My eyes snapped open.
Gone was the battlefield. Gone was the blood, the fire, the blade in my chest.
I lay on a narrow, rotting bed, the smell of mold choking my lungs. My hands trembled as I touched my chest—no wound, no scar. My heart thundered in my ribcage, alive and whole.
I staggered to a cracked mirror in the corner of the room. The reflection staring back was younger, weaker, gaunt. My cheeks hollow, my eyes sunken, my body no longer wrapped in armor but in rags.
I knew this face. I knew this place.
This was my room from years ago, back before destiny branded me a hero. Back when I was nothing but a starving orphan in a forgotten village.
I gripped the edge of the mirror, my breath ragged.
"I… I came back?"
Memories crashed over me—battles not yet fought, victories not yet won, betrayals not yet endured. I remembered Darin's smirk, the laughter of those I trusted, the blade sliding into my chest.
No. Not again.
I would not walk the same path. I would not fight for them, bleed for them, die for them.
This time, I would not be their savior.
A sudden burning sensation flared on the back of my hand. I hissed, lifting it into the moonlight spilling through the cracked shutters. A black sigil etched itself into my skin, pulsing like a heartbeat.
And then, a voice echoed inside my skull.
> [Tyrant's Path Activated]
"Wield ruin. Claim power. Bend the world to your will."
I staggered back, clutching my hand as a flood of knowledge poured into my mind. A system—dark, twisted, unlike any holy blessing I once carried. It wasn't a gift to save the world.
It was a weapon to crush it.
A new notification blinked across my vision:
> Quest: First Blood
"Punish one who wronged you in your past life. Reward: +100 Tyrant Points."
I froze. A face flashed in my mind. Rogan. A coward who abandoned me at the very start of my rise. In my first life, I spared him, thinking mercy would earn loyalty. Instead, he became one of the first to betray me.
My lips curled into a smile. Bitter. Ruthless.
Mercy was weakness. Mercy led to ruin.
Not this time.
I clenched my fist, the sigil burning hotter. The System pulsed in answer, promising me power beyond anything I had known.
The Savior was dead.
The Tyrant had awakened.
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