, a jolt of energy shot through him, and a single thought burned itself into his mind:

This is not the end.