Once, for a brief period of time, men could become as gods. Oh, to be sure many died in the attempt, their bodies unable to handle the strain, tearing themselves apart under the forces involved. But a handful managed to cross that gap that separated mortality from something less defined, but that humanity instinctively longed for. Reached for with grasping hands as they broke and shattered, laughing as they faded. And then the Matriarchs came and placed Men in chains most cunning and cruel. Helpful in part, for all that it bound them.
Their might was siphoned, drained and drank by women holding the chains and in large part forbidden from the training needed to reach those rarefied heights. Oh, it had not always been that way, as women looked at the Matriarchs and tried to follow in their footsteps. As they tried to have their men grow so they could sup from that wellspring some might call divinity. Many men, bound and managed, managed to reach similar levels of strength, when the bindings were lose. Some rare few even managed that step. But no woman that relied on drinking from the wellspring ever made it.
No matter how deeply they drank, it never became their own. And so they gnashed their teeth and loudly proclaimed that it was a secret kept entirely by the Matriarchs. That with the changes imposed on the world, there was no way to climb to the heights they had claimed at their own domain. Oh, the lies people tell themselves, to claim a thing impossible rather than they cannot meet the challenge! For there is only one path into the halls of Heaven. The entrance is one that all living souls know.
To live forever, you first must die.
Actions have consequences, a truth that is engraved on the bones of the world. Something that some would whisper that the man standing hip deep in a pool of gore should have remembered. Then again, considering how he seemed to only be getting faster and stronger as the day wore on, as they kept swarming him with foes that inflicted wounds that become more and more minor as he healed and continued to fight, perhaps the matrons of the hunters should have considered an overwhelming initial strike rather than trying to wear him down for capture.
To be sure, it had been nearly three years since that bout in the arena, where he earned his freedom in blood that a mere male was not easily permitted to spill. Three years since he returned to the wild, to continue to train and test himself free of civilization. Enjoying the purity of the wild, of its simplicity over all. Granted, being cornered and having to fight and kill his way free? Not quite what he had planned, as he laughed, as he was herded. As he stepped over a path of skulls and bones, uncaring as the axes ravaged and tore into flesh. As elemental attacks slammed into him.
Frankly, the problem with regenerators, according to all the hunters, was that while there was some variation, wearing a higher end one down was damn near impossible. And adaptive regenerators? Few were ever bound due to the fact that they started so laughably human, so fragile and weak. Their bond gifts tended to be fairly minor and underwhelming as well. But then you have the ones crazy enough to put themselves through hell. "Okay, half of his bones are fucking powder and most of his organs are pulped." Not that anyone could tell, as he kept fighting, kept killing as he laughed.
"And I know that Tomas literally flash boiled his brain a few minutes ago." But no, whatever this bastard did, he apparently managed to adapt to not needing a functioning brain to kill. Which, as everyone paused half a moment as the laughing killer placed his own head back on the stump after he was beheaded, both disturbing and impressive. "Mistress, we can't take him." Sadly, he only had an diagnostic gift, but there was no way they would be able to take the monster down.
Which of course, meant that this poor fool was for the Valkyrie Extermination Squads.
The male was beginning to manifest its chains, a smile on the creatures face. Something to be struck off it with efficiency. It was the humane thing to do, to put a mindless beast down and out of its misery. Yet, the creature was smiling, laughing and making merry as axes of mundane metal parried steel that was nearly divine. Brute force strove against skill and training as the storm rumbled and cracked overhead. The creature should be overmatched, a mere male against one of the elite!
Gathering death in the tip of the spear, she thrust in a manner that defied reason. She only thrust because the spear was lodged in his heart. There is no shock in the males eyes, only hunger and joy as his breath leaves his lungs and the chains crack and glow, crumbling and bursting from within. More dramatic than the usual extermination, but the male was dead. Spear raised, she turned to leave the corpse in the dirt, yet before she took a single step, there was the beating of a heart. There was the knocking at a door.
Turning around, unease gathering, she saw the chains flicker and try to sink into his flesh, before his back arched and he howled, hands clawing at the door, opening it as he stepped out of death, the chains shattering and burning as the world pulses around the clearing. Eyes snap open and it is no man that rises, as a Valkyrie prepares to sell her life dearly, a pulsing warning to the halls the only waring. A short message. One that has not been needed in a long age.
What other message can there be, but 'A titan walks'? Besides, there is no time, as she fights something that has adapted to death.