A metallic scent clung to the air. Heavy. Suffocating.
Dominic's fingers twitched against the cold, bloodstained stone. His chest rose. Slow and steady.
He was breathing.
That shouldn't be possible.
His eyelids fluttered open. The world was blurred at first, shifting in dull colors of gray and crimson. He took a sharp breath, his pulse quickening—
Then he saw them.
The bodies.
Dominic's breath caught.
The alley was painted in death.
Blood pooled in the cracks between the cobblestones, reflecting the dim glow of the street lanterns. The air was thick, damp with the stink of iron. Bodies lay sprawled where they had fallen, twisted and broken, their eyes vacant.
And the leader—the one who had pressed the dagger to his throat—sat slumped against the wall, his face frozen in shock, his throat ripped open.
A violent shudder ran through Dominic's body.
I should be dead.
He remembered the cold press of steel against his neck, the moment when he had been certain he was about to die.
But then—nothing.
Everything between that moment and now was a void. A heavy fog clouded his thoughts, leaving only the remnants of something distant… something terrifying.
Fragments of whispers. Screams that did not belong to him.
A river of blood.
Faces blurred in the dark, watching.
Dominic clutched his head, his breathing ragged. Was that a dream?
Or was it something else?
He pressed a hand to his chest, searching for pain. Searching for a wound. But his fingers found nothing.
No gash. No bruises.
Just smooth, unbroken skin.
The dagger wound was gone. Every trace of his injuries—gone.
His heart pounded. He didn't heal like this. No one did.
Something had happened. Something he couldn't explain.
And he was afraid to find out what.
---
The silence felt deafening.
Dominic pushed himself upright, his legs trembling beneath him. His body felt different.
Lighter. Stronger.
His balance was sharper, his movements unnaturally smooth. Every breath felt easier, like his lungs had been unshackled.
He clenched his fist, and even that small motion felt… refined.
As if his body had been remade.
A slow, pulsing warmth settled in his chest, not painful, but foreign. Alive.
Then, realization dawned.
His bloodline.
It had awakened.
The thought sent a chill down his spine. Bloodlines didn't just manifest from nowhere. They were passed down, cultivated, honed over generations.
But he had no family. No ancestors to teach him. No legacy to inherit.
"So why… why was this happening now?"
His gaze snapped to the bodies.
He had to leave.
If someone found this scene, he'd be hunted. No one would ask questions. They'd see the corpses, see him, and assume the worst.
And he wouldn't be able to argue otherwise.
But as Dominic was about to leave, he thought that it would be shame to not search the people.
This maybe his only chance to find something valuable that he could sell for food and not go hungry for the next few days.
His eyes flickered toward the wiry man—the first one who had attacked him.
If he could just move the body out of sight, if he could just find something, anything of value, then maybe—
Dominic stepped forward, hesitated, then crouched.
His hand reached out.
The moment his fingers touched the man's skin—
---
A violent shockwave of sensation exploded through him.
Dominic gasped, body locking up. His veins burned, not with fire, but with something deeper—something ripping through him, filling him.
His breath hitched. His body was like a vacuum sucking something from the body.
The corpse withered.
Skin tightened over bone. Flesh shriveled, gray and lifeless.
It happened in seconds.
One moment, Dominic was touching a dead man. The next—the body was hollow, drained of whatever had once made it human.
Dominic staggered back, choking on air.
His mind swam in a flood of memories that weren't his.
A dagger slicing through the dark. A shadow slipping through alleyways. Quick hands, sharp eyes—a predator living in the underworld.
And beneath it all, instincts that weren't his own.
His body felt… faster. Lighter. Sharper.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
This isn't normal.
This wasn't just a bloodline awakening.
This was something else.
Something worse.
---
Dominic clutched his arms, his fingers digging into his skin.
His body had stolen something.
Not borrowed. Not copied.
Stolen.
He could feel it. The *wiry man's skills, his instincts, his agility—*they were now a part of him.
His body trembled.
He looked back at the corpse—no, the husk.
He had done that.
His bloodline had done that.
A wave of nausea rolled over him. This isn't how bloodlines work.
People were born with them. They didn't take them.
Dominic's breath quickened, his mind spiraling.
What if it happens again? What if I touch someone else?
The thought made his stomach twist.
He had wanted power.
He had wanted to survive.
But not like this.
Not as a monster.
---
Dominic exhaled shakily, trying to steady himself. He needed to leave. Now.
His legs moved before his mind could catch up, carrying him away from the carnage.
But as he stepped out of the alley—his footsteps made no sound.
His breath hitched.
He moved again.
Silent.
His balance, his speed, the way his body adjusted instantly to the terrain—it was all unnatural.
Just like the wiry man.
The realization sent another shudder through him.
"I didn't just take his bloodline".
"I took everything."
His stomach twisted. His hands clenched into fists.
He needed answers.
He needed to know what he was becoming.
But one thing was clear.
The moment he touched that man, his life had changed forever.
And there was no going back.