Suraj_Sharma_0501

Alan Grey was once the strongest mage in the world—feared by kings, hunted by heroes, and cursed by the gods themselves. They called him a heretic, a traitor, a Godslayer. But in the end, it wasn't a blade or a spell that killed him. It was betrayal by the one he trusted most.

Yet the gods made one mistake.

They sent him back.

Now reborn as his younger self, Alan returns to the magical world of Aetherium, where the Arcanum Academy trains the next generation of spellcasters. Armed with knowledge from a future soaked in blood and betrayal, Alan is no longer a mere student—he is a storm waiting to rise.

But the gods are watching. Twisting fate. Interfering.

This time, Alan won’t play by their rules.

He’ll uncover the hidden truths of magic, awaken forbidden powers, and forge new alliances. And when the time comes, he’ll challenge the very heavens again.

Only this time, he won’t lose.

In a world where magic shapes destiny and gods dictate fate, one reborn mage dares to defy both.

The Godslayer’s Rebirth

The path to the Ashen Expanse was quiet.

Not even the wind dared cross that scorched, cursed land. It was where a thousand kingdoms clashed and fell. And among the ruins of a forgotten empire, an ancient warrior still waited—his soul bound not by life, but by a promise.

Alan walked at the head of the group, his cloak billowing behind him. His katana was sheathed now, glowing faintly with the mingled power of divinity and blood magic. Seris walked beside him, her brows furrowed in concern.

"You're… different," she said carefully.

"I have to be," Alan replied. "The General of Ash won't fall to who I was. Only to who I've become."

Behind them, Kraevok marched, its gears silent but alert. The golem's eyes had started reacting strangely to Alan's aura—flickering between ancient blue and a strange, newer crimson.

As they reached the outer edge of the Expanse, Seris gasped.

The land was blackened. Every tree, stone, and ruin was charred into ash. The air stank of smoldering memories.

A massive figure stood in the center of the field. His armor was cracked, scorched black, fused to his body. A tattered red cape hung behind him like a funeral banner. And his sword—twice the size of a man—was stabbed into the earth like a tombstone.

He looked like a monument to war itself.

His face was still youthful, untouched by time—but his eyes held centuries of battle.

"Alanus Vel'Kaer," the General spoke. "The traitor. The deserter. The coward."

Seris stepped forward, angered. "He's not—"

"No," he said softly. "Let him speak."

The General pulled his sword from the ground. "You left us to die. You turned your back on the Ash Pact. You swore to lead us, then vanished when we needed you."

"I know," Alan said. "And I'm here to finish what we started."

"I won't try to. I'll burn a path forward instead."

The General raised his sword, and the sky darkened.

Ash spiraled into the air, forming spectral soldiers behind him. They had no faces, no flesh—only armor and endless rage.

"Then come, Bloodstorm," the General snarled. "Let your sins dance with mine one last time."

It pulsed—half light, half shadow.

And as the ground cracked beneath their feet, Alan whispered:

Chapter 14: The General of Ash