God Of Last Regret

Chapter 3: First Blood, First Mistake

Dawn dragged itself in slow and mean, all gray light and damp chill that sank straight into Kael’s bones. The forest didn’t care about his situation. It just kept stretching on, thick with old pines that smelled like sap and rot, branches clawing at his cloak as he limped forward. His stomach had been empty for too long. The last of that dried meat from the temple was gone hours ago, chewed down to nothing and still leaving his gut twisting with angry hunger. The waterskin sloshed light at his hip. Not enough. Never enough in this fucked-up new world.

Every step with his left leg sent a dull, familiar fire up his thigh. That Sarajevo limp had hitched a ride across whatever void had dumped him here. The body he wore felt stronger in the arms and chest, like someone had pumped extra iron into the frame, but it came with cracks. Aching seams. A constant reminder that he wasn’t built for this place. Not really. He was just squatting in someone else’s broken vessel.

“Keep moving, you bastard,” he muttered to himself, voice rough as gravel. “No point standing still waiting for them to catch up.”

The horns from last night had faded, but he could still feel eyes on him. Or maybe that was just paranoia. Hard to tell the difference anymore. Flashes of the temple kept hitting him blood on stone, that kid’s terrified face, the red haze that made killing feel too easy. He shook his head hard, trying to shove the memories down. On Earth he’d told himself the dirty work kept the world spinning. Now he was choking on it all over again.

That’s when the noise cut through the quiet.

Steel clashing. Men shouting. A sharp, wet scream that ended too fast. Real fighting, not far off. Kael stopped behind a massive pine, heart kicking up. He peered through the needles and saw it: a small clearing maybe fifty yards down a slope, turned into a bloody mess. Two groups tearing at each other like starving dogs. One side looked ragged—leather armor patched together, faces smeared with ash marks for camouflage, weapons that had seen better days. Resistance, probably. The other side wore the cleaner imperial gear he’d seen at the temple. Legion soldiers. Fewer of them, but they moved with discipline. Swords flashing, shields up, barking orders.

It wasn’t some grand battle. Just a skirmish. Ugly and desperate. A Legion man drove his blade into a resistance fighter’s shoulder, twisting it with a grunt. The fighter howled and went down. Another resistance woman with wild braids swung a heavy axe, splitting a soldier’s helmet.

Kael’s grip tightened on his stolen sword. *Not your fight,* his brain screamed. He had his own problems—hunger gnawing at him, a leg that wanted to give out, that weird System voice whispering in his skull about levels and essence. Walking away made sense. Stay hidden. Survive.

But something hotter flared in his chest. That wild itch. The same power that had snapped bones back at the temple. It roared up before he could talk himself down. His feet moved anyway. Impulsive. Stupid. He crashed out of the treeline with a raw shout tearing from his throat, sword raised high.

A Legion soldier spun toward him, eyes wide. Too slow. Kael’s blade caught him across the throat in a clean, vicious arc. Blood sprayed hot across the cold morning air. The man dropped, gurgling.

The power hit Kael like lightning in his veins. Everything sharpened. His movements came faster, stronger than they had any right to be. He slammed shoulder-first into the next soldier, feeling ribs crack under the impact. The man flew back, gasping. Kael didn’t give him time to recover. He drove the sword down, punching through mail and into flesh. Another one charged from the side. Kael twisted, parried with a ringing clang, then elbowed the bastard’s face so hard the nose exploded in red.

The resistance fighters faltered mid-swing, staring at this stranger who’d dropped out of nowhere like some blood-crazed ghost. One of them, a stocky guy with a scarred jaw, actually yelled, “Who the fuck is that?”

Kael didn’t answer. He was lost in it now. The red haze crept in at the edges of his vision, turning the world into a tunnel of threats and targets. A Legion soldier thrust at him with a spear. Kael sidestepped, grabbed the shaft, and yanked the man forward. His fist connected with the throat once, twice. Cartilage crunched. The soldier collapsed, clutching his neck.

He spotted the commander then. A hard-faced officer standing toward the back of the Legion line, silver insignia catching the weak dawn light. The man was barking orders, voice steady even as his men fell. “Hold the line! Reform on me, you dogs!”

Something in Kael snapped toward that voice. The commander represented everything familiar—orders, missions, betrayal. He charged straight through the chaos, sword trailing. Two more Legion men tried to block him. Kael cut the first one down with a brutal overhead chop that split shoulder and collarbone. The second got a kick to the knee that dropped him, followed by a slash across the belly. Guts spilled, steaming in the cold air.

The commander turned to face him, drawing his own blade with a snarl. “You’re no resistance scum. What are you? Some rogue mercenary?”

Their swords met with a heavy clang that vibrated up Kael’s arm. Once. Twice. The officer was skilled trained, experienced. But Kael’s new body didn’t play fair. That unnatural strength surged again, making his strikes heavier, faster. He feinted left, then drove inside the man’s guard. Grabbed the helmet with his free hand and smashed the commander’s face down onto his raised knee. Bone crunched loud. Blood poured from the broken nose.

The commander staggered back, spitting red. “Who the hell are you?” he gasped, voice thick and wet.

Kael didn’t waste words. The red haze screamed louder now, hungry. *Finish it. They’re all threats.* He stepped in and drove his sword straight down through the man’s neck, pinning him to the ground. The commander’s eyes bulged. His body twitched once, hands scrabbling uselessly at the blade, then went limp.

Ruthless. Efficient. Too much like the old Kael.

The remaining Legion soldiers saw their leader fall and broke. They ran for the trees, shouting curses and promises of revenge. The skirmish ended as fast as it had turned.

Kael stood there in the middle of the clearing, chest heaving, sword dripping. The power drained out of him all at once, leaving his limbs shaky and his head pounding. That familiar hollow feeling settled in his gut, worse than the hunger. He looked down at the commander’s body. The man’s face was frozen in shock, blood pooling under him, mixing with the mud.

“Shit,” Kael whispered.

A young Legion soldier nearby had dropped his weapon. He was on his knees, hands raised high, face pale as milk. Barely eighteen, maybe. Scared eyes darting around like a trapped animal. “Please… I surrender. I’ve got a wife back in the village. She’s pregnant. Don’t kill me. I didn’t want this fight. Mercy”

The old instincts roared in Kael’s head. *End the threat. No loose ends.* His sword hand twitched. The red haze pushed at the edges again, whispering how easy it would be. One quick thrust. Clean. But then the temple kid’s face flashed in his mind. That boy he’d let run. The regret from Earth the village, the bodies, the hollow justifications. It all clawed up fresh and raw.

He lowered the blade, breathing ragged. “Get out,” Kael growled, voice hoarse. “Run before I change my mind.”

The kid didn’t hesitate. He scrambled up, nearly tripping over his own feet, and bolted into the thick underbrush. Branches snapped as he disappeared. Kael watched him go, jaw tight. Another mistake. He could feel it already.

The resistance fighters started moving again, checking their wounded and stripping the dead. A woman with a scarred cheek and a notched axe stepped closer to him. She wiped blood from her face with the back of her hand, eyes narrowed. “You fight like a damn demon,” she said, voice low and wary. “Never seen moves like that. Where the hell did you crawl out from, stranger?”

Kael forced a shrug, trying to play it cool even as his leg throbbed and his stomach cramped with hunger. “Just passing through. Looked like you needed the help. That’s all.”

More of them gathered around, exchanging uneasy glances. A stocky man with a missing ear spat on the ground near the commander’s corpse. “Help? You carved through them like they were wheat. Cold as winter steel. Especially that one.” He jerked his chin at the dead officer. “Didn’t even blink. We don’t know you. And you let that young bastard run off. He’s gonna report back. Bring the whole damn patrol down on our heads by nightfall.”

The scarred woman, maybe their leader crossed her arms. “Name’s Mira. This is what’s left of our scouting party. We hit their supply line two days back. Been running since. You jump in like that, covered in temple dust and swinging steel like you were born for it… makes people nervous. We’ve lost too many to spies and turncoats.”

Kael felt the weight of their stares pressing on him. Suspicion thick in the air. A couple of the fighters kept hands close to their weapons, not quite trusting the stranger who’d saved their asses but acted like a monster doing it. One younger resistance kid, no older than the one who’d run, stared at the blood on Kael’s cloak with wide eyes.

“I’m not with the Legion,” Kael said flatly. “Not with anyone. Just trying to stay alive in this shit.”

Mira studied him for a long moment, then nodded toward a narrow trail leading deeper into the woods. “We’re heading back to camp. It’s hidden, but not for long if that kid talks. You can come with us… for now. Eat something. Rest that limp of yours. But watch yourself. One wrong move and we put you down ourselves.”

Kael wiped his blade clean on a dead soldier’s cloak, the fabric soaking up the fresh blood. He sheathed it and adjusted the satchel on his shoulder. The group started moving, helping their wounded along. He limped after them, every step a reminder of how wrong this body still felt. The forest closed in again, but now it carried new tension. Whispers among the fighters. Glances thrown his way.

As they walked, the cold mechanical voice echoed in his mind without warning:

[Essence Gained from Commander Kill.]

[Vessel Integration: 17%.]

[Level 2 – Level 3. Minor Strength Boost Unlocked.]

He ignored it, clenching his teeth. Stronger now? Great. Just what he needed more power to fuck things up with. The hunger gnawed harder as they marched, but at least there was a promise of food at this camp. Maybe answers. Probably more blood.

Hours seemed to blur as they moved through the dense woods. Mira led the way, setting a brutal pace despite the wounded. Kael stuck to the back, limping along and listening to the quiet conversations. They talked about lost villages burned by the Legion, families dragged off, gods who had abandoned them to endless war. Aresion, they called this world in hushed tones. A place where conflict was currency and mercy was weakness.

One fighter, the stocky one with the missing ear, fell back beside Kael. “You got a name, demon?”

“Kael.”

“Short and ugly. Fits. You move wrong, Kael. Like you’re fighting your own skin. And that look in your eyes when you killed their commander… I’ve seen it in mad dogs before. Hope you’re not one.”

Kael didn’t reply. What could he say? That he’d died choking on betrayal in another world? That some System had jammed him into this body and kept pushing him toward more violence? That every time he spared someone, he risked the group, but every time he killed, the regret piled higher?

The sun climbed higher, filtering weak through the canopy. His stomach kept complaining. When they finally stopped at a small stream to refill waterskins and tend wounds, Kael tore into a piece of hard bread someone tossed him. It tasted like dirt and heaven at the same time. He wolfed it down, then another. The strength boost from the System hummed faintly in his muscles, easing the limp just a little. Not enough to fix it. Never that easy.

Mira approached while he was drinking from the stream. “You’re trouble, Kael Voss.” She said the name like she was testing it. “But trouble with a sword arm like yours might be useful. Camp’s another hour. Stay quiet. Earn trust slow. Or don’t. Your choice.”

He nodded, wiping his mouth. The young soldier he’d spared was probably running straight to the Legion right now, describing the stranger who’d slaughtered their commander and let him live. Consequences were coming. More fights. More chances to slip into that red haze and lose whatever was left of himself.

As the group started moving again, Kael brought up the rear, jaw set tight. Two worlds. Two lifetimes of blood. And this new mistake already felt heavier than the last.

The forest whispered around him, indifferent. He kept limping forward anyway. Aching. Hungry. Still choking on fresh regret.

But moving.