The sky burned crimson over the Valley of Ashes. Smoke twisted into jagged spirals above the battlefield, carrying the iron scent of blood and fire. Daren Kuro moved like a shadow between shattered corpses. His boots pressed against earth soaked in blood, splintered wood, and shattered bones. Every step was deliberate; every glance measured. This was a world where hesitation was a death sentence—and Daren had learned early how to cheat death.
A scream tore through the air—a mixture of terror and something far more corrupt. A dark-cloaked mercenary had trapped a young woman behind the ruins of a scorched wagon. His eyes were wild, filled with hunger and cruelty. Daren's lips curved into a faint smile. Not a grin of mercy. No. This was amusement. Predators notice fear like scent.
He drew a dagger, its edge blackened by soot and rust. Within a heartbeat, he was on the man. The blade slipped under ribs, and the mercenary crumpled, blood painting the air. Daren's crimson eyes scanned the horizon.
"Die fast, live stronger. That's the only law I obey."
The young woman froze, shock painted across her face. Her name was Mina, though he didn't care yet. She could survive, for now, if she learned quickly.
"Move," Daren said, voice low and lethal. "Stay alive, or you'll slow me. Choose wisely."
She obeyed. Fear was currency here—and Daren spent it liberally.
---
They moved through the chaos together. Broken siege towers leaned like dying giants, their splintered wood jutted into the blood-soaked earth, and fires licked at half-collapsed buildings. Smoke choked the sky. Daren noticed every detail: escape routes, enemy positions, weak points in barricades. Every corpse taught a lesson. Every dying scream spoke a secret.
At the ruins of the central courtyard, dozens lay slain. Daren knelt, fingers pressing into crimson-stained soil. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the Ruin Blood Physique thrumming in his veins.
"Blood doesn't lie. The living obey it. The dead… I already own them."
Mina watched silently. Her eyes flickered between fear and curiosity. Allies were tools, not friends, and she would learn—or die.
"You see this?" Daren's voice was calm, almost clinical. "The world does not forgive. Compassion is a chain. Hesitation is a blade in the back. Remember this: every life you waste or save is a choice—and every choice has a cost."
---
Steel clashed nearby. Another group of mercenaries had spotted them. Daren moved with fluid precision, every motion a lesson in lethality. A mercenary lunged at his throat. Daren sidestepped, twisting the dagger into the man's side. Blood spattered his tunic, yet he did not flinch.
"Mercy is for the weak. I deal only in consequences."
Mina flinched but followed. This world did not wait for the fainthearted.
Hours passed. The battlefield emptied. Daren and Mina reached the ruined towers of Redspire Fortress, leaning precariously over the valley below. A sea of corpses stretched endlessly. Daren's crimson eyes reflected the bloodied horizon.
Power and chaos were intertwined. Whoever ruled the battlefield ruled destiny. And Daren intended to rule everything he touched.
---
He crouched on a broken wall, eyes closing to focus inward. The Ruin Blood stirred, warmth radiating through his veins. Each heartbeat, each groan of the dying, was a lesson. Empathy was poison. Ruthlessness was survival. He drank deeply of both.
A shadow moved—a gaunt man clutching a crude blade. Daren's gaze assessed him in a heartbeat. This was no ordinary bandit. There was intelligence in his movement. Intelligence demanded respect—or death.
The man charged. Daren sidestepped, twisting the blade into the attacker's gut. Silence followed. Life left him as swiftly as it had come.
"Step wrong, and the shadows will finish you before I even notice."
Mina's gaze lingered on him. She did not speak, and that was wise. Observation was enough. This world revealed itself through action, not words.
---
Daren traced a path through the rubble, methodical, calculating. Slowly, the rules of this world etched themselves in his mind:
- The strongest survive.
- Allies are temporary.
- Every act of mercy is weakness.
- Power comes from ruthlessness, blood, and strategy.
He paused atop the wall, crimson eyes scanning the horizon. The Ruin Blood throbbed now, hotter, waking fully. He had survived the first trial. Soon, the world would know his name—not as a boy, not as a survivor—but as the Black Dragon.
Night deepened. Hunger stirred—not for food, but for mastery, for power, for control. Mina shivered beside him. She would survive, for now. Survival was optional here, and she had chosen to follow the predator.
Wind carried echoes of the battlefield: groans of the dying, distant flames, clashing steel. Daren's lips curled.
"You think pain teaches? I am the lesson."
Blood was the currency of survival. Ruthlessness was the coin of power. The world itself was a blade to be wielded.
Moonlight glinted across the valley. Daren Kuro raised his head, voice low but carrying through the cold air:
"I take what the weak cannot hold. I break what the strong cannot bear. Let this world remember the Black Dragon."
And with that, the Black Dragon stirred, his path of blood and power beginning in earnest.