I'm Not The Protagonist

I stood in the middle of the town square, its wide cobblestone expanse a hub for events, entertainment, and now, apparently, public humiliation. My fist clenched as I stared at the sky, dramatic as ever. A thought crossed my mind: I must look like an idiot right now.

Embarrassment surged through me. I quickly relaxed my hand and shifted my gaze, scanning the square. Please, let no one have seen me.

They had. Everyone had.

A crowd of townsfolk stared right back at me, their expressions ranging from mild amusement to outright disbelief. They'd heard everything. Seen everything.

My face burned. "Holy shit," I muttered under my breath before bolting toward the nearest alley.

Once I was safely hidden in the shadows, I crouched low, knees hitting the cold stone. It looked like I was praying—and maybe I was, in a way.

"God… Supreme Holy One… anyone… please," I whispered, voice cracking. "Just kill me now. I'm done. I'm done with this life."

A tear slipped down my cheek, unbidden.

And as if the universe had heard my pathetic plea, a gang of children suddenly swarmed into the alley. They couldn't have been more than eight or nine years old, but the glint in their eyes screamed trouble.

"What's that smell?" one of them—chubby, with a freckled face—asked, wrinkling his nose.

"It smells like disease and spoiled milk!" another chimed in, sending the rest into peals of laughter.

I frowned. What's so funny?

The apparent leader stepped forward. He was skinny with wild hair and an air of smug superiority. "Well, if it isn't Caiden," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Thought you were deathbed sick. Three years down, and here you are, alive and… well, pathetic."

The others giggled, but the leader wasn't done. "Oh, and that little scene in the square? Disappointing really."

Laughter erupted again.

My jaw clenched. "Listen, mate, how about we strike a deal? You forget about the square, and I forget about your… uh, shitty dialogue delivery? Yeah?"

The leader's grin widened. "How about… no?" "And… maybe a reminder."

Without warning, a punch slammed into my stomach. It landed with a sickening thud, and the pain was so sharp it almost stole my breath. I gasped, my body folding forward, unable to catch myself.

"I'm not your mate," I croaked, trying to steady myself.

I was shaken. A kid's punch shouldn't have hit that hard. But it did—sharp, fast, right in the gut.

Another one came at me, faster than the first. This time, I was ready.

I twisted my body, dodging left just in time. The punch whizzed past my ear. Instincts. My body moved of its own accord, memories of countless fights flooding my mind. The precision of every strike, the deadly flow of combat—it was all still there, buried under this small, fragile body.

"Seems like you know how to dodge a punch," the leader sneered, eyes narrowing. He threw in a low kick, aiming for my calves.

It hit—hard enough to buckle my legs, but I stayed upright. Years of combat training had prepared me for this. My instincts screamed at me to fight back, to end this now.

But these were just kids. Kids.

The others rushed in, fists flying from every direction—left-right, right-left, and everywhere in between. I barely had time to react to each one. The stinging blows hurt, but it wasn't the pain that bothered me. It was the memories. I've broken men. I've crushed entire armies. I can end them. The temptation to fight back with everything I had burned in my chest, but I couldn't.

They were just scared kids, trying to act tough. They didn't deserve that.

I shoved the closest one—wiry and quick—back with enough force to make him stumble. The moment I created, I twisted and ducked under another punch, spinning behind him to grab his wrist. I twisted it hard, slamming him into the brick wall of the alley. His head thunked softly against the stone.

"Not so tough now, are you?" I muttered, voice rough, but steady.

The leader rushed me again, this time with a wild uppercut. I ducked low, grabbing his arm and using his momentum to throw him into one of the other kids. Both of them hit the ground with a thud, groaning as the wind was knocked out of them.

The last two hesitated. They could see it now—see that I wasn't the weakling they thought I was. I wasn't one of them.

I lunged at the chubby one, tackling him to the ground and pinning him down with just enough force to make him gasp. He wriggled, trying to squirm free, but I kept him still. The smallest of the group, eyes wide, backed away slowly, his face drained of color as he realized he was outclassed.

"You sure you want to keep this up?" I asked, voice low and firm. It wasn't anger in my tone. It was control. I could end it. I could stop them, just like that.

The chubby kid squirmed, but I held him firm. I wasn't going to hurt them—not anymore. They didn't deserve it.

The leader, still on the ground, glared up at me. "You freak," he spat, trying to push himself up.

I stepped off the chubby kid, standing tall. "Go on. Run off. It's over."

One by one, they backed away, exchanging nervous glances. And as they turned, scurrying off into the street, I stayed still. My chest heaved as I watched them go.

My body was exhausted, muscles aching all over...Muscles! I flicked up my shirt, looking down at my body. A pitiful attempt to remind myself of what I once was. But as my eyes lingered on my torso, the reality hit me hard. I let out yet another tear.

My hard-toned abs… My muscles… My sexy, sexy muscles.

I winced at the sight of bruises already forming across my skin. I ran a hand over them. I couldn't believe I was mourning the loss of strength, the feeling of power that used to come so easily to me. My past self, the man who had once torn through battles without a second thought, seemed so distant now.

What happened to me?

I had almost gone too far, the hunger to remind them who was in charge still simmering beneath my skin. To make them regret even thinking they could mess with me. But I didn't. And for the first time in a long while, something inside me settled. A strange sense of satisfaction washed over me—not from the fight, but from the choice I made. The choice to hold back.

I can change. The thought resonated through me like a quiet promise. Maybe there was a path I could walk that didn't need bloodshed, one that didn't demand constant violence. I could choose differently. And for once, I believed it.

Before I could let the weight of that thought settle, the day turned to dusk, the sun beginning its slow descent. I stood there, still catching my breath, only then realizing a more immediate problem.

Shit… I don't have anywhere to sleep tonight, do I?

I groaned, the weight of exhaustion dragging at my limbs. "I'm gonna have to sleep under the stars tonight, aren't I?"

I sighed deeply, the sound carrying the frustration of a day that had not gone as planned. But as the night crept in, there was something oddly freeing about it. The sky stretched wide above me, offering its silent promise. 

I'd managed to scrounge up what I could only hope was a piece of rug. The smell and shape told me otherwise, but I wasn't about to dwell on it. I could either embrace it—or toss it. So I embraced it... or at least, I tried to.

"F*ck this. This shit stinks," I muttered, and with all the strength my tiny, frail arms could muster, I threw the 'rug' as far as I could.

It landed with a thud, but I couldn't care less. I was cold, tired, and utterly fed up. As I lay there, the reality of my situation hit me. I needed to figure out what I was doing. My mind buzzed with memories from the future—plans, strategies, ways I could use that knowledge to change my fate. But before I could organize anything, the soothing embrace of sleep took me under.

"Caiden..." A soft voice called, pulling me from the fog of slumber. "Caiden!"

Just five more minutes…

"Caiden."

I cracked open one eye. The figure standing above me was bathed in light, shimmering in the dark. An angel? My mind was too groggy to process it fully, but the thought crossed my mind.

"Is it time already?" I mumbled, stretching my hands toward the figure. "Well… it was short, but good… Take me, I'm ready."

The voice grew louder, deeper, and with an authority that sent a shiver down my spine. "On whose order?"

The voice wasn't soothing anymore—it was commanding. I blinked awake, eyes fully open now. The moon still hung high, its light sharp against the darkness. What the hell? It's still night?

I looked up at the figure standing over me. It was a woman, her hair cascading in soft curls. She radiated a gentle, almost ethereal presence—kind, serene. But something about her face struck me as familiar... and yet, I couldn't quite place it. A feeling lingered in my chest, like I was forgetting something important.

"Child, where have you been?"

Child... child... shit! My heart skipped a beat. I froze, the weight of her words crashing over me. I had a mother here.

For a moment, it felt like a distant memory, as if that concept didn't belong to me at all. Back on Earth, I'd never had a mother. But here, in this world, I did—a mother who died too soon, who still dies.

Just as quickly as excitement flooded me, dread reared its ugly head. The feeling was suffocating, like a vice tightening around my chest. My throat constricted, panic rising fast.

Shit... She dies.