"CAN'T BELIEVE I'M EATING ASS!"
Vael roared into the wind, half limping, half dragging a burnt divine corpse across a cracked wasteland, the chain looped tight around its ribs and his blistered hand.
"You hear me, Pyrrhos? This is all your fault. If you hadn't been such a flesh-hopping bastard, then I wouldn't be here hauling your corpse."
The god didn't answer. Not surprising. His jaw had fallen off three miles ago.
"Oh, silent treatment now?" Vael spat, shoulders shaking. "You were really chatty when your cult was screaming prayers. 'O Pyrrhos, bless us!' Well, bless me out of this world, you flaming bastard!"
Suddenly, the sky above Vael twisted as a large crack appeared in the center, stretching over to the horizon. All around Vael, millions and millions of corpses lay impaled on spikes stretching past the horizon, each of their faces twisted in horror.
Vael wasn't doing great either. His insides felt like they were boiling, his stomach ready to tear itself apart. Divine flesh did that to you.
Kept you alive, sure, but barely.
Right now, he was the last living thing left in this world. And he didn't like thinking about what it had cost to stay that way. Not after the forests had burnt down, cities had fallen, and especially after their own army had turned against each other. Sure, some of it had been fun, but the rest… not so much.
"You.are.close.you.should.be.able.to.see.me.once.you.climb.over.that.hill."
A voice rang in Vael's head, causing his head to rise in exclamation. Without wasting any time, he rushed up over the corpse-riddled hill in front of his eyes, only to find himself standing just a couple of meters away from a figure cloaked in starlight.
"Alright, show time," Vael muttered, dropping the chain like a curse and bolting forward.
He didn't slow down. He didn't hesitate. He sprinted full speed and latched onto the being's robe, eyes wide, voice cracking.
"I'M SORRY, ALRIGHT, I'M SORRY I CALLED YOU THOSE THINGS. JUST GET ME OUT OF THIS WORLD AND I PROMISE I'LL… I'LL NEVER..."
The being, or rather the consciousness of the dying world, didn't respond. Instead, he simply tilted his body toward the horizon and spoke. "They. Have. Found you."
Vael, unwilling to let go, slightly turned his head to his side, his eyes narrowing as the silhouettes of his former employers rushed toward him, their divine auras surging like a waterfall.
In front of him, the consciousness slowly raised its hand. Suddenly, the air fractured open, revealing a massive golden wheel suspended in golden light.
The Wheel of Reincarnation.
The gods pursuing him had long since sealed off the natural death cycle, bottling up every soul like prisoners. The consciousness of this dying world had spoken to him in his dreams, offering to at least let his soul escape through the only way possible:
Reincarnation.
Vael drew his sword.
Guess this was it.
He took in a breath, and with a single motion, slit his own throat.
========
"Lower your head, Ashmere," someone said. "You lost. A deal is a deal."
When Vael opened his eyes he found himself lying face down on scorched, broken stone ground.
His body felt like it had been hit by a sledgehammer. His chest throbbed, and his stomach churned with pain and nausea, bloated to the point of bursting.
Around him, injured soldiers limped through the wreckage, dragging the wounded toward a half-collapsed metal fortress in the distance.
Where... was this?
He could hear people murmuring around him, giggling and laughing at something.
"Lick the feet, Ashmere."
That voice… wait, he knew that voice. Didn't it belong to that guy Zathiel? Why was he hearing his voice? Wasn't he supposed to be reincarnated?
Vael's vision suddenly sharpened as he recognized the familiar courtyard he was lying in, surrounded by students, most around eighteen, all of whom were dressed in academy uniforms, staring at him with their smartbands out, laughing.
And a mere few feet away from him, basking in the spotlight, stood Zathiel Dren, an armor-clad guy, grinning like he'd just been crowned emperor of a new world.
What the hell... why did this scene feel so familiar?
Confused, he forced his head up, and his gaze locked onto a girl standing at the back.
Black hair braided over one shoulder, the Isandrell crest stitched into her coat. Her eyes locked on him, not with concern, not even pity, but cold disdain, like she was staring at garbage. He recognized her, she was Mirai Isandrell. Third daughter of the Isandrell family. A decently powerful house in the Taurion star system, and technically... his fiancée.
Why was she here? Wasn't she supposed to be dead?
All of a sudden, a swarm of recent memories slammed into him, forcing him to remember everything.
The infatuation. The delusion. The pathetic spiral. The gifts she never asked for. The way he'd followed her around like a loyal mutt, praying for a glance that never came.
Instead, her eyes had always been on someone else, particularly the living siege engine currently looming above him. The situation had become so pathetic that he had gone and challenged the bastard to a duel.
A duel for her heart, only Zathiel here had beaten him in under two minutes.
God, he had been an idiot. He was a mage and a fresh one at that. Why the hell did he have to fight close quarters against a cultivator?
No no no, he didn't have time to worry about this love triangle bullshit right now.
His memories weren't clear, but he was pretty sure he had managed to escape into the Wheel of Reincarnation. Had he succeeded? If so, why the hell was he back here, twelve years in the past?
He knew this moment. Knew this courtyard.
The Aetherion Institute of Planar Warfare had brought them here on a field trip to observe the aftermath of a real war on one of the nearby planets, moments after the fortress had managed to withstand an enemy invasion.
"Come on," Zathiel said, grinning for the camera drone. "We agreed. Loser kisses the winner's feet. That was the bet."
A wave of laughter rippled through the crowd, causing Vael to look up slowly and blink.
Ah, to hell with this.
He didn't understand why he had managed to regress back in the past, but he couldn't stand to see that smug smile on Zathiel's face.
"Oh," he rasped, trying to calm his nauseous stomach. "You want me to lick your feet..."
Zathiel smirked. "That's right."
Vael nodded and shakily pushed himself to his knees.
"Alright then," he said.
He staggered forward, dragging himself with a limp. The crowd of students also leaned in, their cameras ready as Zathiel extended his foot.
Vael reached out, his arms trembling, and grabbed Zathiel's leg.
Then tightly latched on to it and didn't let go.
Zathiel's smirk wavered for a second.
"What the hell are you…"
Vael looked up, eyes glassy. "A deal's a deal, right?"
Then he lurched forward. He stopped holding back the roiling sickness in his gut and let it surge free, vomiting a stream of blood and breakfast all over Zathiel's feet and chest, aiming especially up toward his face.
The first thing Zathiel registered wasn't the smell. It was the weight, the sheer force of the splatter hitting his chest like a waterfall.
A gasp swept through the crowd. A girl shrieked and stumbled back, clutching her mouth in disgust. One student dropped their smartband, while another zoomed in, eyes wide with shock.
Zathiel too stumbled away, gagging. "Wh…what the f*ck?!"
Vael didn't move. Still clinging to his leg like a leech.
"Oops," he muttered. "I think I'm more wounded on the inside. Sorry about your armor. Oh wait, there is more…"
Out in the back, Mirai stepped away, eyes wide, her lips parting then closing, turning pale as she walked off without a word.
Seeing that Vael wiping his mouth on Zathiel's coat, finally let go, and limped toward the fortress.
"You... you honorless!" Zathiel shouted. "How can you walk away when your family's name is on the line?!"
Vael didn't blink.
Family honor? They were fighting over a girl.
"Coward! Is that what your lineage amounts to?!" Zathiel kept screaming, but Vael ignored him. His attention already shifted to two war healers carrying over what seemed like a corpse on a cracked stretcher, heading into the fortress.
"Hey! You two, wait up!" he called, flopping one broken arm in the air like a sad flag.
They stopped, glanced around, and pointed at themselves. "Uh... us?"
Vael didn't answer. He just hobbled over and, in front of everyone, kicked the corpse off the stretcher before collapsing onto it with a groan.
"I'm the scion of the great clan Ashmere," he spoke, sinking into the stretcher. "Take me to the best healers, doctors, or whatever you've got in this place. Now."
With that, he let his eyes drift shut, just for a second, when...
---
[Divine Signature Detected]
Name: Vael Ashmere
Title: God of Flesh
Domains: Biomancy (Level 1)