God Of Last Regret

As the bullet tore through Kael Voss like fire and ice at the same time. He hit the wet concrete hard, tasting blood and the bitter copper of failure,rain mixed with the leaking fuel from the blown-up van, turning everything into a filthy, stinking mess. His team,his brothers,had sold him out for a bigger paycheck,he’d seen it in their eyes right before the shots came. All those years of dirty work, the bodies he’d left behind because the mission demanded it, and this was how it ended,not with glory instead regret.

Flashes hit him as his vision blurred,a village in the mountains where he’d followed orders and cleared the “threat.” A kid no older than fifteen who had only been in the wrong place. He’d told himself it was necessary,that ruthlessness kept the world spinning. And now choking on his own blood, Kael realized how hollow that sounded. “Sorry,” he rasped to no one, the word lost in the downpour then darkness took him.

He suddenly woke up screaming.

Not on that cold concrete, but on cracked stone that smelled dust and old incense,the air thick, heavy with the metallic tang of blood that wasn’t all his. Kael pushed himself up, muscles burning like he’d been rebuilt wrong,stronger in places, but aching in others. His left leg twinged with that old limp from Sarajevo. It had followed him here,wherever it was.

Shouts echoed through the ruined hall,torchlight flickered on crumbling walls carved with forgotten battles and winged figures. Men in dark imperial armor were dragging bodies out, laughing as they looted,one of them spotted him and raised a sword.

“Another scavenger! Finish it!”

Kael moved before thinking,his body reacted like the old days agent instincts mixed with something hotter, wilder. He grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting hard. Bone snapped. The sword fell into his hand and drove it forward, feeling it bite flesh. Blood sprayed. Another soldier charged; Kael slammed into him with strength that shouldn’t have been possible, caving in ribs with a single brutal elbow.

Panic surged,he wasn’t in control,something inside him roared, ancient and hungry. Three more fell in quick, ugly seconds, throats opened, skulls cracked against stone,the power felt too good, like fire in his veins,but it also hurt, like his skull was splitting open.

Then he saw the last one.

A young soldier, barely out of boyhood, pressed against a pillar with his hands up. His sword lay forgotten on the ground. Wide eyes full of terror. “Please, I have a sister, I didn’t want this. Mercy”

Kael’s blade hovered at the kid’s throat. His hand shook,as the rage screamed to finish it. They’re all threats. End it clean,but that village kid’s face flashed again,the regret from Earth clawed at him, fresh and raw even in this new nightmare.

He lowered the sword.

“Run,” Kael growled, voice hoarse. “Before I change my mind.”

The boy didn’t hesitate,he bolted through a shattered doorway, footsteps fading into the night.

Kael staggered back, chest heavy,what the hell was happening? This wasn’t his world,these weren’t his missions. His arms itched faint glowing runes crawling across his skin like living tattoos. Pain lanced through his head again.

Then a cold, mechanical voice echoed directly in his mind:

[War System Activated. Vessel Integration: 12%.]

[First Kill Threshold Met. Minor Essence Gained.]

[Level 1 – Level 2. Basic Combat Instinct Unlocked.]

Kael laughed, a broken sound that turned into a cough. “System? What kind of fucked-up joke”

The world tilted, his vision swam with crimson edges,the power that had carried him through the fight drained away all at once, leaving him hollow and shaking, collapsing against the altar stone, the scar on his cheek stinging like it was fresh.

Somewhere outside, horns blared,more soldiers were coming,and whatever he’d just become it was already breaking him.

He closed his eyes, breathing ragged, and whispered to the empty temple, “I don’t know if I deserve another chance,but if this is it don’t let me fuck it up again.”

The ruins answered only with silence and the distant sound of marching boots.