Ragon had successfully escaped the clutches of the orcs as evening fell. He had hidden throughout the day and was ready to return home.
This had become a normal routine for him; usually, the matter would die down by morning, resulting in nothing more than a whipping for stealing. He never considered the whipping to be significant.
Ragon stood at the door of their small cottage. Despite the fact that humans were under the orc's captivity at night, they were free to remove their chains.
After all, no one could run away, as everywhere was securely guarded, and most villagers lacked the skills to be even one-star mages or swordsmen. The Two distinct abilities defined every living being, regardless of their race. If you were not a mage, you were a swordsman.
Those who didn't fit into either category were deemed weaklings, the lowest of society. This village, in particular, was one of the lowest-ranked, having no active star warriors.
Ragon noticed that the door was wide open, but he didn't dwell on it too much.
"Mom, Dad, I'm back with a lot of food! You don't have to work hard today!" Ragon smiled as he stepped into the cottage.
Ragon was now accustomed to calling them parents, after they were his new parents.
Entering, his heart sank as he saw blood on the ground. "What's going on?" he gasped as he was startled.
"Mom!" Ragon rushed forward, his heart pounding, desperate to avoid the outcome he feared.
He didn't walk far before he found his mother's body lying on the floor. Their home was in disarray, wooden fragments scattered everywhere.
"Mom!" He knelt beside her, cradling her head in his hands. Blood poured from her wounds, staining his fingers as he clutched her lower body.
Tears streamed down Ragon's cheeks as he cried out, "Mom.. speak to me... who did this to you?" He shook her gently, but there was barely any life left in her.
Her skin was growing pale from blood loss. Mira finally opened her eyes slightly, raising her bloodied hands to touch Ragon's tear-streaked face.
"Stubborn boy... my baby, don't cry... You have to be strong for your father. They took him... My time is near... it's fated by the gods." She raised her trembling hand to silence him.
"Mom..... no! Please, I won't cry... Mom, please don't leave me!" he sobbed, trying to muster the strength of a man for her sake.
"Mom, you're not going anywhere. Even the gods have no right to take you from me. I'm a half-god! Who dares to take your life? Who did this to you?!" Ragon wiped the tears from his eyes, holding her close.
"I love you, my beautiful baby boy." Her hands fell limply to the ground as she breathed her last.
"No! This can't be happening! Mom! You can't leave us... Dad still needs you... no! I promise to be a good child. I promise I won't be stubborn... please come back to me... please!" Ragon laid his head on her body, screaming in agony.
"Why now?" Ragon's eyes blazed bright white as he cried out.
"No!" He lifted his head, and a ray of white light shot toward the ceiling.
"I will kill you all!" he bellowed, his body surging with energy. He had unlocked a part of himself he had been trying to suppress.
The ground quaked as he gently laid his mother down and rose to his feet. In that instant, something long hidden awakened.
Though Alaric controlled the body most of the time, this surge of power was not his doing.
It was Ragon, the true Ragon... the divine half-god essence buried deep within, forcing itself through the cracks of his unconscious state.
He shot out of the house like a streak of lightning, every step leaving scorch marks on the dirt. He knew exactly where his father would be...the Hall of Graknar, the orc stronghold at the heart of their territory.
The orcs guarding the outer gates never even saw him coming. By the time they reached for their weapons, their throats were already cut. By the time the alarm horns blew, dozens of them were already lying dead.
He cut through their ranks like a storm, a blur of fists, light, and steel stolen from fallen guards.
He arrived at the Hall of Graknar, having cleared a blood-stained path.
"GRAKNAR!" Ragon's voice roared through the chamber, rattling the very pillars.
For a moment, there was silence. Then heavy footsteps echoed in the dark.
Graknar appeared, his frame larger than before. His muscles were bulging, tusks slick with gore. His claws dripped with blood as he gnawed on the mangled arm of another orc, tossing the rest of the body aside like trash.
The sight was sickening, but not surprising. Orcs were a brutal race, indifferent to their own kind, viewing them as useless. Yet this was more than cruelty. Graknar's blood-soaked feast was not just hunger... it was a ritual. With every bite, his body swelled, his strength fed by the flesh of his own people.
Graknar's laugh rumbled through the hall. "You know, all these years I could never understand why I didn't kill you that day, when you were just a helpless child.
It gnawed at me. I kept asking myself...why did I spare you?"
His eyes burned with hatred as he leaned forward. "But when my strength grew, when my power reached its peak, the memory came back clear. You controlled me. Me! Graknar, the Warlord of Orcs. That mark has stayed with me, festering, all this time."
He clenched his jaw, then sneered. "But thank the gods, I am reborn. That weakness is gone. And too bad I let out that anger on the old woman. She was fragile, but it eased the rage."
Graknar lifted Ragnar's limp body with a flick of green energy, tossing it like a broken doll. "But your father here…" His grin widened. "Killing him was sweeter. And you, boy… breaking you will be the sweetest of all."
Ragon's chest caved in as he clutched Ragnar's cold body. His breath shook, his hands trembling as though refusing to accept the truth.
"No... no, no, no! Father, get up! Please!" His voice cracked, raw with panic. He shook the lifeless body, his tears dripping onto Ragnar's face.
"Not again... why is it always me?!" His scream ripped through the hall, echoing off the stone walls.
For a moment, his mind drifted back. In his previous life, he never knew what it meant to have parents. They were gone before he could even remember their faces.
For nineteen years in this realm, he had finally felt what it was like to have a father's hand on his shoulder, a mother's voice telling him to behave, a home filled with warmth even if it was inside chains. And now, just when he had begun to get used to it… they were ripped away again.
White light erupted from his skin, tearing his clothes apart as power forced its way out of him. His veins burned like fire, his eyes glowing red before shifting to blinding white.
"Father! You didn't leave me anything—no words, no promise—NOTHING!" His voice was jagged, breaking between sobs and fury.
"I was supposed to protect you! I was supposed to save her!"
He laid his father gently on the floor, his tears soaking the old man's chest. Then his face hardened, and he slowly stood, glaring at Graknar.
"You took my mother... now my father... What else do you want from me?!" His voice thundered like a storm.
Graknar sneered, but his confidence faltered as Ragon appeared before him in a flash, one hand snapping around his thick neck. He was lifted off the ground as if he were nothing.
"You call yourself a warlord?" Ragon growled, his grip tightening. "You want divinity? Then choke on it!"
A beam of white light tore out from Ragon's body, blasting through Graknar's chest.
Graknar roared, his massive form twisting and swelling as holes burst open across his body. Light devoured him from the inside.
And then.. he exploded. The hall shook as blood, bone, and fire rained down, scattering the remains of the warlord across the stone floor.