Human Ancestor

My breathing echoed off the damp, jagged walls of the dungeon as I sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor. The darkness around me felt like an old friend—comforting yet suffocating, a reflection of my existence. My black robe clung to my sweat-soaked skin, heavy and constricting. It had been days since I'd last eaten, weeks since I'd last rested properly. None of it mattered. Not now. Not when I was so close.

I had to break through.

The faint flicker of torches cast eerie shadows that danced like specters along the dungeon walls. This place reeked of death—fitting, given the magic that coursed through my veins. Soul and death. The powers that marked me as a menace to society. The irony of it all never failed to sting. I'd never harmed an innocent soul, yet they hunted me as if I were the calamity itself.

The nobles wanted me dead because of my blood. My mother's blood. A high-human who had dared to fall in love with a commoner. A human. My existence was their disgrace, their dirty little secret, and for that, they would see me erased from the world. If the church ever caught wind of my powers, they'd burn me at the stake before I could draw a single breath of explanation.

I adjusted the hood of my robe, pulling it tighter over my head. The weight of my secrets pressed against my shoulders, but I wasn't about to crumble. Not yet. The mana in my core surged, thrumming like a war drum, growing louder and louder as I pushed myself closer to the edge.

SS+ to SSS-. A leap most people could only dream of, but for me, it was my salvation—or my curse.

The pressure was unbearable. My veins felt like they were filled with molten fire, my bones vibrating with the strain of containing the storm raging inside me. The dungeon seemed to shrink around me, the walls closing in, the weight of the world pressing against my chest. I bit down on my lip until the metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. Pain kept me grounded. Pain was real.

Then, with a crack like thunder, it happened.

A surge of energy exploded within me, shattering every limit, every barrier that had kept me bound. My body convulsed, and for a moment, I thought I'd die right there on the cold stone floor. But then the pain subsided, replaced by something else—something euphoric. My mana reserves expanded, a vast ocean where there had once been a shallow pool. My senses sharpened, every sound, every flicker of light, every shift in the air becoming painfully clear.

I exhaled slowly, savoring the newfound power coursing through me. But with it came something else.

Memories.

They hit me like a battering ram, overwhelming and relentless.

The first life. My first life.

I saw myself standing on the steps of a grand palace, an emperor ruling over a vast empire. I remembered the weight of the crown, the love of my queen, the laughter of my children. And I remembered their screams. Their blood. The way the demon viscount tore through them like they were nothing more than paper dolls.

I could still feel the blade piercing my chest, the sickening crunch of bone as it twisted deeper. I could still taste the coppery tang of my own blood flooding my mouth as the demon smiled down at me, triumphant and cruel.

I had died that day. An emperor brought to his knees.

The memories shifted, a blur of pain and rebirth, until I saw myself again. The second life.

The Runecrafter King.

This life had been... different. A life of creation instead of conquest. I remembered the serenity of my forge, the rhythmic hammering of metal, the intricate dance of runes etched into weapons and armor. My shadow wolf, loyal and fierce, always at my side. And Arthur. The lich.

Arthur had shown me the truth. The calamities were not random. They had a cycle, a rhythm, an inevitability that could not be ignored. I had vowed to break that cycle. I remembered the zombie plague, the way it spread like wildfire, consuming everything in its path. I had fought. Gods, how I had fought. Ten zombie kings, each more monstrous than the last. I had taken them all down, but it hadn't been enough. The plague endured, and in the end, I had fallen.

But I hadn't gone quietly. I had crafted a cure, my final masterpiece, and entrusted it to Arthur. A trump card for the next life.

The third life came rushing in, raw and brutal.

The Barbarian King.

The world had changed. High-humans were no longer the rulers of the land. Their blood had diluted, creating lesser versions of themselves—humans. I had been born into that world, a world of prejudice and division. I remembered uniting the tribes, forging alliances, trying desperately to prepare for the calamity I knew was coming.

And then it came. The Black Dragon.

Its fire was unlike anything I had ever faced. Black flames that consumed not just flesh but the very essence of life. I had stood on the front lines, watching as my allies fell one by one, until only my kingdom remained. And even we could not stand against it.

I remembered the way the flames burned, the way the dragon's eyes gleamed with malice as it razed everything I had built to the ground. My kingdom. My people. Gone.

And then, I died again.

I gasped, the memories fading, leaving me shaking and drenched in sweat. My hands trembled as I ran them through my hair, the weight of three lifetimes pressing down on me like an avalanche.

Why?

Why was I cursed to live and die, over and over again, always fighting, always failing? Was this some divine punishment? Some cruel joke played by the gods?

But no, this wasn't punishment. This was purpose.

I clenched my fists, the sharp bite of my nails grounding me. Every life, every death, every failure—it had all led me here. To this moment. To this dungeon. To this body.

Xiavar.

That was my name now. A seventeen-year-old boy hunted for the blood in his veins, for the magic he wielded, for crimes he had never committed. The nobles, the church, the world—they would never stop hunting me. But I wouldn't stop either.

I wasn't the emperor anymore, or the runesmith, or the barbarian king.

I was all of them.

And I wasn't just fighting for survival.

I was fighting for redemption. For justice. For revenge.

My body thrummed with power, my senses alive with the weight of my breakthrough. The memories of my past lives burned like embers in my mind, each one a reminder of what I had lost and what I had to gain.

This time, I wouldn't fail.

This time, I would break the cycle.

No matter what it took.

Author's Note: I took a break to recharge from fatigue, but I'm back now. Thank you for your patience, everyone!