♤ Lesson of Blood ♤
The pain didn't stop.
I dragged myself across the blackened sand, every breath slicing through my ribs like broken glass. The wound in my side pulsed, slow, heavy, like something alive was beating inside it.
When I pressed my hand there, my fingers came away wet. Not red. Dark. Thicker than blood. It clung to my skin like tar.
Every movement sent agony rippling through me. Back on Earth, pain had limits. Here? It was constant. Hungry. Alive. Healing didn't come in seconds, it crawled, like a dying thing, barely clinging to life.
But one thought dug itself into my skull:
Pain means I'm still alive.
I gritted my teeth and pushed myself up. My legs shook like they didn't belong to me, but I stood. This place already wanted to erase me. If I stayed down, I'd become part of the dust and ruins.
The world stretched out around me, burned, broken, abandoned. Shattered buildings leaned into each other like dying beasts. The walls were carved deep with marks I couldn't read… yet somehow, I understood. Wars. Thrones. Betrayal. Blood.
I reached out and ran a hand across one. The grooves were deep, brutal, like someone had clawed the story into stone with their bare hands.
This wasn't just a battlefield.
It was a graveyard for ambition.
A low growl rolled through the air, and my body locked up. Instinct roared to life. My eyes scanned the ruins, hunting for movement. I crouched low behind a cracked wall, holding my breath.
Then I saw them.
Scavenger demons.
They crept out of the shadows, thin, bent, their skin cracked and dry like burnt leather. Their jaws hung low, teeth uneven, sharp. Their claws clicked against the stones as they sniffed, hungry.
I pressed back, heart pounding against my ribs like a war drum.
They didn't see me.
Instead, they found something else, some half-dead creature dragging itself across the sand. Lizard-like. Shadowed. Bleeding out.
It hissed weakly.
They didn't hesitate.
Bones crunched. Flesh tore. The creature let out one last gurgled sound, then nothing. Gone. Just like that.
I didn't look away.
I wasn't horrified. I was learning.
There's no safety here. Only predators.
I pressed my hand to my gut, but it wasn't fear eating away at me now. Hunger gnawed deeper. My soul, it felt thinner somehow. Like it was bleeding, same as my body.
I couldn't stay hidden.
I moved. Carefully. Slowly. Every step was a test. My muscles burned. My wound screamed. But stopping meant dying.
The ruins sprawled out ahead, like a maze designed by sorrow. Towering spires leaned toward collapse. Black trees clawed at the dull sky. Red rivers cut jagged veins through the land, glowing faintly.
The air smelled like iron and ash. Every breath tasted like burnt blood.
Survive the Awakening Trial, the system had told me.
That was it. No map. No rules. No timer. Just survive.
But against what? For how long?
Everything here wanted to kill me.
Then something caught my eye, metal glinting near the roots of a twisted tree.
I crept closer. It was a dagger, half-buried in ash. Chipped. Blackened. But solid.
I grabbed it.
Cold. Unbalanced. But mine.
A weapon.
I turned it in my hand. It wasn't much, but it made me feel a little less helpless.
Then I heard the snarl.
The scavengers were done feeding.
Now they were hunting again.
I backed away, dagger raised. My grip was wrong. My stance weak. I wasn't ready for a fight, not against a pack.
Didn't matter.
This world didn't care.
I slipped into the deeper ruins, ducking under crumbled beams, squeezing through tight gaps. The shadows whispered. The air twisted. My hunger grew worse.
It wasn't just physical.
I felt something inside me dying, like I was bleeding out through my soul.
I stumbled into a courtyard. Broken statues stood in a circle, their faces worn smooth by time and wind. In the center, a fountain, dry and cracked, choked with dust.
I dropped beside it, chest heaving. Every breath hurt.
I needed food. Water. Sleep.
None of it existed here.
Then I heard something.
Soft steps. Small, quick.
I peeked over the fountain's edge.
A small creature limped into view. Grey, fast-moving. Sniffing the ground. Smaller than the scavengers. Weaker.
My hand tightened around the dagger.
Could I do it? Could I kill it?
It didn't matter.
Hesitation was death.
I stood. Quiet. Blade raised. My whole body screamed in protest.
Then it hit me, a sudden rush of instinct, something primal and burning.
I lunged.
The blade sank into its side. It shrieked, high, awful, but I held on, stabbing again. And again. Until it stopped moving.
Hot, black blood spilled onto the ground.
I collapsed beside it, chest shaking. My hands were soaked in its blood.
Then the system voice whispered in my mind:
[Survival Instinct: +10]
[Demonic Power: 1%]
I stared at the message.
This was survival?
I didn't feel stronger. Just emptier. Like something I needed had been cut out of me.
But as I wiped off the blade and pulled the body into the shadows to feed, I understood something else:
Mercy doesn't live here.
There are no heroes.
No safety.
Only predators.
And if I want to live...
I have to become one too.