The world had been a place of peace for centuries, but that fragile peace was shattered the moment the Agroth emerged from the depths of darkness. They were creatures of ancient, unfathomable power, leaving devastation in their wake as if they were the wrath of the gods themselves. Their presence marked the beginning of an apocalypse no one had ever predicted.

It began with the sudden appearance of strange artifacts called clav, mystical relics scattered across the four continents. These ancient keys held power greater than anything mankind had ever encountered, and the Agroth, with their otherworldly purpose, sought them relentlessly. The clav were not mere objects, but mechanisms that could unlock a terrible fate—the resurrection of Krantu, the Forgotten God of Destruction.

The Agroth’s mission was clear: find all the clav, activate them with the essence of life, and bring Krantu back from his sealed prison to unleash his wrath upon the world. They tore through cities, devastated nations, and sowed discord. Towns once bustling with life were reduced to rubble. Innocent people perished in their wake, their cities nothing more than ash and ruin. The clav activated only when bathed in the life essence of sentient beings, which meant that the Agroth’s devastation was twofold: they annihilated any form of life in their pursuit of power. Humanity and all the races of the world were left gasping for air in a dying world.

But not all was lost.

In response to this overwhelming threat, the remaining races of the world formed an uneasy alliance—races that had fought amongst themselves for centuries, were now forced to unite. The Dwarfs, the Elves, the Humans, the Beastkins, and the Alcateen—an ancient and once-dominant race long forgotten, reduced to slaves by their masters—came together under one banner. The Alcateen, a people who once ruled the world but were now relegated to servitude, bore the deepest hatred for the Agroth, for they had seen the worst of their wrath firsthand.

Guiding this alliance were the Seven Divine Beings—immortal gods of power and influence—each watching over their chosen people. Camoth, the God of War, stood as the unwavering pillar of strength; Malthios, the Goddess of Love and Harvest, whose compassion for all living things bound the races together; Sntoveh, the God of Steel and Blacksmithing, master of creation; Yloky, the God of Games, ever strategic and cunning; Solderat, the God of the Sun, blazing bright with hope; Quyntess, the Goddess of the Moon, whose calm and wisdom brought balance; and Sadumat, the God of Space, whose control over the dimensions could reshape the very world itself.

Five champions from each race were chosen—mighty warriors of unparalleled skill, each sworn to protect their people and fight the Agroth. They stormed across the continents, battling with fury and honor, pushing back the Agroth's forces. But the battles were never easy. Cities fell, and brave souls perished. Aldain Medul, the Battle Rune Mage, was among the five warriors who carried the weight of the world upon his shoulders. His runes pulsed with energy, guiding him in the face of overwhelming odds.

The final battle took them to Polysia, the cold and desolate continent, where the last of the Agroth’s guardians, Aesmodes, awaited. The guardian was a terrifying creature, a beast of shadow and death, said to be the last line of defense before Krantu could be resurrected. It was here, in the frozen wastes of Polysia, that Aldain and his comrades would face their greatest challenge.

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The battle was long and brutal. Bentle led the charge, his runes igniting with fire and fury, cutting through wave after wave of Agroth minions. His comrades—Gurlan the Beastkin warrior, Sylf the Elf archer, Melgril the Dwarf knight, and Aldain the Alcateen mage—fought valiantly alongside him. But in the end, it was Aldain who crushed Aesmodes’ heart with his final blow, the world seemingly at peace once more. The Agroth were vanquished, their forces crumbling.

But victory came at a heavy price.

Melgril, the stout and fearless Dwarf, had sacrificed himself in the battle, ensuring that Aldain could cast the spell to defeat Aesmodes. The price was steep, and as Aldain stood over the crumpled form of the last guardian, breathing a sigh of relief, the weight of the world seemed to lift from his shoulders.

For a moment, it seemed like the world could begin to heal.

But then, the unimaginable happened.

A sharp, cold pain pierced through his chest. Aldain’s eyes widened as he looked down, only to see the blade Drugmund—the sacred weapon of his companion, Sylf the Elf—protruding from his chest. The woman he had loved, the one who had shared his bed in the quiet moments before the battle, stood behind him, her face twisted with cold malice. The woman who had been his greatest joy in a world engulfed by darkness had betrayed him.

As he fell to his knees, his life force fading, flashes of his past flooded his mind—memories of his childhood as a slave, of the battles he had fought, of the dungeons he had crawled through, of the moments when he thought he would never escape his fate. The pain of betrayal cut deeper than any wound. His mind screamed in anguish, This can’t be how I die!

Aldain’s vision blurred as he looked up at his friends—once his comrades, now his executioners. They laughed and grinned, watching him bleed out, their faces betraying nothing but contempt. His body shook with rage as his eyes gleamed red with fury. This is not my end!

Then, it was revealed to him—Malthios, the Goddess of Love and Harvest, had orchestrated his death. She had been the mastermind behind his betrayal, guiding Sylf’s hand. Why? The answers were unclear, but the devastation of it all was enough to break Aldain’s heart.

Just as he was about to fade away he heard a voice saying "Do not fret child!", a strange light emitted from Aesmodes’ body. It resonated with a rune on Aldain’s chest—one that had never activated before. At that moment, the magic surged through him, unlocking a spell of unimaginable power, one he had never seen. Malthios bellowed from the heavens to Sylf and the rest of the party "Stop him! It's dangerous, that's a spell I've not seen before" and just then the light exploded outward in a cataclysmic burst, sending shockwaves across the battlefield.

Aldain’s body was consumed by the explosion. His last thought was of the world he would never see again.

But then… everything went dark.

Suddenly, a voice called out to him, familiar and urgent: “Al! Al, get up! We need to hurry before the master comes!”

Aldain’s eyes fluttered open. The familiar warmth of the mines surrounded him. The sound of pickaxes and chatter filled the air—this was where it had all started. He was back, in the mines where his life as a slave had begun.

Confusion gripped him, but as the realization settled in, a surge of rage washed over him. This was not how I died. This is my second chance.

With his memories of the future intact and vengeance burning in his soul, Aldain swore that he would make the most of this new life. Those who had wronged him, those who had betrayed him, would pay. And this time, the world would not be saved—it would be reshaped by his hand. The battle for revenge had just begun.