Dusk settled over the jagged peaks, painting the sky with shades of crimson and violet as if the heavens themselves bled in anticipation of what was to come. Eirik stood at the edge of an ancient stone platform, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. The weight of countless battles coursed through his muscles, his bones, his very soul. Before him, the gateway to the next realm shimmered—a swirling vortex of raw, untamed energy. One more step, and he would ascend, leaving this forsaken world behind. One more step, and the cycle of bloodshed would begin anew, but this time with unimaginable power at his fingertips.

Behind him, the soft echo of footsteps broke the stillness. Eirik didn’t turn. He had been expecting this moment for days, perhaps even years, sensing the growing distance in Darius’ words and the coldness in his eyes. Eirik had always been sharp, a survivor by nature. His life, after all, had been defined by betrayal.

“Eirik,” Darius’ voice was soft—too soft for someone who was supposed to be his closest companion. “We’ve come so far together. But it seems the final step is yours alone.”

Eirik nodded, his gaze never leaving the swirling energy before him. “That we have.”

The air thickened with tension, heavy with the weight of unspoken intentions. Darius hesitated, but Eirik could already hear the faint rustle of steel. The sharp inhale of breath before the strike.

In a flash, Darius lunged, his blade gleaming as it arced toward Eirik’s back. But Eirik had fought too many wars to be taken by surprise. His sword was already in motion. The clash of metal rang out across the platform, followed by a single, swift counter. His blade cut through Darius’ side, quick and clean.

Darius staggered, eyes wide—not in pain, but in disbelief. “You... knew.”

Eirik knelt beside him, his face as cold and unyielding as stone. “Of course, I knew.” His voice was quiet, devoid of emotion. “This is who we are, Darius. Betrayers. Killers. It's all we’ve ever been.”

Darius gasped, clutching the wound as life ebbed away. “We were... brothers...”

Eirik watched as the light faded from his friend’s eyes. Another bond shattered. Another betrayal. Another life extinguished. "In an another life, maybe we could could have brothers....brother"

He rose, his gaze shifting back to the portal. The energy still swirled, beckoning him to step through, to ascend to the next realm. But as he stood there, surrounded by the echoes of battles fought and lives taken, all he felt was a crushing weariness. The promise of power, the allure of godhood—it all seemed hollow now.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“What am I doing this for?” The words slipped from his lips, barely more than a whisper.

Memories flooded him, not of this world, but of another life. A life when he had been known as Marcus, a Roman legionnaire. A soldier in service to an empire, not a cultivator chasing the shadows of immortality. He had fought alongside comrades, with honor. He had a wife once, a life that had been ripped away when the System chose him, pulling him into a universe of endless violence and war.

His comrades—gone. His friends—either dead or turned against him. His life—nothing but a cycle of violence, betrayal, and bloodshed.

Eirik looked down at his chest, where the mark of the System pulsed with energy—the very power that had brought him to the brink of ascension. Millennia of cultivation had led him to this moment, to the threshold of godhood. But what did it matter now? The thought of continuing, of stepping into a new realm only to repeat the same vicious cycle, filled him with an overwhelming sense of emptiness.

“I don’t want this anymore,” he muttered, clenching his fists. "I just want peace. I want to live a life that isn’t soaked in blood."

*System,* he thought, his connection to the ever-present force humming in response. *I want to go back. Send me to Earth....To a place where peace reigns*

There was a pause, then the cold, emotionless voice of the System echoed in his mind.

**"Returning to Earth will consume the majority of your stored energy. Earth is a low-cultivation zone. Further cultivation will be exceedingly difficult, and you will not retain your current level of power. Do you accept these terms?"**

Eirik closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he weighed the enormity of the decision. He had fought for so long, sacrificed everything for this power. But in the end, what had it brought him? Nothing but loneliness. Emptiness. A life devoid of meaning.

“Yes,” he said aloud, his voice steady and resolute. “I accept.”

**"Transference initiated. Prepare for temporal regression."**

The portal before him flickered, the swirling energy distorting as the System diverted his accumulated power. Not to ascend, but to return. His body was engulfed in light, every fiber of his being pulled through space and time. For a moment, there was nothing but darkness.

Then, he opened his eyes.

The air was different. The scent of exhaust, the distant hum of traffic, the muted sounds of modern life surrounded him. He glanced down at his hands—no longer rough and calloused from centuries of war, but young again. He was whole, but weaker, as if the cultivation that had once flowed through him had drained away, leaving him almost... ordinary.

He stood in the middle of a bustling city street, the people around him oblivious to the man who had once stood at the brink of godhood. He blinked, disoriented, watching as they hurried past, wearing strange clothes, speaking in foreign tongues.

**Is this really Earth?** he thought. **What year is it?**

Then, it hit him. The sights, the sounds—this was not the Earth he had left behind. It was far in the future.

Eirik—no, Marcus, he remembered now—took a deep breath. The System must have returned him to a different time, to an era of peace, where war wasn’t the constant heartbeat of the world. For the first time in lifetimes, he felt something unfamiliar.

Peace. But alongside it, a flicker of uncertainty.