I never thought it would come to this. A hero, hunted like prey. I had led us to victory countless times, but now my allies had become my executioners.

The weight of exhaustion pressed down with each step. Mana dwindled to nothing, and my body bore the marks of relentless pursuit. The mountain path stretched endlessly before me, harsh winds biting at my exposed wounds. Spells and arrows rained down, a relentless storm that tore through my defenses. My barriers, my equipment—all shattered like glass. Every breath burned, every movement felt like dragging lead.

Behind me, their voices rang out, cutting through the howling winds.

"Save us the trouble and stop running already!"

"You can’t hide forever, mage. We’ll find you."

A bitter laugh escaped, sharp against the backdrop of my pain, threatening to pull me down entirely. How ironic. These were the same people who had once fought alongside me, who had cheered my name in victory. Now, they hunted me with glee, united by fear and cowardice.

The betrayal hurt more than the wounds.

There was no escape here. My mana was slipping away, draining with every second. My thoughts raced. I had no choice. It was now or never.

I collapsed to my knees, gasping for air. My body screamed in protest, but I forced myself to focus. My thoughts latched onto a single, desperate spell: Dimensional Teleportation.

It wasn’t ready. In my current state, the force of the spell would destroy me. But what choice did I have? Drawing on my life force, I summoned the mana needed to cast it.

"So this is it," I muttered under my breath.

The air around me crackled as the spell took shape. In the distance, I caught a glimpse of them—my pursuers. Their faces were filled with smug confidence, knowing the spell would rip me apart. They weren’t entirely wrong.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The world twisted violently as the spell activated. Pain ripped through me, fire searing every nerve as flesh and bone strained against the magic. My vision blurred, the mountains disappeared, and then— darkness.

When the light returned, I was somewhere else. A dense forest surrounded me, the air damp and heavy. My legs gave out, and I collapsed against a tree. My body was mangled beyond recognition; every breath was agony.

"So this is where I die," I muttered bitterly, staring at the canopy of leaves above. My mana was gone, my strength drained. There was nothing left.

A rustle in the distance caught my attention. I turned my head, my vision barely holding, to see an orc approaching. Its crude weapon glinted in the dim light, and its yellow eyes gleamed with hunger.

"Perfect," I muttered, a humorless smile twisting my lips. "Even the beasts come to feast."

It can't end like this. Not before those bastards are at my feet begging for death. My mind raced. The spell I had studied for decades—Soul Transfer. Unpolished. Dangerous. But it was my only chance. If it failed, I’d die anyway. If it worked, I’d have another chance.

"Those bastards won't get the last laugh," I growled, forcing the last remnants of my life force into the spell.

The air grew heavy, and the world dimmed around me as my soul surged forward, tearing free from my broken body. The orc stopped in its tracks, confusion flickering across its face before the spell struck. The last thing I saw was its body convulsing as the magic consumed it.

Then, darkness.

When my senses returned, the world felt... different. My body was heavy, rough, and weak. My movements were sluggish, like walking through thick mud. I opened my eyes and stared at my hands—green, massive, and covered in coarse skin. They clenched instinctively, and a guttural growl escaped my throat. It startled me for a moment, but my thoughts remained sharp. My mind was intact.

The realization hit me. The spell had worked. I had taken the orc’s body as my own.

A low chuckle rumbled from my chest, and I tested my new voice. "So," my words slow and deliberate. "They feared me as a human. Let’s see how they handle me now."

I pushed myself to my feet. This body was crude compared to my former self, but it was full of vitality. The betrayal had stripped me of everything—my home, my dignity, my humanity. But it hadn’t stripped me of my will.

"Those bastards think they’ve won, they’ll regret not cutting off my head." 

This was only the beginning.