LesserCodex
A milf enjoyer who lives in your walls.
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So I'm working on a story and I've written the first chapter, and I'd be happy to know your thoughts, is it engaging enough for a first chapter, any issues with it? Things that could be improved. I plan for this to be a more action/plot-packed story.
Inspired by a bunch of regression manhuas, manhwas, mangas and webnovels I read. I don’t want this to be some next-level masterpiece, just a good thing, so I'd be happy to hear some thoughts. The first chapter is 3,500 words.
Working title: The Scarlet Star
Synnopsis
For Iver, the concept of death was easier to understand than regression. The continent’s chosen failed against the might of the alien star. In an attempt to face the invading threats as the last line of defence, Iver activated his altered ritual.
Instead of recovering his body from mortal wounds for a final stand against the army, he wrings himself back eight years in time. Instead of the joy others would cheer for, his faces the same struggles as most halfbreeds do ostricied by society. Even with some opportunities missed, the Vampire and Orc halfbreed with his knowledge, will seize every chance that comes with being a hybrid to stand above the heroes and stars of his world.
Here's the first chapter
Inspired by a bunch of regression manhuas, manhwas, mangas and webnovels I read. I don’t want this to be some next-level masterpiece, just a good thing, so I'd be happy to hear some thoughts. The first chapter is 3,500 words.
Working title: The Scarlet Star
Synnopsis
For Iver, the concept of death was easier to understand than regression. The continent’s chosen failed against the might of the alien star. In an attempt to face the invading threats as the last line of defence, Iver activated his altered ritual.
Instead of recovering his body from mortal wounds for a final stand against the army, he wrings himself back eight years in time. Instead of the joy others would cheer for, his faces the same struggles as most halfbreeds do ostricied by society. Even with some opportunities missed, the Vampire and Orc halfbreed with his knowledge, will seize every chance that comes with being a hybrid to stand above the heroes and stars of his world.
Here's the first chapter
A Bloody Battlefield
It was beautiful in a sense, the blood moon solar eclipse, the reddened skies, the chaos around him.
Iver stood in a bloody field, corpses of foes and others torn to shreds, In the distance a towering castle cloaked in an inferno, the Castle of Munt, burning and crumbling to pieces.
A pained sigh left him, a sense of relief as weight fell off his shoulders, they failed, there was no point in struggling.
“N-no it can’t be.” A warrior, a distance away, shook at the sight.
Iver chuckled, “So much for the so-called heroes of the realm.” He spat, sitting with his back on the giant he had slain. Dropping his split sword to the side, his armor clanked, he grunted as blood pooled down his feet.
The warrior glared at him, “Shut your mouth half breed scum!”
He raised his sword, “The sigil of our hero mage Deya has yet to vanish from our skin!” He roared the remaining forces around, only two dozen or so looked to their palms.
Iver, removing his gauntlet, also saw the tattoo of the crescent moon on his palm. Some warriors roar with the man ready to charge forward with vigor.
“Aren’t you coming with us?” A healer, a woman with bull horns and a human center with bloody robes, spoke up with a stutter. Some of the warriors stopped as well.
“Tch, we don’t need an abomination like him, he’s already bleeding to death, leave him and let’s march, maybe in his death the stardust of Ronas will bless us.”
“Your star was butchered in front of your eyes, and you still pray to him?” Iver raised a brow.
“M-maybe, but he’s the only one of us who did most in slaying the apostle. He’s a high-ranking fourth-order mystic. We aren’t even part of the main force, and to get to them we’ll have to face Lord or apostle-level threats.” The minotaur woman said, her voice laced with worry.
At that, Iver smirked. He was right; they weren’t part of the main force; rather, they were placed behind to stop any pincer attacks from the enemy.
Despite the bleeding holes in his body and the growing pool of blood, he smiled. He is the strongest among the groups of warriors, mages and mystics he could sense. A small pride took over; being recognised as such is one of the few things he enjoyed in his life, but it was only fleeting.
“I’ll slow you down, and honestly… I don’t care enough to watch your backs.” He was straightforward about it.
‘This heart can’t keep up with this much pressure.’ He lamented his magical heart that was beating rapidly, constantly working its magic to keep his body functional.
None of them watched his back. He would’ve died countless times if not for the strength of power he amassed through sheer effort.
‘My regeneration can’t keep up, and I’ve got too many magical wounds to heal with my blood magic.’
“Where is your pride as an Orc!?” A tall warrior roared at him.
“Pathetic, all that power and put to waste.” A vampire archer remarked, hissing.
Their words fell on deaf ears; there was no argument, only bitter remarks, mostly by the man forcing himself into the role of the leader. Having heard worse before, he chose to stay silent, acting like he was at death’s door.
After a while, they left, leaving Iver alone.
“Finally some fucking peace.” He breathed out.
It was over, the war was lost, and they were heading to their doom. He would join them soon, but not in his current state.
“Go big or go home, right big guy?” He tapped the corpse behind him.
An apostle, a step below the star of conquest, the outer being wanting to pillage the world. The healer was right, he did most of the work in slaying this giant black ogre behemoth. It was an apostle in the same ranks as a master mystic.
It took everything he had to fight it and barely come out alive. And with them gone, he sat alone.
In silent pain, he groaned, pushing himself up, with a mental pull, the blood from the various corpses around flowed into him, and a small calming sigh left him.
He extended his certain death by a few minutes.
“Just enough time.” He said, circling the giant apostle. Its body was a trove of resources, and while many would let greed take over and harvest it.
What good was it when the world was doomed?
The ground shook and explosions reverberated from afar. Iver only shot a glance at the inferno before focusing on his task.
A black circle formed around the dead beast, stabbing his sword, the blood that pooled beneath him filled the circle, creating a large triangle and within the outline of a heart in drawing in blood, it all glowed in eerie red, as the veins of the dark behemoth lit up in dark red accents.
“Revive? Revivify, rejuvinaiton, full recovery would best suit it,” He hadn’t come up with a name for this spell, infact it wasn’t even complete, a modified version of the moon rebith ritual of the orcs magic and the vampires blood magic, a mix of both that would require a powerful mage of each species but his advantage as a hybrid allowed him to wield both classes of magic.
Something that would only work for a hybrid like him.
“A minute or two,” He watched the veins glow and pulse with every passing moment.
The ground shook once more and facing the burning castle of Munt he knew it was over, the towering structure in its center toppled a ripple shook the air.
A distant cough drew his attention. Among the corpses, he saw a struggling, mangled body, skin burnt to the point of being recognisable with one lone blue eye peering towards him.
‘Damn it.’ Controlling the nearby blood, he sent it towards the person; their body shook, and a dry cough escaped their charred lips.
“I-I can’t feel pain.” Their voice, though dry, was sweet.
‘A woman at death’s door.’ Iver sighed, “I’m using my blood magic to get rid of the pain, you’re going to die, but I can at least make it painless for you.”
“W-what happened to the war? Did we win?” She asked.
“No.”
“…” A dry chuckle left her as she spewed blood, “all I did was for nothing,” her voice broke, “my son’s death, my family’s execution… I failed to return our name to glory… and I gave myself away for nothing.”
Iver said nothing, continuing with his ritual; he knew enough about women to know she just wanted to vent.
‘The barrier around the continent’s fallen.’ Iver frowned. Now the celestial army can lay waste to the other continents.
Their united efforts were for naught.
“Thank you.”
At that, the hybrid turned to her, “What for?”
“For listening to and taking away my pain, you’re a kind person. It would’ve been nice to have someone like you by my side.”
“No… it wouldn’t.”
A wheeze left her as more blood spurted from her body, “I’m not so sure, my Earldom don’t share much disdain for hybrids... I hope in the next life, you're owed for the suffering in this one.”
Iver chuckled at that. He was about to say something before silence filled the space, she passed on, happily, he hoped.
Another quake drew his attention to the inferno, and a dread filled his face. The army was approaching, and Iver cursed. He couldn’t keep using blood to fight wounds like these.
He could, but it would be a vain attempt. But as luck would have it, the spell circle was almost ready.
He looked up at the blood moon eclipse with a small smile, ‘At least I can count on one thing.’
The blood moon eclipse. A unique event that bolstered the respective magic of the celestial bodies.
The behemoth apostle’s corpse was no more; instead was a condensed, glistening red ball of light at the center of the circle.
The ground shook once more. His attention moved to the approaching figures.
They marched forward, and behind the army, a towering figure with six wings that shone in blinding lights followed. The celestial of the angels. The star of brilliance. The light from its wings obscured its true form. Next to it were two smaller shadows, but larger than the army, which held a lesser but demanding amount of presence.
The apostle he killed was the celestial’s fourth wing. That’s what they called themselves.
Iver assumed the heroes and the other forces had slain three other apostles, as he didn’t sense anyone else among the approaching army with a similar presence.
‘Did they even fight the celestial!?’ He hurried his bloody steps into the center of the circle with the blood crystal ball right in front of him.
‘Most of the continent’s strong are dead, am I the last one standing between these guys and the rest of the world?’ He chuckled.
This world he loathed, with little to no beauty in it for him, no place to call home, and yet he chose to fight. Just because it was right and for the little beauty and kindness he was shown at random times in his life.
The circle glowed, the blood crystal shattered, and forced itself into his body. Pain shot through him, and a feral groan left his body. His wounds closed, his blood-red aura flared, and his glowing red eyes glared at the approaching army.
The beating heart within him drummed his body advanced his power grew, he was no longer a strong fourth-order mystic, he stepped into the realm of first-order masters, even as a beginner, he felt he could take on the world!
A chime filled the air as he changed, and one of the shadowed apostles dashed towards him.
“Fuck!”
The spell wasn’t over. In the moment the figure closed the distance, red chains shot from the ground, binding the shadow.
‘Don’t take me for a fool!’
Grunting, Iver drew his blade, the shadow broke free of the restraints, reeling its fist coated in blue flames as Iver swung his crimson-coated blade at the fist!
Both attacks clashed, the grounds shook, the circle beneath him wavered, he cursed and swung again, avoiding a fist to his face with a thumping heart, he swung down in a perfect vertical slash.
Shock appeared in the shadow’s face. Iver felt his blade cut through flesh, his heart thumped as he poured more energy into his blade, pushing forward for a pierce! He would finish it, completely recover, and kill them all!
With a roar, he pushed with all his might!
The spell circle beneath him flickered, in the corner of his eye, behind the apostle he was confident in slaying, the six wings of the celestial shone, a blinding bolt of light shot towards him!
He had a split second to react, pivoting his foot with a fierce glare, he roared, pouring more spirit into his blade because he knew that attack would end him.
“RAAAGH!” His blade clashed with the brilliant light, and everything went white.
It was an instant of pain and then nothing; the battle, the war, his part in it ended.
‘I barely had the time to taste the power of a master.’ He cursed.
But at least he could rest, although…
The darkness felt uncomfortable; his spirit acted as though it were on a poor mattress.
“Is this my torture? Why would I be getting tortured? I’ve never killed an innocent or done anything wrong!”
As he struggled, a blinding light entered his vision. His eyes fluttered awake, his mind spinning and body disoriented.
“I’m in a room? Wait.”
This afterlife felt unjust. But with a quick look, Iver recognised the space.
“This place?” He recognised his room.
The small, decrepit wooden shack he built for himself. The orphanage couldn’t keep him. His parents were nonexistent; he assumed they ran to another life after birthing a half-breed like him.
Half-breeds were a unique and had rare chance of being born between two different races.
Anyways, Iver grew more perplexed with time.
This couldn’t be possible, but as he stepped out of his small home, feeling the cold forest grass against his bare feet, the sun trickling down on him, he knew it was true.
This wasn’t his blessed afterlife; it was his hell. There was one place he would’ve wanted his afterlife to be like: a luxurious inn where people were eager to fulfil his needs.
“But how?”
Regression was impossible; there was no such thing as time magic. His Blood and Orc magic did nothing to directly affect his spirit.
The moonlit revival ritual he altered would rebuild the body stronger than before, sharpening one’s senses, mind and body.
“No, the spirit is loosely afflicted by the ritual, resulting in a stronger aura. But is that enough?”
His mind raced at all the possible factors, eventually concluding that the celestial’s attack must’ve affected the ritual as it was in the process of completing. A combination of the blood moon eclipse enhancing his magics, his unfinished revival spell, and the celestial’s attack.
He wasn’t sure about the last one, but there was no issue considering it. And if the celestial had time-altering abilities, then it would make no sense for it to be the case. But the apostle never displayed any such powers.
The cold air filled his lungs as he sat at the base of a tree. This was real, all of it. He spent a lot of the morning accepting this reality.
“Fuck it, an accident or fate, or some luck; there’s no way I can replicate that, so I might as well take it as is.” He huffed.
Iver knew he stood on the precipice of change; he alone knew the flow of the world, the large events that would affect the end.
And he was going to abuse it. A gleam shone in his crimson eyes.
But questions burned in the back of his mind, and the only way to get answers would be to rise. So, standing up, he went to his hut. Walking in, he smiled even though it shook against the wind; the place kept him safe and warm at times.
In the top corner lay a small table and a stool; sitting down, he searched through the organised papers. And he found a sheet revealing the time he regressed to.
“Damn it!” He dropped his slip, reading the words etched onto it: Congratulations on graduating.
“It was after my time in the academy… So much shit happened there I could’ve capitalised on: the entrance test event, the battle events against other academies where that drake was smuggled in. I could’ve used its heart for my first rebirth.” He frowned.
Taking a moment to breathe, he collected his thoughts. He was still in the first quarter of the year, and with every passing day, time passed.
“Alright, I need goals and set checkmarks. My first one is simple: finally awaken this body of mine.” Iver rose.
To fix his body. He grabbed his bow and arrows from the weapon rack between the desk and bed, along with a small copper knife and belt sheath.
The forest behind him was a small one, though it didn’t have powerful beasts; they were still beasts nonetheless.
He wore flat shoes and moved through the grassy plateaus. Before he began his adventures, his time in the academy was hell; he did well theoretically, but physically he lagged behind Orcs, Vampires, Beast-Kin and even some humans.
This was due to his hybrid nature. You’d think being born both vampire and orc meant you had the best of both, and while it was true, it also came with health issues.
For Iver, his physical abilities of both races were locked behind his vampire awakening. He only took blood in small amounts to avoid the frenzy before, as he didn’t need it to survive.
‘Blood, I need lots of blood.’
But in one adventure, after consuming a large quantity of blood in one go, he felt the chains weighing him down vanish. And was able to wield both Orcish and Vampire might without issue, something he discovered a year later from now.
Stopping behind a tree, he spotted a six-legged deer. His experience hunting kicked in; he calmed his breath and pulled back his bow. Feeling the tension on the string, he let go.
The deer’s ears perked up, raising its head only to get pierced by an arrow to its heart. Quickly, he ran across the distance, stabbing its neck, ending its cries.
“Huh?”
Iver’s body shook; he knew his limits well and controlled them, so he couldn’t understand before the pleasing smell reached his nose. The blood.
His body was craving it, and usually a small sip would be enough to satiate him, but it was as if his body knew his actions; it hungered.
Without hesitation, he opened his mouth, revealing his front fangs, and bit into the flesh. Large gulps filled the area. As he drank and drank, filling his hunger. Soon enough, the deer became a dried, tough husk of muscle.
A burp and pleased sigh, and Iver felt his body shake; he was almost there, just two or three more, he thought, and went back hunting after dragging its body back to his hut.
He couldn’t find a deer but managed to kill a razor-feathered eagle. “I can use its feathers for more arrows.”
Iver froze and jumped back; a heavy thud followed as the deer rammed into the tree where he stood.
“A beast, huh?” Iver readied his bow.
The creature facing him was a green-furred six-legged deer with a white mane around its body. It stood two metres in height without its antlers.
The wind picked up. Iver hummed before his battle sense flared, and he jumped to the side; a wind blast exploded where he stood, tearing the grass and dirt apart.
‘Wild magic, wind bullet.’ Iver grinned; he knew it wasn’t going to be easy. His reaction time was slower than he expected.
The issue with having nearly a decade’s worth of experience and a body unadapted to combat made him sweat.
The deer snorted and charged at him. Iver worked his muscles near their limit. He jumped back and rolled to the side, avoiding a wind bullet.
Every time it got close, swinging at him with its antlers, he rolled to the side. Firing arrows, he frowned seeing them bend around its body.
The beast rattled its antlers before charging at him. Iver put his bow aside and pulled out his copper blade.
‘Just a bit of magic enough. One thing my body can handle.’ He felt his energy drain, a faint aura covering his blade as he charged at the beast.
Iver swerved as wind bullets shot past him, but a pain struck his shoulder, and a warm liquid dripped down; he was shot. Grunting, he kept his charge. His body was unused to the pain, but his spirit willed itself to continue.
They got close; the deer slashed at him with its antlers, and he swerved past it, twisting his body and sitting at its neck.
He tumbled and rolled to the side, slamming into a tree. The deer turned back, panting; a deep bloody gash ran down its body, and blood spurted out.
Iver hissed, pulling himself up. The world spun, but he held himself steady. The deer grunted and charged, blood spewing out of its mouth and nose.
Iver braced himself, ready for another bout despite his body’s protest. The deer screeched before it tumbled and fell right at his feet.
“Oh, thank fuck.” Iver dropped his blade.
His knees buckled, and he fell on top of the beast. The smell of blood kept him aware as he reached the cut, drinking its blood.
Refreshing and cool, his body greedily sucked it in, his screaming weak muscles cooled, and the wound at his shoulder stopped bleeding.
He felt his body swelling with energy and reached the bottleneck. He was full but still hungry; he kept drinking the beast’s blood, and once that fullness became overwhelming, a warmth burst through him.
Iver felt his awakening; heat radiated from his body as he sat up, blood trickling down. His vessel grew stronger, no longer held back by either half. Standing up, he hoisted the beast with one hand with little effort, dragging it back to his hut. With one thought resonating in his mind.
‘I’m going to become stronger than the heroes and apostles, strong enough to butcher that star and change the fate of this bloody world.’
It was beautiful in a sense, the blood moon solar eclipse, the reddened skies, the chaos around him.
Iver stood in a bloody field, corpses of foes and others torn to shreds, In the distance a towering castle cloaked in an inferno, the Castle of Munt, burning and crumbling to pieces.
A pained sigh left him, a sense of relief as weight fell off his shoulders, they failed, there was no point in struggling.
“N-no it can’t be.” A warrior, a distance away, shook at the sight.
Iver chuckled, “So much for the so-called heroes of the realm.” He spat, sitting with his back on the giant he had slain. Dropping his split sword to the side, his armor clanked, he grunted as blood pooled down his feet.
The warrior glared at him, “Shut your mouth half breed scum!”
He raised his sword, “The sigil of our hero mage Deya has yet to vanish from our skin!” He roared the remaining forces around, only two dozen or so looked to their palms.
Iver, removing his gauntlet, also saw the tattoo of the crescent moon on his palm. Some warriors roar with the man ready to charge forward with vigor.
“Aren’t you coming with us?” A healer, a woman with bull horns and a human center with bloody robes, spoke up with a stutter. Some of the warriors stopped as well.
“Tch, we don’t need an abomination like him, he’s already bleeding to death, leave him and let’s march, maybe in his death the stardust of Ronas will bless us.”
“Your star was butchered in front of your eyes, and you still pray to him?” Iver raised a brow.
“M-maybe, but he’s the only one of us who did most in slaying the apostle. He’s a high-ranking fourth-order mystic. We aren’t even part of the main force, and to get to them we’ll have to face Lord or apostle-level threats.” The minotaur woman said, her voice laced with worry.
At that, Iver smirked. He was right; they weren’t part of the main force; rather, they were placed behind to stop any pincer attacks from the enemy.
Despite the bleeding holes in his body and the growing pool of blood, he smiled. He is the strongest among the groups of warriors, mages and mystics he could sense. A small pride took over; being recognised as such is one of the few things he enjoyed in his life, but it was only fleeting.
“I’ll slow you down, and honestly… I don’t care enough to watch your backs.” He was straightforward about it.
‘This heart can’t keep up with this much pressure.’ He lamented his magical heart that was beating rapidly, constantly working its magic to keep his body functional.
None of them watched his back. He would’ve died countless times if not for the strength of power he amassed through sheer effort.
‘My regeneration can’t keep up, and I’ve got too many magical wounds to heal with my blood magic.’
“Where is your pride as an Orc!?” A tall warrior roared at him.
“Pathetic, all that power and put to waste.” A vampire archer remarked, hissing.
Their words fell on deaf ears; there was no argument, only bitter remarks, mostly by the man forcing himself into the role of the leader. Having heard worse before, he chose to stay silent, acting like he was at death’s door.
After a while, they left, leaving Iver alone.
“Finally some fucking peace.” He breathed out.
It was over, the war was lost, and they were heading to their doom. He would join them soon, but not in his current state.
“Go big or go home, right big guy?” He tapped the corpse behind him.
An apostle, a step below the star of conquest, the outer being wanting to pillage the world. The healer was right, he did most of the work in slaying this giant black ogre behemoth. It was an apostle in the same ranks as a master mystic.
It took everything he had to fight it and barely come out alive. And with them gone, he sat alone.
In silent pain, he groaned, pushing himself up, with a mental pull, the blood from the various corpses around flowed into him, and a small calming sigh left him.
He extended his certain death by a few minutes.
“Just enough time.” He said, circling the giant apostle. Its body was a trove of resources, and while many would let greed take over and harvest it.
What good was it when the world was doomed?
The ground shook and explosions reverberated from afar. Iver only shot a glance at the inferno before focusing on his task.
A black circle formed around the dead beast, stabbing his sword, the blood that pooled beneath him filled the circle, creating a large triangle and within the outline of a heart in drawing in blood, it all glowed in eerie red, as the veins of the dark behemoth lit up in dark red accents.
“Revive? Revivify, rejuvinaiton, full recovery would best suit it,” He hadn’t come up with a name for this spell, infact it wasn’t even complete, a modified version of the moon rebith ritual of the orcs magic and the vampires blood magic, a mix of both that would require a powerful mage of each species but his advantage as a hybrid allowed him to wield both classes of magic.
Something that would only work for a hybrid like him.
“A minute or two,” He watched the veins glow and pulse with every passing moment.
The ground shook once more and facing the burning castle of Munt he knew it was over, the towering structure in its center toppled a ripple shook the air.
A distant cough drew his attention. Among the corpses, he saw a struggling, mangled body, skin burnt to the point of being recognisable with one lone blue eye peering towards him.
‘Damn it.’ Controlling the nearby blood, he sent it towards the person; their body shook, and a dry cough escaped their charred lips.
“I-I can’t feel pain.” Their voice, though dry, was sweet.
‘A woman at death’s door.’ Iver sighed, “I’m using my blood magic to get rid of the pain, you’re going to die, but I can at least make it painless for you.”
“W-what happened to the war? Did we win?” She asked.
“No.”
“…” A dry chuckle left her as she spewed blood, “all I did was for nothing,” her voice broke, “my son’s death, my family’s execution… I failed to return our name to glory… and I gave myself away for nothing.”
Iver said nothing, continuing with his ritual; he knew enough about women to know she just wanted to vent.
‘The barrier around the continent’s fallen.’ Iver frowned. Now the celestial army can lay waste to the other continents.
Their united efforts were for naught.
“Thank you.”
At that, the hybrid turned to her, “What for?”
“For listening to and taking away my pain, you’re a kind person. It would’ve been nice to have someone like you by my side.”
“No… it wouldn’t.”
A wheeze left her as more blood spurted from her body, “I’m not so sure, my Earldom don’t share much disdain for hybrids... I hope in the next life, you're owed for the suffering in this one.”
Iver chuckled at that. He was about to say something before silence filled the space, she passed on, happily, he hoped.
Another quake drew his attention to the inferno, and a dread filled his face. The army was approaching, and Iver cursed. He couldn’t keep using blood to fight wounds like these.
He could, but it would be a vain attempt. But as luck would have it, the spell circle was almost ready.
He looked up at the blood moon eclipse with a small smile, ‘At least I can count on one thing.’
The blood moon eclipse. A unique event that bolstered the respective magic of the celestial bodies.
The behemoth apostle’s corpse was no more; instead was a condensed, glistening red ball of light at the center of the circle.
The ground shook once more. His attention moved to the approaching figures.
They marched forward, and behind the army, a towering figure with six wings that shone in blinding lights followed. The celestial of the angels. The star of brilliance. The light from its wings obscured its true form. Next to it were two smaller shadows, but larger than the army, which held a lesser but demanding amount of presence.
The apostle he killed was the celestial’s fourth wing. That’s what they called themselves.
Iver assumed the heroes and the other forces had slain three other apostles, as he didn’t sense anyone else among the approaching army with a similar presence.
‘Did they even fight the celestial!?’ He hurried his bloody steps into the center of the circle with the blood crystal ball right in front of him.
‘Most of the continent’s strong are dead, am I the last one standing between these guys and the rest of the world?’ He chuckled.
This world he loathed, with little to no beauty in it for him, no place to call home, and yet he chose to fight. Just because it was right and for the little beauty and kindness he was shown at random times in his life.
The circle glowed, the blood crystal shattered, and forced itself into his body. Pain shot through him, and a feral groan left his body. His wounds closed, his blood-red aura flared, and his glowing red eyes glared at the approaching army.
The beating heart within him drummed his body advanced his power grew, he was no longer a strong fourth-order mystic, he stepped into the realm of first-order masters, even as a beginner, he felt he could take on the world!
A chime filled the air as he changed, and one of the shadowed apostles dashed towards him.
“Fuck!”
The spell wasn’t over. In the moment the figure closed the distance, red chains shot from the ground, binding the shadow.
‘Don’t take me for a fool!’
Grunting, Iver drew his blade, the shadow broke free of the restraints, reeling its fist coated in blue flames as Iver swung his crimson-coated blade at the fist!
Both attacks clashed, the grounds shook, the circle beneath him wavered, he cursed and swung again, avoiding a fist to his face with a thumping heart, he swung down in a perfect vertical slash.
Shock appeared in the shadow’s face. Iver felt his blade cut through flesh, his heart thumped as he poured more energy into his blade, pushing forward for a pierce! He would finish it, completely recover, and kill them all!
With a roar, he pushed with all his might!
The spell circle beneath him flickered, in the corner of his eye, behind the apostle he was confident in slaying, the six wings of the celestial shone, a blinding bolt of light shot towards him!
He had a split second to react, pivoting his foot with a fierce glare, he roared, pouring more spirit into his blade because he knew that attack would end him.
“RAAAGH!” His blade clashed with the brilliant light, and everything went white.
It was an instant of pain and then nothing; the battle, the war, his part in it ended.
‘I barely had the time to taste the power of a master.’ He cursed.
But at least he could rest, although…
The darkness felt uncomfortable; his spirit acted as though it were on a poor mattress.
“Is this my torture? Why would I be getting tortured? I’ve never killed an innocent or done anything wrong!”
As he struggled, a blinding light entered his vision. His eyes fluttered awake, his mind spinning and body disoriented.
“I’m in a room? Wait.”
This afterlife felt unjust. But with a quick look, Iver recognised the space.
“This place?” He recognised his room.
The small, decrepit wooden shack he built for himself. The orphanage couldn’t keep him. His parents were nonexistent; he assumed they ran to another life after birthing a half-breed like him.
Half-breeds were a unique and had rare chance of being born between two different races.
Anyways, Iver grew more perplexed with time.
This couldn’t be possible, but as he stepped out of his small home, feeling the cold forest grass against his bare feet, the sun trickling down on him, he knew it was true.
This wasn’t his blessed afterlife; it was his hell. There was one place he would’ve wanted his afterlife to be like: a luxurious inn where people were eager to fulfil his needs.
“But how?”
Regression was impossible; there was no such thing as time magic. His Blood and Orc magic did nothing to directly affect his spirit.
The moonlit revival ritual he altered would rebuild the body stronger than before, sharpening one’s senses, mind and body.
“No, the spirit is loosely afflicted by the ritual, resulting in a stronger aura. But is that enough?”
His mind raced at all the possible factors, eventually concluding that the celestial’s attack must’ve affected the ritual as it was in the process of completing. A combination of the blood moon eclipse enhancing his magics, his unfinished revival spell, and the celestial’s attack.
He wasn’t sure about the last one, but there was no issue considering it. And if the celestial had time-altering abilities, then it would make no sense for it to be the case. But the apostle never displayed any such powers.
The cold air filled his lungs as he sat at the base of a tree. This was real, all of it. He spent a lot of the morning accepting this reality.
“Fuck it, an accident or fate, or some luck; there’s no way I can replicate that, so I might as well take it as is.” He huffed.
Iver knew he stood on the precipice of change; he alone knew the flow of the world, the large events that would affect the end.
And he was going to abuse it. A gleam shone in his crimson eyes.
But questions burned in the back of his mind, and the only way to get answers would be to rise. So, standing up, he went to his hut. Walking in, he smiled even though it shook against the wind; the place kept him safe and warm at times.
In the top corner lay a small table and a stool; sitting down, he searched through the organised papers. And he found a sheet revealing the time he regressed to.
“Damn it!” He dropped his slip, reading the words etched onto it: Congratulations on graduating.
“It was after my time in the academy… So much shit happened there I could’ve capitalised on: the entrance test event, the battle events against other academies where that drake was smuggled in. I could’ve used its heart for my first rebirth.” He frowned.
Taking a moment to breathe, he collected his thoughts. He was still in the first quarter of the year, and with every passing day, time passed.
“Alright, I need goals and set checkmarks. My first one is simple: finally awaken this body of mine.” Iver rose.
To fix his body. He grabbed his bow and arrows from the weapon rack between the desk and bed, along with a small copper knife and belt sheath.
The forest behind him was a small one, though it didn’t have powerful beasts; they were still beasts nonetheless.
He wore flat shoes and moved through the grassy plateaus. Before he began his adventures, his time in the academy was hell; he did well theoretically, but physically he lagged behind Orcs, Vampires, Beast-Kin and even some humans.
This was due to his hybrid nature. You’d think being born both vampire and orc meant you had the best of both, and while it was true, it also came with health issues.
For Iver, his physical abilities of both races were locked behind his vampire awakening. He only took blood in small amounts to avoid the frenzy before, as he didn’t need it to survive.
‘Blood, I need lots of blood.’
But in one adventure, after consuming a large quantity of blood in one go, he felt the chains weighing him down vanish. And was able to wield both Orcish and Vampire might without issue, something he discovered a year later from now.
Stopping behind a tree, he spotted a six-legged deer. His experience hunting kicked in; he calmed his breath and pulled back his bow. Feeling the tension on the string, he let go.
The deer’s ears perked up, raising its head only to get pierced by an arrow to its heart. Quickly, he ran across the distance, stabbing its neck, ending its cries.
“Huh?”
Iver’s body shook; he knew his limits well and controlled them, so he couldn’t understand before the pleasing smell reached his nose. The blood.
His body was craving it, and usually a small sip would be enough to satiate him, but it was as if his body knew his actions; it hungered.
Without hesitation, he opened his mouth, revealing his front fangs, and bit into the flesh. Large gulps filled the area. As he drank and drank, filling his hunger. Soon enough, the deer became a dried, tough husk of muscle.
A burp and pleased sigh, and Iver felt his body shake; he was almost there, just two or three more, he thought, and went back hunting after dragging its body back to his hut.
He couldn’t find a deer but managed to kill a razor-feathered eagle. “I can use its feathers for more arrows.”
Iver froze and jumped back; a heavy thud followed as the deer rammed into the tree where he stood.
“A beast, huh?” Iver readied his bow.
The creature facing him was a green-furred six-legged deer with a white mane around its body. It stood two metres in height without its antlers.
The wind picked up. Iver hummed before his battle sense flared, and he jumped to the side; a wind blast exploded where he stood, tearing the grass and dirt apart.
‘Wild magic, wind bullet.’ Iver grinned; he knew it wasn’t going to be easy. His reaction time was slower than he expected.
The issue with having nearly a decade’s worth of experience and a body unadapted to combat made him sweat.
The deer snorted and charged at him. Iver worked his muscles near their limit. He jumped back and rolled to the side, avoiding a wind bullet.
Every time it got close, swinging at him with its antlers, he rolled to the side. Firing arrows, he frowned seeing them bend around its body.
The beast rattled its antlers before charging at him. Iver put his bow aside and pulled out his copper blade.
‘Just a bit of magic enough. One thing my body can handle.’ He felt his energy drain, a faint aura covering his blade as he charged at the beast.
Iver swerved as wind bullets shot past him, but a pain struck his shoulder, and a warm liquid dripped down; he was shot. Grunting, he kept his charge. His body was unused to the pain, but his spirit willed itself to continue.
They got close; the deer slashed at him with its antlers, and he swerved past it, twisting his body and sitting at its neck.
He tumbled and rolled to the side, slamming into a tree. The deer turned back, panting; a deep bloody gash ran down its body, and blood spurted out.
Iver hissed, pulling himself up. The world spun, but he held himself steady. The deer grunted and charged, blood spewing out of its mouth and nose.
Iver braced himself, ready for another bout despite his body’s protest. The deer screeched before it tumbled and fell right at his feet.
“Oh, thank fuck.” Iver dropped his blade.
His knees buckled, and he fell on top of the beast. The smell of blood kept him aware as he reached the cut, drinking its blood.
Refreshing and cool, his body greedily sucked it in, his screaming weak muscles cooled, and the wound at his shoulder stopped bleeding.
He felt his body swelling with energy and reached the bottleneck. He was full but still hungry; he kept drinking the beast’s blood, and once that fullness became overwhelming, a warmth burst through him.
Iver felt his awakening; heat radiated from his body as he sat up, blood trickling down. His vessel grew stronger, no longer held back by either half. Standing up, he hoisted the beast with one hand with little effort, dragging it back to his hut. With one thought resonating in his mind.
‘I’m going to become stronger than the heroes and apostles, strong enough to butcher that star and change the fate of this bloody world.’
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