The smell of charred wood and sulfur still clung to the air, but Bjorn Tyrfingr didn’t linger. The village behind him was little more than ash and cinders, survivors weeping amidst ruins, and yet… it was proof. Proof that he wasn’t Orion anymore. He had acted. He had killed. He had lived in this world.
Bjorn walked forward, not away, but deeper into the wild unknown. The forest loomed with blackened trees, scorched by fire demon raids, but it was alive with whispers, with magic. The wind carried murmurs like an invitation.
"This is it… this is where I rise."
He glanced at his reflection in a pool of rainwater. His new body was towering, broad-shouldered, and lined with runic etchings that glowed faintly under his skin whenever his blood boiled with battle-lust. His eyes were no longer tired, mortal eyes. They burned crimson, reflecting the promise of power.
And then he heard it movement.
A guttural snarl.
From the brush stepped creatures unlike anything he’d seen before: Hellhounds, their black fur steaming, their eyes red coals. Three of them, circling.
Bjorn grinned. “Perfect.”
The first lunged, but Bjorn didn’t dodge. Instead, he caught it by the jaw mid-leap, his strength monstrous, and slammed its skull into the dirt with such force it cracked like porcelain. Blood sprayed, and the other two hesitated, growling.
“C’mon,” he beckoned, rolling his shoulders. “Let’s dance.”
The second leapt, but this time Bjorn surged forward, closing the gap faster than the beast anticipated. He buried his fist straight into its ribcage, punching through bone and flesh until his hand tore out the other side. Its body went limp as he tossed it aside like refuse.
The last hellhound whimpered and turned to flee
Bjorn grabbed a broken tree branch, aimed, and threw. His arm strength turned wood into a spear; the branch skewered the beast mid-run, pinning it against a tree.
Silence followed, broken only by Bjorn’s heavy breaths.
He looked at his bloodied hands. His lips curled into a savage smile.
"This world… is mine to conquer."
But then footsteps. Not beastly. Human.
From the tree line emerged armored figures. Adventurers? Mercenaries? Their eyes widened at the sight of him standing over the slaughtered hellhounds.
“Who the hell are you?” one demanded, his sword half-drawn.
Bjorn tilted his head, blood dripping from his hand, his runes still glowing faintly.
“I am Bjorn Tyrfingr,” he said, voice deep and unyielding. “Remember that name. It’ll be carved into history before long.”
The strangers exchanged uneasy glances. They weren’t sure if he was a savior… or a monster.
And Bjorn didn’t care.
For the first time in his two lives, he embraced the chaos.
This was his baptism in blood.
YOU ARE READING
Game Over, Reborn: The Final Save File
AdventureOrion was once a legend at least online. In his twenties, he was a pro gamer with a devoted fanbase, crushing tournaments and streaming to thousands. But that was a lifetime ago. Now at forty, he's single, broke, working a soul-crushing fast-food jo...
