Hello everybody! I'm back! I know I said I was going to be gone for the rest of the summer, but I've been able to chip out some time and work on this first chapter. I won't be able to update as regularly as before, at least not for the next few months, but I hope everybody can still enjoy the experience nonetheless.

For those reading my stories for the first time, this is a sequel to The Warrior's Legacy, which means that there are many references to the previous story. My suggestion is to read that story first, and then read Regalian Bloodbath. In addition, I've written a preview for the trilogy that I'm writing, so do check that out as well.

For those who have read my previous story, I assume you have been awaiting the return of Gregor. You have got your wish! But this story is much darker from the previous story, so you can be in for a suspenseful time.

It is also worth noting that I will be writing this story in both Gregor's and Calvin's perspectives, and not just Gregor's perspective. I will indicate when the perspectives change, though, so don't be worried.

A writer needs reviews to improve and get encouragement. As such, I ask for your kindness to take some time to review my chapter please. Have fun!

Chapter 1: Gregor the Overlander

He was wading in blood when he came to his senses. Warm, churning blood, which bubbled everywhere. What was he doing here? He still had no clue. He soon realised that he had a sword in his hand. A sword covered with the same thick, murky blood. Wonderful. Another object that had no significance to him. Who was he, in the first place? What was his name? It was on the tip of his tongue…

"Warrior… Murderer… Destroyer…" a voice from the darkness mocked him. He recognised that voice. It came from a long-forgotten past. A past that he just refused to let himself see. He had walled that past up a long time ago and had hidden away from it. He never wanted to see it again. But he couldn't help it now. All the gruesome images returning, slowly, as if it was deliberately trying to torture him. "Ares!" he called out. Yes, he knew that name. He knew all of their names. But he still couldn't remember his own name.

Still the voice spoke, in a low, taunting hiss, "Warrior, warrior, come and get ME." And then it came out. The Bane. The white rat grinned sadistically, as suddenly the dark figure of Ares flew towards him. The whole scene began to replay itself over in his head again.

"He has lost his balance," Ares said aloud. He could see himself, on top of Ares, staring at the scene grimly. The Bane wasn't a chaotic mess this time. The white rat was standing upright, watching them intently, waiting for them. Then he heard himself say, "Use it."

Ares dived towards the Bane flying and spinning around the white rat. Instead of stumbling about in confusion, the white rat only watched on in amusement and with a certain degree of cold indifference.

"I've got to get in closer if I'm going to take him out!" he had said.

The white rat raised its eyebrow. "Not such a good idea, O Doomed Warrior," it goaded in satisfaction.

"Hang on!" Ares had growled, and then he began to spin towards the Bane, as he saw himself ready his blade. He knew what would happen. He had seen it too many times. Too many times. Every night. The same thing happened, just in a whole variety of ways. This time, the Bane was waiting for the inevitable.

Instead of hurting the Bane, the white rat casually swatted him out of the air and tore into Ares' throat maliciously. "ARES!" he screamed as loud as he could, but he knew it was far too late. He had seen it coming. But he hadn't warned them. He hadn't warned Ares all those years ago. It was all his fault.

The Bane turned to face him. "You created me," the rat pointed out, as he felt himself burst into a heart-wrenching howl of anguish. Ares' body lay limp at the side. There was no coming back for his friend.

"I should have torn you to shreds in that cave all those years ago," he spat back at the Bane.

"And I shouldn't have overestimated you. I thought you were greater than you actually looked. I should have killed you on the spot," came an old but familiar voice.

He turned to find Gorger sauntering into the river of blood as well, a smirk lingering on the side of his mouth. "And I was let down by you. I still can't believe the Warrior is a scrawny, disobedient boy who whined all the time," came another weary voice.

This time, it was Ripred stepping out of the shadows. "You killed my son," Goldshard snarled as she joined Ripred's side.

"You let my people die, Warrior. You were supposed to be our saviour. But all you have done is bring even more destruction and death upon us. The very river of blood you are in is the amount of blood you have caused Regalia to spill. Much light in the Underland was lost because of you," said a voice that Gregor had been longing to hear.

Luxa calmly stepped forward, disappointment written all over her face. WHat was most evident was the pain in her voice. He had hurt Luxa. He could see it in her eyes, in her body language, in her voice, everywhere. She was right. Too many people were dead because of him. And what had he gained from it? He had lost his sanity, his moral compass, the love of his life, and ultimately his own life. He couldn't even remember his own name. He had lost his own identity.

A chasm began to open up beneath his feet. "Now you'll know how I felt," Gorger chuckled.

Bane snickered. "Enjoy your fall, Overlander," the white rat sneered, as Twirltongue clambered onto his shoulder, "because they will be your last memories. And I will be at the bottom, waiting for you, so that I can gloat over your dead body."

"No," he said, remembering the horrific sensation of falling, "don't do this. Please!"

"I never truly loved you," were the last words he heard, and although he couldn't see who had said them, he knew who it was. And then the fall began.

His heart rate increased rapidly as he felt the air rushing past his face as he tumbled into nothingness. The darkness yawned widely, as he continued to plummet towards eternity. He thought about everything he had fought for, and wondered if his life had been of any worth. Did he deserve to live? Should he have died in place of Ares, or Solovet, or Twitchtip? Or Hamnet? Or Tick? Or Mange? Or… He couldn't recall any more names. The images were assaulting his mind hard and fast.

And then he heard a voice, probably the Bane's, whisper, "What is your name, Warrior?"

He looked into the darkness and closed his eyes. Embracing his fear, he said, "My name is…"

"... Gregor." He bolted up, his heart pounding heavily against his chest, as the early morning sunlight filtered through the curtains. It was all just a dream. Actually, it was probably better to classify it as a nightmare. In no way was what he just experienced a normal dream. They came intermittently, but most of the time his dreams were related to the Underland somewhat, whether or not they were nightmares.

He sat up in his bed, before deciding to lean against the pillow to support his back. It had been a long nine years since the events of the War of Time. Almost a full decade had passed. He was now an unemployed twenty-one year old wasting his life away in a dingy apartment on the outskirts of Manhattan. His life had changed drastically, and not for the better. He decided to recall the series of events over the past nine years leading up to that very morning.

It was only a month or two after he had left the Underland when his grandmother passed away suddenly, which led to his parents' decision to leave New York City for Virginia. It was more of his mother than his father. His father had sat on the fence, unsure of whether to leave this part of the past behind. Gregor's mother on the other hand was determined as hell to leave and get away from the place which had turned the whole family's lives upside down. In a sense, Grace was right. The Underland had turned their lives into a chaotic mess. But it had added meaning to Gregor's life. It had finally given him something to fight for.

He remembered the night they left. Lizzie had begun arguing with his mother at the dining table, while his father unsuccessfully tried to mediate the argument, which had become extremely heated. Boots was crying away in a corner, ironically screaming at the top of her lungs for everybody to stop shouting. It was so bad that even Mrs Cormaci came over concernedly and attempted to soothe Grace and Lizzie.

Meanwhile, Gregor was lying in his room, slumped against the wall, staring glumly at a picture in front of him. A picture really spoke a thousand words, and it did back then. It reminded him of everything- the pain, the scars, and… He tried not to think about that person. His heart just ached even more whenever he thought of her. Her absence in his life felt like an open wound, with his blood leaking out of it. He lost many passions later, deciding to give up track for a life of mediocrity in school. Of course, his life became anything but mediocre in school.

In the end, no matter how much Lizzie protested, it was ultimately futile. They said goodbye to Mrs Cormaci, said goodbye to the apartment, said goodbye to New York City, and said goodbye to the Underland. Gregor also wished Larry and Angelina all the best on his last day of school. They were the only true friends he had in the Overland. He hadn't had any other true friends since.

When they arrived in Virginia, they quickly settled into the farm, especially his father, who adapted to the new environment like a duck takes to water. They had an upturn in fortune because of the farm, and his father's extensive knowledge of science, which was valuable there, considering the schools were all looking for a capable science teacher, hence leading to a boost in his father's salary. Naturally, the family began to become more wealthy. It was far from being considered rich, but at least the monetary side of life no longer stayed an issue.

At night, Gregor would hear small rats scuttling underneath the floorboards, which wasn't particularly surprising considering they stayed on a farm. Some nights Gregor wondered if those rats were Ripred's spies, and if they were keeping watch on him for the old rat. But deep down Gregor knew there was no way Ripred's spies could travel this far away from New York City and return there every day to report to him.

When Gregor went to school, he knew that he was going to draw many stares. Everybody was looking at him quizzically, when they saw his scars. Some thought he came from a dysfunctional family, while others speculated that he was a murderer. Both were true, in some sense or another. His family was in a mess when they arrived in Virginia, while he had taken the lives of many creatures in the Underland. So yes, both rumours were not entirely false.

As usual, he was quickly marked out by the bullies and gangsters in schools, due to his unusual scars and his habit of sulking in school. And of course, unlike last time when he avoided a fight as much as possible, he brought his newfound rager abilities to the table. He often incapacitated those he fought for as long as two weeks or even a month occasionally. He had remembered Ripred's warning about his instincts to kill, but had consciously ignored the old rat's piece of advice. He had lost his own identity.

In addition, he had begun to grow very fast. He worked out everyday if time permitted, and although he wasn't very bulky, he was very muscular now. Furthermore, he had hit a growth spurt, leading to him becoming easily an inch or two above six foot, which made him look imposing and scary. He wasn't a rager with a scrawny body now- he was the ultimate killing machine in an ideal body.

He had also apparently become more handsome as he grew older, something which he could tell without being overly narcissistic. It was true that his face had become better-looking, and this was further proven by the number of girls who had asked him out, including some popular girls. He politely rejected all of them, though. It was too difficult to move on. He tried going on a date with one girl, but it became too awkward with her and he subsequently stopped going out with her. His constant rejecting all of good-looking and popular girls led to rumours that he had become gay, which were untrue, of course. Frankly, he didn't care. He honestly didn't give a shit about what other people thought of him.

It wasn't just his physical appearance that had changed, though. His character had changed as well. He had become darker, more twisted, so much so that he couldn't see what was black and white anymore. He didn't want to believe it, but it was hard not to admit. He had once been a good person who believed greatly in certain values, such as courage, honesty and peace. He no longer believed in such values. His experiences in the Underland had changed him into a warped, angry man. And that was destroying him from the inside. He couldn't even determine if he had a soul anymore.

As expected, because of all the fights he got in when in school, he was expelled after a while despite his parents' desperate appeals and pleas to let him stay and that he wasn't at fault for any of the fights. Nobody at the school believed him or them though. But as usual, he was beyond caring already. That probably explained why he was expelled three times in his five years studying there. He was always blamed. Always. No matter how much the gangster or bully did, it was never their fault. And he had no issue with being kicked out.

And then came the watershed moment. When he was eighteen, he decided that he had had enough. He was done with suffering in Virginia and studying there. He voiced out his decision to return to New York City and the Underland. There was no need for a job, he had rationalized. He could live in the Underland and that would have been it. No need for a salary, and he would earn privileges and VIP treatment there. His life in the Overland was done. It was time to return to a land which was now in peace. A land he could truly call home.

Lizzie being slightly older and becoming much more successful, didn't side with him this time. She quietly stated that she was going to back off, and not engage in this argument. His father chose to back off as well this time, while Boots only had snippets of her memory of the Underland, and couldn't make a judgement based on those memories, which left Gregor squaring up against his mother.

It had been a very distressing night. Both him and his mother had been locked in a shouting contest, ignoring Lizzie, his father's and Boots begged them to stop quarrelling. Gregor wasn't ready to back down, though. He was already eighteen and could make his own choices. After all, he was sick and tired of following his mum's orders. It was over. He was done putting up with her and his stupid family. He furiously grabbed his belongings as well as what he needed before storming out of the farm, taking the family truck and heading back to New York. He could hear the sobbing of his sisters and his father yelling at him to come back, but he was past caring. He was devoid of any emotion now. He was honestly done with facing his own family.

He drove back to New York CIty, and out of whatever kindness that was left in his heart, he sold the truck and sent the money back to his family, as well as a harsh note that he was never going to return. To their credit, they never pursued him to New York City. They had left him all alone. That was truly a bittersweet moment for Gregor.

No, he corrected himself, just bitter. He had called his mother many horrible names, labelling her a "bitch" and a "cunt". He had barely used any vulgarities his whole life. He had always believed he wasn't a very profane person. It changed that night, though. He hated himself since then. He had abandoned his family and left on a horrible note, hurting his mother's feelings with the words he had used. The worst part was that this would be her last memory of him.

He honestly missed her. He missed her, he missed Lizzie, he missed his dad, Boots… he missed all of them. They meant the world to him. But he could never bring himself to return to Virginia. He just didn't have the courage to be a prodigal son and return in shame. And that was why he was still hanging around in New York City.

He initially attempted to find the Underland. But when he returned to Central Park, he couldn't find the stone. It seemed to have magically vanished, and he found himself budging every stone he could find in the park, but it was useless. He then tried to find his apartment, only to discover that Mrs Cormaci had passed away and the whole set of apartments had been bought over by a billionaire Richard Oberton, and had been converted to a mansion. He thought about breaking into the mansion, but that wasn't who he was. He wasn't a criminal. At least he didn't want to be, no matter how cold he had become.

The funny thing was that every month he received about five thousand dollars, all sent by an anonymous person who also paid the rent for the apartment he was staying in. He was determined to find out who the kind soul was, but he never could find that person. The bank constantly told him it was confidential and they refused to tell him who it was, which was unusual for a bank. Gregor quickly deduced that person must know him somehow and was in a position of power. He just couldn't put a finger on who it was.

He wished he could tell everybody that he put those five thousand dollars to use, that he had done something with his life. Unfortunately, it was the exact opposite. He had come to New York to go home, to go to the Underland, but that had evidently failed, leaving him depressed and hopeless. Every week, he would stock up on the booze, and every moment of free time he had would be put to "good use"- downing a bottle of beer or whiskey. That was just how life was for him. Eat lightly, drink heavily, sleep, and then repeat. It was cycle that had landed him thick into depression and on the verge of suicide. He had been enduring this life for two years. It was time to end it…

… Until that young upstart Calvin Oberton stepped through his doorway. And then things finally became interesting.

Calvin was the son of the late Richard Oberton, who had passed away six years ago. He was also the person paying Gregor the five thousand, although that transaction had been set up by Richard just before he died.

But what truly injected life back into Gregor was what he came to meet Gregor about. He claimed that he was sent by Nerissa to find him, and bring him back to Regalia when the time was right. Gregor found his heart palpitating for the first time in months, maybe years. He decided to remain disciplined and wait for the call to return to Regalia. Every morning since then, he had woken up, praying that Calvin would walk through that doorway and call for him, but it never happened. Not yet, anyway.

Calvin then told him about his adventure in the Undeland, which brought up many fascinating details, and some distressing ones as well. He was delighted to hear that Vikus was still alive and healthy, and that those goddamned prophecies were now gone. He was glad to hear that Mareth, Perdita and Ripred were still fine as well. He was troubled when he heard of the foxes, but that was not a problem. Calvin had succeeded in holding them back temporarily.

He was particularly intrigued by Calvin's ability with the guns. He knew that even though Calvin was no rager that this was no reason to underestimate him. He had deadly ability with guns and could easily rank as one of the deadliest soldiers in the Underland. Even Gregor had no idea how to use a gun.

He raised an eyebrow when he heard Calvin describing the legacy of the Warrior and of the impact of his death. Apparently rumours had circulated around that Gregor was dead, and those rumours became truth over time. He had a feeling that Ripred knew he was alive, but was deliberately not telling anyone. It also seemed that a massive statue had been erected in his honour, and without sounding arrogant, Gregor was looking forward to seeing it.

He had taken a liking to Calvin. The kid visited him once a month to discuss matters and talk about their adventures. Gregor decided to conceal the truth from Calvin that he was the Warrior, and elected to describe his adventures as being limited to the boundaries of Regalia, and that while he was down there he lived a placid life. He tried to avoid talking about himself, and was happy to let Calvin do most of the talking. It was evident that Calvin had some of that courage and honour that Gregor once had when he was younger. He promised himself that as long as he interacted with Calvin, he wouldn't let the boy slide down the same path he had. Calvin still had much good in him, and gregor was determined to help him keep it that way.

Then he thought about the distressing details. First was the news of Temp's tragic passing, which Gregor took hard, considering he had been on so many adventures with Temp. He owed Temp his life and eternal gratitude, and it was Temp's wisdom that had saved him and Boots on numerous occasions. He kept thinking about the crawler that whole month, and occasionally he did cry as he realised he would never see Temp and get another chance to thank him. He hadn't cried since he left home, which just showed how much Temp's death meant to him. He swore that he must visit Temp's grave when he returned.

But there was one more distressing detail, that had broken his heart. Luxa. She was now married to some other Underlander called Conrad. He immediately decided he hated Conrad with every ounce of hate he had left, but he wouldn't treat him badly. After all, he was Luxa's husband and he cared for Luxa still.

Gregor picked up the faded picture on his desk and stared wistfully at it. There was a time when he felt that love just couldn't be broken, that his love for Luxa was just too strong and that it would stay eternal. He didn't blame Luxa for breaking that bond, though. Before he left, she had told him that an Overlander and Underlander just couldn't be together, especially since Luxa was queen. It was just impossible for him. And that was the most bitter pill to swallow.

He tried his best not to think of her. He found himself sinking back into depression every time he thought of her with Conrad. He placed the faded picture back on his desk and reminisced about the good times back when he was still young, back when a war hadn't broken his mind and soul. Those days were long gone, but maybe the days could be on the mend as well. Calvin had taught him a valuable lesson each and every time he visited Gregor, and that was to never give up hope. And he learned that although the faded picture was painful to look at, it was also an indication of hope.

He got out of bed and stared at his body in the mirror. Since Calvin had visited him a year ago, he had resumed his tough exercise regime and had toned his body again. The booze had gone out of him, and was replaced with hard-earned muscles now. And then he looked at his chest and he winced, despite seeing it for the thousandth time.

Even with the test of time, those scars had remained. Five long stripes running down his chest so that the pain would be etched in his memory forever. The bane was not quite dead. He still existed in Gregor's dreams, to sadistically inflict pain and torment him for as long as he lived.

It had been a tough nine years for Gregor. He wasn't the boy he once was, he wasn't the son he once was, and he certainly wasn't the Warrior he once was. But he swore he would do his utmost to return to the boy who once believed in something. If that meant giving up on fighting and being a warrior and a murderer, then so be it. If possible, he would avoid fighting at all. He remembered living by moral principles that were never compromised no matter what the situation was…

… And then a whole series of visions struck him, making him dizzy. His eyes were clouded and he saw the world begin to swirl, before he heard Nerissa's distant voice saying, "It's time, Gregor. It is time to return. We need you more than ever." The clouds then disappeared and revealed Regalia in ruins, with dead bodies lying everywhere.

The city was on fire, and he heard the screams of the last remaining citizens as foxes ran riot and rampaged through Regalia. He saw Luxa battling a one-eyed fox, before being pushed off the palace to her death. Ripred's throat had been torn open, and he stared blankly into nothingness, his eyes glazed over. The scene then changed and showed Vikus, the last survivor, defending the throne of Regalia against an army of shadows. He swung his sword at them fiercely, but he was far too frail and was overpowered by the shadows. Gregor could only watch in horror as the shadows coalesced on the throne, forming a humanoid figure shrouded in shadow.

Then he heard a voice whisper, "All shall perish… in this Regalian bloodbath."

He found himself collapsed on his bed, convulsing violently and covered in beads of sweat. This was no ordinary nightmare. Regalia was in deep trouble. Deep, deep trouble. He went for his wardrobe immediately.

Regalia was in for a bloodbath. And one way or another, they needed him.

There, done! This was a fun chapter to write, drawing the links and filling up the holes with regards to Gregor's life. This is an exciting adventure for me as well, so please remember to review this story. Thanks!