Reborn As A Slave: The Fallen God's Revenge

Chapter 02

The faint murmur of voices pierced through the darkness, dragging a man's consciousness back from the void. He lay motionless on a wooden plank—bare, splintered, without even a thread of bedding to cushion his battered body.

The space around him was suffocating. Narrow. Cramped. Like a coffin.

"I thought he was dead," a gruff voice muttered nearby. "Looks like a damn mummy."

"You idiot! Can't you see his chest moving? He's breathing, moron."

"Who are you calling a moron?! You're dumber than a donkey. Whatever—just go fetch water from that basin over there."

"Look who's talking! You look more like a donkey than I do. Stop ordering me around like we're not equals!"

Grumbling under his breath, one of the men stomped away toward a stone basin in the corner. When he returned, he lifted the container high—and without warning, dumped the entire contents over the prone figure's body.

SPLASH!

"WHAT THE HELL?!"

The shock of icy water jolted the man awake. His eyes snapped open, fury blazing in their depths. His body was drenched, cold water pooling beneath him.

"How dare you scream at me, you worthless dog!"

A burly guard with an iron rod stepped forward, face twisted in rage. He loomed over the soaked man, his presence radiating menace.

But the man on the bed didn't flinch. He sat up slowly, water dripping from his hair, his gaze calm—dangerously calm—as if the guard's fury meant nothing.

"Who are you?" The words came out low, measured. God Mervous stared at the guard with the cold authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

The guard's face flushed red. "Who am I?! Who the hell are YOU to ask me that?!"

God Mervous returned the glare with equal intensity. This peasant dared speak to him this way? Unthinkable.

"Get me a whip, Dior," the guard barked to his companion. "This lazy bastard needs breakfast—my kind of breakfast."

The second guard nodded eagerly and rushed off.

"What nonsense are you spouting?" God Mervous' voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

The guard threw his head back and laughed. "You? Ha! I couldn't care less."

"I could destroy you where you stand!"

"Ooh, I'm terrified," the guard mocked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Still dreaming, are we? Let me remind you of reality, boy. You're not some mighty warrior. You're a slave. Lower than dirt. A piece of property. So stop your delusions and remember your place."

God Mervous' mind reeled. Slave? The word was incomprehensible. Impossible.

"An uppity slave like you deserves punishment," the guard continued, sneering. "You're lazy, insolent, and clearly in need of correction. Today, you won't eat. You'll work until I'm satisfied—if I ever am."

Before God Mervous could respond, the other guard returned, whip in hand.

"Here, Commander!"

CRACK!

The whip sliced through the air as a test. Then, without hesitation, the guard brought it down on God Mervous.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Pain exploded across his back, his arms, his legs. God Mervous gritted his teeth, rage building with every strike. But his body—this weak, mortal body—wouldn't respond the way it should.

"That's what you get. Now get ready for a wonderful day of work." The guards laughed as they walked away, leaving God Mervous trembling with pain and fury.

A moment later, footsteps approached. A thin man with kind eyes crept into the cramped space.

"You're always like this," the man said softly, shaking his head. "I told you—the guards here are brutal. We have to wake up before dawn and get straight to work, or they make us suffer for it."

God Mervous turned his gaze to the stranger. "Who are you?"

The man chuckled sadly. "I'm Edrick. I've told you this a dozen times already, Kayrus. You must've hit your head harder than I thought." He pulled out a handful of crushed leaves from his pocket. "Here. Press these against your wounds. They'll help with the pain."

As Edrick stood to leave, he paused. "We should get moving. There's work to do, Kayrus. Don't make them angrier."

Kayrus.

The name echoed in God Mervous' mind like a death knell.

That's when the truth hit him.

He wasn't in his own body anymore.

He was trapped in the flesh of this weak, broken young man—a slave named Kayrus.

"Hey! Don't just sit there daydreaming!" Edrick called from the doorway. "Get dressed and get out there before they come back."

Left alone, God Mervous stared down at his hands—thin, scarred, powerless. He pressed the leaves against his wounds, and to his surprise, the pain began to fade.

But the greater pain—the realization of what had happened to him—only deepened.

Before he could process it all, a booming voice echoed through the corridor.

"HEY! KAYRUS! WHERE ARE YOU, YOU LAZY SLAVE?!"

God Mervous grabbed the only dry tunic hanging on the wall and stumbled out of the room.

"There you are! Get over here!"

The same guard from earlier pointed toward a filthy latrine at the end of the hall. "Clean this toilet. Every speck of filth. Every. Single. One. Or you'll regret it."

At the far end of the corridor, Edrick stood watching. He gave a subtle nod—Do as they say. Don't resist.

Reluctantly, God Mervous picked up a brush and bucket. Around him, other slaves worked in silence, their eyes hollow, their movements mechanical. They were broken. Beaten into submission.

Some bore fresh bruises. Others had scars that told stories of years of torment.

"Who are these people?" God Mervous thought, his grip tightening on the brush. "Where am I? And why is this happening?"

He tried to clean, but his mind was elsewhere—racing through possibilities, seeking answers.

"What about the new guy?"

The guards had gathered nearby, watching him with cruel amusement.

"Not bad. We can have some fun with this one."

They laughed, and God Mervous felt his blood boil.

But he forced himself to stay calm. He needed information. He needed to understand this nightmare before he could escape it.

Until—

CRASH!

One of the guards kicked the bucket from his hands, spilling water everywhere.

"You useless piece of trash! Is this how you clean?! Looks like you need another lesson. Boys, teach him."

God Mervous was yanked to his feet. Fists rained down on him. Boots slammed into his ribs. The whip cracked against his back again and again.

Pain. Humiliation. Rage.

"ENOUGH!" God Mervous roared.

The entire corridor fell silent.

Every slave, every guard—everyone froze.

No one had ever heard a slave speak like that.

"How dare you!" one guard snarled. "You're just a slave! Know your place!"

But God Mervous didn't care. His eyes burned with defiance. "I said ENOUGH."

The other slaves stared in shock. This wasn't the Kayrus they knew. This was someone—something—else entirely.

"Still giving us that look?" The guard raised his whip again. "Feel this—"

"Stop," God Mervous said, voice deadly calm. "Or you will know consequences beyond your comprehension. You've crossed the line. I will never forgive this."

The guards hesitated, confused.

"I will destroy you all."

God Mervous raised his hand, fury coursing through him. He reached for his power—the devastating flames that had once reduced armies to ash.

But nothing happened.

No fire. No light. No power.

Only silence.

The guards burst into laughter.

"Lost in your fantasies, boy?!"

CRACK! THUD!

The whip came down harder than ever. Fists followed. Boots crushed him into the stone floor.

And God Mervous—once the most feared deity in existence—could do nothing but endure.

For the first time in his eternal life, he was truly powerless.