Achem Powers sat at his cramped desk, staring blankly at the computer screen. He had worked at this company for nearly ten years, but his career had never advanced. His ambition was great, his intelligence sharp, yet office politics always ensured his defeat. He was nothing more than a pawn to be used and discarded.
His office was a battlefield, but not one where merit determined victory. Nepotism, backdoor deals, and false friendships shaped the hierarchy. Achem had once believed that hard work would be rewarded, but time and time again, promotions were handed to those who knew the right people, not the most competent employees. He had seen his ideas stolen, his successes attributed to others, and his failures exaggerated beyond reason.
Coworkers who once smiled at him whispered behind his back. His superior, Richard Grayson, a man with half his intelligence but double his cunning, had methodically dismantled Achem's credibility, ensuring he remained stuck in mediocrity.
But the rot extended beyond his company. The entire country was drowning in corruption. The government was little more than a tool for the elite, ensuring that power and wealth remained in the hands of the few. Policies that promised prosperity for the people were nothing more than facades for embezzlement and cronyism. The President himself was a puppet, his every move dictated by corporate overlords who thrived on backdoor deals. Law enforcement existed to protect the wealthy, while the lower classes were left to suffer in silence. Achem had long since realized that justice was a lie—a story told to keep the powerless complacent.
Achem had seen the worst of this system firsthand. He was an orphan, his parents dying before he had the chance to make them proud. His siblings had long since cut ties with him, wanting nothing to do with his misfortunes. He had tried to find solace in love, but both of his last relationships had crumbled, leaving him even more isolated. The only thing he had left was his savings—money that he had painstakingly built up, though for what purpose, he no longer knew.
Today was the final straw.
"I'm sorry, Achem. We have to downsize the team. This isn't about your performance, just an unfortunate situation."
His boss spoke with a sympathetic tone, but Achem knew it was all lies. The company wasn't downsizing. The budget reports showed increasing profits. They just needed to get rid of him.
"You've been an important part of the team," his boss continued. "We appreciate all the work you've done."
Achem clenched his fists beneath the desk. "Who's taking over my position?"
A brief pause. Then the answer he already knew was coming.
"Greg."
Of course. Greg—a man who had barely been in the company for two years, who spent more time at after-work bars with the higher-ups than actually working. Achem felt a bitter laugh rise in his throat.
Leaving the office, he wandered aimlessly. The rain poured down, soaking him to the bone. There was nowhere to go, no one who cared. His life was a series of failures repeating endlessly. As he looked up at the gray sky, he asked himself, "Is this really the end?"
The answer came sooner than expected.
A loud horn blared in the distance. Achem turned, only to see blinding headlights from a speeding truck. His body was thrown into the air, pain searing through him. As his consciousness faded, he had only one final thought.
"If I get a second chance, I will have my revenge. I will never be a loser again."
When Achem opened his eyes, he was no longer on a cold, wet street. Instead, he lay on rocky ground with the scent of blood in the air.
The sky above him was deep purple, with two moons hanging on the horizon.
"I'm... still alive?" he murmured.
But his body felt strange. As he tried to move, he felt pain all over. His chest was wrapped in rough bandages, and his breathing was shallow.
He looked around and realized he was in the ruins of a castle. Tattered banners fluttered in the night wind, and corpses were scattered everywhere. Footsteps echoed in the distance, accompanied by the shouts of soldiers searching for something.
"They're still looking for me..."
Achem was shocked. The words appeared in his mind as if they were already part of him. Suddenly, memories flooded his brain. He was no longer Achem Powers, the failed office worker. He was now Rogar, the Fallen King, a ruler who had been overthrown and left for dead.
But he was still alive.
And he swore he would not die so easily.
Blood dripped from his still-healing wounds, but Achem knew he couldn't stay put. He had to move, to survive. He dragged himself to a corner of the ruins, hiding behind a crumbling wall.
The footsteps grew closer. Three soldiers in black armor, bearing a golden lion emblem on their chests, approached the ruins where he was hiding.
"Make sure he's dead. If you find the body, cut off his head and bring it to the palace," one of them ordered.
Achem clenched his teeth. If he stayed here, he would die. But his body was too weak to fight. His only option was to escape.
He spotted a small gap in the back wall of the ruins. Holding his breath, he began to move, despite the stabbing pain in every motion.
As he crawled out, a pair of eyes watched him from the shadows.
"So, you're still alive, Your Majesty."
The woman's voice was soft, yet carried a mocking tone. Achem turned and saw a woman with long black hair, dressed in a tattered cloak, but her eyes burned with intelligence and deceit.
He didn't recognize her, but somehow, the memories flooding his mind whispered her name to him.
Lysara. The betrayed sorceress.
"You look pathetic," Lysara continued, smirking. "I never thought the great King would become a dying fugitive."
Achem growled, but his body was too weak to respond. Even so, his mind had already begun working. If this woman knew him, that meant he still had some political leverage in this world.
"You can kill me now," he said weakly, "or you can help me and gain something far greater."
Lysara chuckled. "You still know how to negotiate, it seems. But I don't work for free. What can you offer me?"
Achem stared at her, his pain intensifying. "Revenge. You want to see them fall, don't you? The ones who betrayed you?"
Lysara's expression shifted slightly, though she tried to hide it. "Interesting," she finally said. "Very well, Your Majesty. I will help you... for now."
She extended her hand. But Achem hesitated.
Something about her felt wrong. His memories told him she had once been his ally, but also someone who had her own dangerous ambitions. She wasn't saving him out of kindness—she had her own motives. Trusting her could be as deadly as facing his enemies.
His fingers twitched, stopping just short of her hand.
"I don't trust you," he admitted, voice hoarse.
Lysara smirked, unfazed. "Good. Trust will only get you killed in this world. But if you want to live, you need me."