Pain. That's the first thing I feel. A raw, biting agony, like my soul's been ripped apart and stitched back together with jagged wire. My body—if I can even call it that—feels like it doesn't belong to me.
I gasp, choking on the cold night air, and my eyes snap open. The world is spinning, a mess of dark silhouettes and flickering firelight. I'm lying in the mud, surrounded by the stench of rotting wood and unwashed bodies. Where the hell am I?
Memories slam into me like a warhammer to the skull. The battlefield. The betrayal. The moment when the gods I fought beside turned their blades against me. Asher Valerian, the War God, the Unbroken Spear—brought low by cowards.
But I'm not dead.
I lift a trembling hand, fingers scraping against damp dirt. My muscles feel weak, underfed. This body isn't mine. It's smaller, leaner. I flex my fingers, feeling the calloused grip of someone who's known hardship, but the divine power that once surged through my veins is gone. Only embers remain.
I've been reborn.
A low murmur rises nearby, and I force myself up onto my elbows. The firelight reveals a cluster of people—ragged men, hollow-eyed women, a few dirt-covered children—huddled together inside the ruins of what must have been a village. Their clothes are threadbare, their faces gaunt. Starving.
A voice snaps through the night.
"Oi! The bastard's awake."
I turn my head toward the speaker. A thick-necked man with a broken nose strides toward me, a rusted blade slung across his back. Behind him, a group of equally unpleasant-looking men gather, their grins sharp as wolves scenting fresh meat.
Bandits.
I clench my fists. My body is weak, but I refuse to be prey. I am Asher Valerian. I do not bow.
The leader crouches beside me, his breath rancid. "Didn't think you'd make it, boy. We found you half-dead in the woods. Thought about leaving you there, but I figured… why waste a good pair of hands?"
His grin widens, revealing yellowed teeth. He thinks I belong to him.
I meet his gaze, and something flickers in his eyes. A hesitation. A primal instinct warning him that he's looking at something dangerous.
But then he laughs. "Don't give me that look. You're nothing special. Just another gutter rat who got lucky."
I rise to my feet, slow and deliberate. My legs tremble, but I lock my stance. The bandit leader tilts his head, amused. "What's this? Gonna act tough?"
I exhale, rolling my shoulders. Weak body or not, I know how to kill.
The leader doesn't even see it coming. I move fast—faster than my starved muscles should allow—grabbing a jagged rock from the ground and driving it into his throat.
A wet, gurgling sound fills the silence. Blood sprays across my arm, warm and sticky. The bandit stumbles back, clutching at his ruined throat, eyes wide with disbelief.
The others freeze.
I turn to them, my grip tightening on the bloodied rock. "Who's next?"
The fire crackles. The bandits hesitate. They should run. They should know better.
One of them lunges. Sloppy. Desperate. I sidestep, driving my knee into his gut, then bring the rock down on his temple. He crumples.
The rest scatter.
Cowards.
I let them run. My body is still weak, and I have no weapon. No armor. No power. Yet.
I exhale, letting the rush of battle settle. The villagers stare at me, wide-eyed, too afraid to speak. They don't know what I am.
Neither do I.
But I will find out.
I glance up at the night sky, the stars unfamiliar, the constellations wrong. The world has changed in my absence. But I am still here.
And I will rise again.
New chapters weekly is I can and have support