My grip tightened around my sword. My father's teachings echoed in my head: "Forge your heart like metal. Harden it. Even if the blade in your hand breaks, the will within you must not."
I forced a breath, steeling myself. "I can't die here. Not again. Not like before."
The demon roared, the sound cracking the air like thunder. I lunged forward, slashing with everything I had. Steel rang out—but the moment my blade met its burning arm, the metal glowed red, then snapped. The tip of my sword melted, dripping to the ground like liquid fire.
"What…?" I froze. The one thing that had carried my family's name, my hope, my will—destroyed in a single strike.
The demon raised its molten arm, ready to crush me. I barely rolled aside, the impact shaking the ground, flames erupting where I once stood. My broken blade was useless, but I refused to let go. I reversed the hilt, driving the jagged remains into the demon's wrist with a desperate cry.
For a moment, I felt resistance. The blade sank halfway into its molten flesh. I thought I had done it. But then, right before my eyes, the wound closed. The fire hissed and knitted itself together. The arm I had pierced regenerated in an instant.
"No… no, no, no…" I staggered back, heart pounding. My chest felt hollow. If even stabbing it couldn't work, then what was left?
The demon's laugh was like an earthquake, a soundless mockery rumbling in my bones. Its massive hand swept sideways, the heat searing my skin as I dove away. I could smell my hair singeing, feel blisters forming across my arms.
I did the only thing I could—I ran.
Every instinct screamed at me to fight, to resist, but survival was all I had left. I darted across burning stones, weaving between rivers of fire, lungs screaming with every breath. The demon pursued, each step a cataclysm, each roar shaking the infernal sky.
"Run, Fan Ling. Run until your legs break. Run until your heart tears apart. But don't you dare stop." My father's voice echoed in my mind, though I knew it was just memory.
I sprinted toward a jagged outcrop of stone, the only place not yet consumed by flame. I dove behind it, pressing my body into the burning rock despite the pain. My chest heaved, breath ragged, but I forced myself silent.
The demon's footsteps slowed. The air grew still, except for the ever-present crackle of fire. Then I felt it—something else.
Not the demon.
Something colder.
From the corner of my eye, beyond the flicker of flames, a silhouette stood. At first, I thought it was another shadow of fire, but then the shape grew clear.
A figure tall and thin, with nails long and bony like blackened claws. Two eyes glowed faintly red in the dark, cutting through the smoke like lanterns in a void. The heat bent strangely around it, as if the flames themselves recoiled from its presence.
It wasn't attacking. It was watching.
I pressed harder into the rock, biting my lip to keep from gasping. But those eyes—they met mine, and in that instant, I knew. It had seen me all along.
The silhouette stepped closer. The flames seemed to die at its approach, and the fire demon—the monster that had nearly ended me—halted its steps. Its roar faltered, as though uncertain.
A voice, low and ragged, slipped into my mind. Not spoken aloud, but whispered directly into my soul.
"Running… hiding… trembling. Just like a child."
I froze, sweat dripping down my face. My broken sword trembled in my hand.
"Who… are you?" I whispered back.
The figure tilted its head. Its red eyes narrowed.
"You don't belong here," it said. "Your soul is not your own. Your body is not your home. The system cannot guide you, because you are broken. Incomplete."
Its words dug into me like knives. "What… what do you mean?"
It didn't answer immediately. Instead, the figure raised one clawed hand. The fire demon roared again, lunging toward me—but with a single gesture, the figure stopped it mid-stride. The massive beast froze, flames flickering wildly, its body shaking as though in chains.
"You are called irregular," the figure continued. "Others harmonize—soul and body, spirit and flesh. They are whole. But you… you are fragmented. You are a scar walking, Fan Ling."
My heart thundered. "How do you know my name…?"
The red eyes glowed brighter. "Because I was like you once. Torn. Cast aside. Unfit for the system's design."
The world tilted. My mind swam with confusion. Was it possible? Someone else like me?
The figure leaned closer, its presence pressing against me like a suffocating weight.
"Run, boy. Run from the fire, from the trial, from death itself. But you cannot run from what you are. Until you face it—until you mend the scar within—you will always be prey."
Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the figure turned. With another gesture, the fire demon released a roar that shook the ground, freed from its invisible chains. Its gaze turned back to me, full of hunger and rage.
The figure's red eyes flickered once more in the smoke, and the whisper faded.
"Survive… if you can."
And then it was gone.
I was left alone again—alone with a broken sword, blistered skin, and the fire demon charging toward me.
I gritted my teeth, forcing myself up. My legs shook, but I planted them firmly on the ground.
"Father… Sister… Mother…" I whispered to the flames. "I won't die here. Not like this."
The demon roared, and I raised my broken blade.
The trial had only just begun.