The world around Alaric shifted violently, the sensation of falling giving way to the hard, jarring reality of landing. His body hit the earth with a bone-shaking thud, and for a moment, he was disoriented, surrounded by darkness. As the last echoes of his fall faded, a sharp breath filled his lungs, and the scent of fresh, alien air swept through him.
Alaric's eyes opened slowly. He could feel the damp, soft ground beneath him, but something about it felt strange. He pushed himself up, his limbs trembling as if they'd forgotten their purpose. His body was different—lighter, more agile, but also... unfamiliar. His fingers twitched, and he was struck by the sensation that this new form was far smaller than he remembered.
His mind raced back to the moment before his death—the battlefield, the sounds of gunfire, and the sting of betrayal. The final hours of his life, a trial in a cell, a sentence carried out in disgrace. He had been branded a traitor, but it had not ended in the way he'd imagined. He had died, isolated and alone.
Now, however, there was a new weight to his body, a strange power surging through his veins.
Alaric scanned his surroundings, realizing he wasn't where he had expected to be. The towering trees around him were ancient and twisted, reaching upward in a way that seemed unnatural. The air was thick with the scent of decay, yet the earth beneath his hands felt alive, teeming with some kind of potent magic.
He stood, his small frame trembling as he observed his surroundings—his heart pounding in confusion and curiosity. He reached up to touch his head, and his fingers tangled in long, dark hair.
"Where am I?" he muttered under his breath.
It wasn't Earth, that much was clear. And the more Alaric examined himself, the more he realized that he was no longer the same man who had fallen in battle. His body was now much smaller, his features sharp and slightly... elongated. His ears were pointed, not human, but almost inhuman—something different, something beastly. His stature was short, and his skin bore an odd, pale hue, a color he had never known before. He felt lighter, more agile, but there was a latent power in him—something waiting to be unleashed.
Suddenly, he heard heavy footsteps approaching from the woods. His instincts kicked in, and he braced himself, but he was not prepared for what came next.
A massive figure emerged from the forest, and Alaric's breath caught in his throat. It was a Beastman—tall, with fur sprouting along its arms, a face distorted by primal ferocity. Its amber eyes glowed with a wild, untamed fury, and it didn't hesitate to attack.
Before Alaric could fully react, the Beastman lunged at him, its claws slashing through the air with terrifying speed. The weight of its attack forced Alaric to the ground, and he scrambled to regain his footing. His soldier's instincts surged to the surface, but as he tried to defend himself, he realized he was struggling to control this smaller, more agile form.
The Beastman's claws raked against his chest, but it didn't feel like the fatal blow he expected. He was smaller, faster, but still outclassed by the Beastman's raw strength. The battle was not going well.
With each strike, Alaric's mind raced. This isn't me. He tried to fight back, using his military training, but something wasn't right. He couldn't land a blow, couldn't find his footing. His mind screamed at him—he needed to survive, he needed to lead—but his new body seemed to hold him back at every turn.
Then, as if the world itself responded to his despair, a rush of power filled Alaric. His aura surged, his presence magnifying, pushing through the boundaries of his body. It wasn't physical strength, but a force of will—a power far greater than mere muscle. His body seemed to hum with raw potential, a strange connection to the land itself.
Dominion/Submission.
His power awakened.
The Beastman paused mid-attack, its furious eyes going blank for a moment, confusion clouding its primal rage. Alaric's will pressed down upon it, suffocating it, overwhelming its very being. The Beastman staggered back, its posture shifting from aggression to hesitation. Alaric's power was not physical—it was mental, dominating, a command born of will alone.
"You will submit," Alaric commanded, his voice low and steady, laced with the weight of his newfound authority.
The Beastman's form trembled, its strength faltering. Its head dropped, its claws retracting, its once-violent stance now one of submission. Alaric stood tall—still small in stature, but now utterly in control.
The creature knelt before him, forced to bend under the weight of Alaric's power. Alaric's presence was overwhelming, and the Beastman's will had been crushed beneath it.
Alaric took a slow step forward, his eyes cold and unyielding. "I will lead," he muttered, his voice a promise. "And you will follow."
The Beastman, once a towering force, now bowed its head in total obedience. Alaric's mind raced with possibilities. He had done it—he had won. This world, this strange place, was his to command. He could bend it to his will.
Alaric surveyed the defeated Beastman, then looked out into the vast, alien world around him. I am not a Beastman, he realized. I am a Halfling—a fusion of human and beast. And now, I will rise.
His aura rippled in the air, a sign of the power he had just discovered. He wasn't sure what game he had been brought into, or who the other players were. But Alaric knew one thing for certain—he would lead. He would dominate. And this world would bow to him.
Alaric Stone had been reborn. And this time, he would not be betrayed.