Damon eased himself up, sitting with his legs crossed as he took deep breaths and circulated his aura. He ignored the stinging pain in the side of his torso where a rough bandage served to hold in his organs. He ignored the various gashes, bruises and contusions that were scattered around his body. They would be gone soon enough, what was more important now was recovering his stamina.

A cool breeze blew past him, carrying the scent of gasoline mixed with his sweat. A small pang of nostalgia overcame him as the air reminded him of standing at a petrol station.

Earth.

It felt like an eternity. Yet, it had been around thirty years since Damon had left Earth, reincarnated into this magical realm. Thirty years that could only be summarized as hellish had passed. Born into the royal family of a powerful kingdom. Ostracized, suppressed and eventually sidelined by his half brother and his more powerful support. Even in exile Damon had managed to become powerful, only for his brother, now turned king, to harass him further, driving him away from the kingdom.

He had wandered through the wilderness until the war broke out. The demon lord and his army wrought terror on all the races, and yet, this had only led to fracturing and struggle within the races. Internal wars between those who wished to fight and those who wished to surrender.

His train of thought was interrupted by a second gust of wind, bringing with it a deeper smell of oil and metal.

He looked down at the ludicrously large and wide sword on his lap, stained with oil and gunk from the sea of automatons he had just destroyed. From the hill where he sat, he surveyed the sprawled remains of an army of robots. The demons in this world came from a technologically advanced realm, they enslaved the common people of all races and used these machines to do most of their fighting.

Exiled from the kingdom, Damon had been wandering the wild, avoiding humans and fighting off elves. He had been oblivious of the war with the demons until he had come across a small band of human rebels who had fled from the major cities, refusing to join their leaders in surrendering to the demons. They had convinced him to work with them in their resistance against the demons.

Now, five years later, he sat on the hill of Caldir Fortress, having successfully wiped out the third automaton legion, reclaiming a huge swathe of land for the growing resistance and dealing a strong blow to the demons. From here, they could march directly to the demon stronghold and end things once and for all.

As he sat there thinking, Arias' gentle voice snapped Damon out of his reminiscence.

"Are you ready?" She asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be," he replied, setting his teeth in anticipation of the discomfort that the healing magic would bring.

Damon could feel Arias rolling her eyes. "You'd think a hero would be used to this by now," she remarked, her hands on his back. "Be honored," she said with pride. "I ranked up after this last battle; you shall be the first to receive this Divine Priestesses' healing."

Idly running his hand across his blade, Damon muttered, 'Took you long enough."

He felt her nails dig into his back at his comment.

"Not everyone is a freak like you." She growled.

Before he could respond, Damon felt the familiar moving of warmth of divine energy being gathered as she recited her spell.

"Divine Heal!"

A rich golden light bathed Damon, and he felt the soreness wash out of his muscles. A deep itching wriggled through him as wounds closed. Then came the worst part, a series of mini cramps raging through his body. Damon grunted in pain, gritting his teeth as he heard Arias hold in a laugh.

It seemed she had leveled up. Whereas high heal would often take several minutes, Damon felt relief washed through him as the golden halo died down after a few seconds.

As the light faded, Damon noticed a strange smell. It smelt wrong. It was still metallic, but the wrong type. It seemed pungent in its richness. Looking down at the hill, the world seemed to lurch out from under him.

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A sea of red.

Corpses piled upon corpses; the ground dyed a reddish-brown with drying blood. The sounds of groans and panicked sobbing replaced the static and whirring of destroyed automatons. Damon looked down, and his stomach churned. His hands and blade were blackened, stained with dried blood and gore.

Aria's voice came again, soft, and gentle, "What's wrong? You don't look so good."

He turned to face her; observing her as she stood, smiling, her angelic face bright as ever. Her priestly robes were stained with blood and gore, and the image of her standing unbothered by the carnage was too much for him. Damon retched, emptying the contents of his stomach.

She leaned over, placing a hand on his shoulder, concerned, "Damon, what's wrong?" She brushed her hair to the side, revealing delicately pointed ears, seemingly unbothered by the dried blood on her hands.

The world slowed down.

Pointed ears?

Damon glanced up at the rest of the party. They seemed the same, almost. Pointed ears, angular faces. Panic set in, and his heart raced as he reached a realization.

Princess Elle walked towards him, worry plastering her face. She was a core leader of the rebellion, the daughter of an elder who had orchestrated the escape of many humans. Damon channeled his aura as she approached, pooling a portion at his eyes, and activated his innate ability - True-sight.

True-sight was one of the innate gifts he had been reincarnated with. Like many of his gifts, he had only become aware of it at the ripe age of twenty two, when he first unlocked his aura. He had always lamented this fact - had he pushed himself harder at a younger age, he would have been able to resits the schemes of his brother's faction and at the very least, have protected those that had been close to him at the castle. In his attempt to not stand out, he had failed to gather support, and though he had shown he wasn't an immediate threat, he was still nuisance enough that he was an eyesore that needed getting rid of.

Naive and foolish.

He put the thoughts to side and looked at the princess, focusing on the information box. He ran his hands up his blade to grasp the hilt as he did so.

Name: Ellesmere Janinah Evergreen

Race: High Elf

Level: 9

Class: Mind Bender

Sub-Class: Illusionist, Forest singer

He didn't read further than that. The rest didn't really matter.

"High elf," "Mind bender" "Illusionist."

A sinking feeling took over him. He looked into her eyes and his blood ran cold as the worry on her face melted away, replaced with a blank, emotionless beauty. "I see, so Divine Heal can also cure status effects, interesting."

Damon opened his mouth to speak but found himself unable. He couldn't move.

A flood of memories rushed into his mind, stunning him. It was as if a layer of fog had been peeled from his brain and reality washed through him. Battles his had fought in, cities he had liberated, people he had saved. A new perspective brought the truth of his memories to life.

He felt his grip on his blade weaken as his hands began to shake, and yet, he couldn't respond. His mind was still reeling from the truth of his situation.

All this time, he had indeed been a hero. A hero to the elves. A human who had turned his back on humanity. Who had led the elves in subjugating the other races. Who had facilitated a coalition of races under the thumb of the high elves. Who had driven the humans to a losing battle on both fronts. Fighting both the demons and coalition of races.

And here he was, sitting on Caldir hill, having taken to last standing human fortress.

There had never been any automatons. Though he couldn't be sure of the exact mechanism, it was likely a class ability of 'Mind-bender', not a rigid illusion but a flexible one, that would allow him to trick himself into believing whatever was necessary to allow him to slaughter his fellow man. The army of robots he had killed time and time again, had been humans, dwarves, demons and rebel elves.

Whoever stood in the way of the Elven conquest had fallen at his blade.

Idiots.

At a time where the world needed to come together and fight off invaders, the elves had used the invaders as a tool to gain dominion. Had used him as a tool to gain dominion.

Damon shakily stood up, his mind swimming with a jumble of thoughts. He looked up in time to see the members of his party approach him. He tried to raise his blade but couldn't.

The air around them was alive with mana from the binding spell they had cast on him.

"Damn it!" He thought.

He couldn't use mana but had spent years training specifically to be able to fight mages. His mana sensitivity was perhaps the highest in the world. And yet, overwhelmed by the effects of his brainwashing being lifted, he failed to respond to a simple binding spell.

"A shame" said Elle as she approached. "It will be difficult to finish off the demons without you."

He stared at her, unable to even talk due to the level of the binding spells. Though his resistance was normally incredible, they dispatched him quickly and efficiently. They stabbed him in his heart, disturbing his aura circles, and then cast several waves of aura disruption.

His strength, skill, stamina, and recovery meant nothing, and his life slipped away. Tears came to Damon's eyes, not from the situation, but from his surroundings.

He cursed his evolved senses. Even now, he could hear the pained sobs and heavy breaths of those he had slain as they lay dying. He heard their last regrets, willful pleas, and baleful curses. Not demons, not automatons. Humans. His fellow men.

Darkness washed over him.