A storm raged above the battlefield, its dark clouds swirling as if the very heavens were bearing witness to the calamity below. The air was thick with the smell of rain, blood, and the weight of betrayal. The howling winds carried the faint cries of soldiers, victims of a war that had lasted far too long. And in the center of it all, two figures stood face to face, their eyes locked in a deadly embrace.
King Kaelen Vorn had once ruled a mighty empire, an empire forged by blood, ambition, and a ruthless desire for power. He had conquered kingdoms, crushed enemies, and built a legacy that spanned generations. But now, standing in the midst of the chaos he had created, he was no more than a man—one who had lost everything, including his humanity.
Before him stood Victor Hale, his former general, the boy he had once trusted, the one he had taken under his wing and molded into a weapon. At just fifteen years old, Victor had been a prodigy, a soldier whose powers were beyond measure. Kaelen had seen in him the future of his empire, a future where his rule would be unchallenged, where his legacy would never fade.
But now, that very boy was the one who would end him.
The rain poured relentlessly, turning the soil beneath their feet into mud, but neither Kaelen nor Victor seemed to notice. They were locked in a battle of wills, their eyes reflecting the storm within their hearts.
"I never thought I'd see the day, Victor," Kaelen said, his voice raspy, laced with a mixture of regret and disbelief. His once-proud chest heaved as he fought to keep his composure, but it was clear that his strength was waning. The power that had once surged through him now felt distant, like a fading dream.
Victor stood tall before him, his expression a perfect mask of indifference. His eyes, once filled with innocence, now gleamed with a cold, unrelenting fury. The boy—no, the man—he had become was a far cry from the one Kaelen had raised. The young general's voice, dripping with venom, cut through the air.
"You always were a fool, Kaelen," Victor said, his voice betraying no hint of emotion. "You thought you could control everything—everyone. But you couldn't even control yourself. Your empire is built on lies, blood, and deceit. And now, it's all coming to an end."
Kaelen clenched his fists, a mixture of anger and sorrow flooding his chest. "You don't understand, Victor," he replied, his voice quieter now, tinged with desperation. "I gave you everything. I made you who you are. You were my friend, my companion. We—"
Victor interrupted him, his voice cold and cutting. "Friend? You think I was your friend? I was your weapon, Kaelen. You used me. You used everyone. And now, I'm taking back what's mine."
The words were like a slap to Kaelen's face. He had always seen Victor as more than just a tool, more than just a general. He had trusted him, believed that the bond they shared could withstand anything. But Victor's words shattered that illusion, leaving him raw, exposed, and vulnerable.
Victor raised his hand, and Kaelen could feel the surge of cosmic power radiating from him. The air around them seemed to warp and distort, crackling with energy. Kaelen's own powers, once vast and formidable, stirred within him, but they felt weak, almost drained, as if the very act of betrayal had siphoned away his strength.
"You were always weak, Kaelen," Victor continued, his voice dark with disdain. "That's why you never understood the true cost of power. You didn't have the courage to do what needed to be done. But I do."
With a swift motion, Victor unleashed a blast of energy, and Kaelen barely managed to raise his hand in time to block it. The force of the impact sent him stumbling back, his feet sliding in the mud. He could feel the searing heat of the cosmic power gnawing at his defenses, pushing him to his limits.
"This is where it ends, Kaelen," Victor said, his voice now almost a whisper, though it carried the weight of finality. "You failed. Your empire, your legacy, your rule—it's all over."
Kaelen gritted his teeth, his vision blurring as he summoned every ounce of his remaining strength. He could feel the storm inside him, the storm of his regret, his guilt, and his anger. But as he fought to maintain his footing, a wave of sorrow washed over him. He had created this. He had built the empire on the suffering of others, on bloodshed and conquest. And now, in his final moments, he saw the truth. He had failed.
"Victor, please," Kaelen begged, his voice breaking with emotion. "Don't do this. I was wrong. I know that now. I—"
But before Kaelen could finish his plea, Victor struck. A blast of cosmic energy tore through him, and Kaelen's body was flung backward, crashing to the ground. His chest burned with the force of the blow, and for a moment, everything seemed to fade.
Victor stood above him, his expression unreadable. "You had your chance, Kaelen. Now, it's my turn."
The young general raised his hand once more, and this time, the attack was unstoppable. The world seemed to shudder as Kaelen felt his body shatter under the weight of the blast. Pain coursed through him, unbearable and all-consuming. His vision went dark.
The Gates of Judgment
Kaelen's soul drifted in darkness. He could feel his essence slipping away, the weight of his final moments heavy upon him. There was no pain, only an unsettling emptiness. Then, in the distance, he saw them—the Gates of Judgment.
Seven gods stood before him, towering and otherworldly, their eyes glowing with an unnatural fire. They were beings beyond time and space, their forms ever-shifting, as if they were made from the very fabric of the universe itself.
"You have come, Kaelen Vorn, I waited this for thirty two years !" one of the gods spoke, its voice thunderous and deep, reverberating through Kaelen's very soul. "The one who was corrupted by power. The one who sought to control everything and everyone."
Kaelen's chest tightened as he stood before them, his heart heavy with regret. He had always known there was a price to be paid for the things he had done, but facing the gods themselves was a revelation he had not anticipated.
"You have destroyed kingdoms, betrayed allies, and caused untold suffering," another god intoned, its voice dripping with disdain. "You are the most corrupted soul to ever walk this realm."
Kaelen fell to his knees, his head bowed in shame. "I was wrong," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I see that now. I've lost everything—my kingdom, my empire, my humanity. Please, I—"
"You ask for mercy?" the god of wrath interrupted, its voice filled with contempt. "You are beyond redemption, Kaelen. There is no forgiveness for you. You are the most corrupt creation to ever walk this earth."
Kaelen felt a wave of despair wash over him. His heart sank as the gods' judgment fell upon him like a crushing weight.
"There will be no mercy," the god of fate spoke, its voice quiet but final. "You will be reborn. Stripped of your power, your identity. You will know what it means to suffer as those you once oppressed."
Kaelen's heart skipped a beat. "No," he whispered. "Please, I don't want to be reborn. I can't go back. I don't want to live this again."
But the gods remained silent, their faces unreadable. The curse had already been cast.
"You will live the life of those you once enslaved," the god of knowledge said. "You will know their pain, their struggles. Only then will you have the chance to atone."
And with that, Kaelen's world went dark.
The Rebirth of Ares
Kaelen awoke in a dark, cold cell, his body aching and weak. His limbs were shackled, the chains heavy and unforgiving. The once-proud king now lay on the ground, a mere shell of his former self.
His skin was pale, his hair blackened and disheveled. His body was covered in tattoos, one of which bore the name Ares. He didn't recognize the name. Was it his new identity? Or had the gods cursed him with this label to mock him further?
"Ares…" he whispered, the name foreign on his lips. "What have they done to me?"
The memories of his death, the betrayal, and the gods' judgment flooded back to him, but there was nothing left to cling to. His power was gone, his title was meaningless, and his kingdom was but a distant dream. He had been reborn as nothing more than a slave.
A slave.
Kaelen—now Ares—lay there, in the dirt, his body broken and his spirit crushed. But something deep inside him refused to accept this fate. He had been a king once. He would find a way to rise again.
But for now, he was nothing more than a boy, chained and forgotten. The curse was his, and he would endure it, but he would not surrender.
Not yet.