Beggining

In a world fractured into six vast continents, the Central Continent stood cursed—an endless battlefield, a graveyard of ideals. Its heart pulsed with war, greed, and decaying thrones. Among its many empires, one kingdom hungered louder than the rest, its ambition a storm that would sweep even the most forgotten places into ruin.

In one such place lived a boy named Ryu.

Ryu was born without a father, raised by his loving mother in poverty. But within that modest life, there was light—his best friends, laughter, and the warmth of his mother's arms. That light, however, would be swallowed by shadow.

One day, as Ryu played outside with his best friend, the skies echoed with the scream of arrows. One struck his friend's head mid-laugh. The boy collapsed, lifeless, the joy on his face still frozen. Panic surged as the village was overrun by imperial forces. Ryu, in shock, stumbled through flames and falling bodies.

He ran home—only to find his house aflame. Inside, his mother hung from the ceiling, blood dripping, her lifeless eyes still open. His small hands trembled. His mouth moved, but no sound came. His eyes widened, pupils dilating as he backed away into the chaos outside.

Dismembered corpses. Rivers of blood. Familiar faces torn apart. For days, Ryu hid—barely eating, barely breathing. But something broke inside him.

He stumbled outside, through piles of burning flesh, heads skewered on spears, friends torn open like cattle. Days passed. He hid under corpses. He drank blood to stay warm. He stopped crying. Crying didn't work.

And then he saw him.

The commander stood at the center of it all—barking orders, smiling like war was a game.

Vakur.

Tall. Cruel. Sword drenched in someone else's family.

Ryu—small, broken, numb—picked up a blade too big for him.

He staggered toward the man. Swinging.

Vakur turned. Didn't even draw his weapon. Just grabbed Ryu by the neck and punched him in the face—a heavy, soldier's punch.

Ryu hit the dirt.

Vakur: "That supposed to scare me?"

Ryu (spitting blood): "I'll kill you…"

Vakur: "With what? Rage?"

He kicked Ryu in the ribs, sending him skidding into a burning wall.

Vakur didn't kill him. Why would he?

He turned his back and walked away.

Mistake #1.

Again and again, Ryu tried to fight back. Each time, he was beaten—broken bones, torn skin, yet still breathing. He didn't know why he was still alive. Maybe it was hatred. Maybe it was fate.

THE FIRST ATTEMPT.

That night, Ryu snuck into the camp. Dragging a rusted knife. Bleeding from broken ribs.

He stabbed a guard in the neck to get through.

He entered Vakur's tent.

But Vakur was awake—leaning back, cleaning his sword.

Vakur (smiling): "You again?"

Ryu lunged.

Vakur caught his wrist and snapped it like a twig.

Vakur: "You never learn."

Then he slammed Ryu's face into the ground. Once. Twice. Until his nose broke.

Then threw him out like garbage.

THE SECOND ATTEMPT.

A week later.

Ryu poisoned the food crates.

Vakur didn't eat. But six soldiers did. Three died vomiting their lungs out.

At night, Ryu tried again.

He crept under the officer tents. Slipped a knife inside.

Vakur caught him mid-swing and headbutted him so hard he blacked out.

When Ryu woke up, he was tied to a pole, naked, bruised, bleeding.

Vakur: "Next time, aim better."

He walked away.

Didn't kill him.

Mistake #2.

THE FINAL ATTEMPT.

On the third try, Ryu snuck through a sewage tunnel. Climbed through latrines. Hid in a barrel for hours.

He came at Vakur while he slept.

This time, he got the blade to Vakur's throat.

But he froze.

His hands shook. Just a moment.

It was enough.

Vakur grabbed him by the hair, yanked him down, and beat him senseless with his fists.

No blade. No fatal wounds. Just punishment.

Then he dragged Ryu to the river.

Vakur: "I should kill you."

(beat)

"But it's more fun this way."

He threw Ryu into the river.

Mistake #3.

DEATH, INTERRUPTED.

Blood in the water.

Body limp.

No strength left.

Noone answered.

But something else did.

Eyes opened in the dark. Vast. Red.

A voice deeper than storms.

???: "A human child?"

Ryu drifted through a void—weightless, broken.

Before him stood a dragon, black as night and larger than thought itself. Wings folded like mountain ranges. Eyes burning.

Ryu (weak): "Just finish it."

Dragon: "Why?"

Ryu: "Nothing left."

Dragon: "Not true. Your hatred is still alive."

Ryu: "Why does it matter?"

Dragon: "You interest me. I do not know why our souls are linked, but... I'll keep you alive for now."

Ryu stares at him with blank eyes , just emotionless face

Dragon: "Names hold power. Mine is Kurokaji Yizorushi."

The voice faded. The void vanished. Ryu awoke coughing, gasping, on the edge of a forest known only in fearful whispers: Hell Forest.

The scent of blood clung to the air. Corpses lay scattered, remnants of beasts and men. Ryu wandered, surviving on raw meat and bitter fruits. Each night brought nightmares. Each day was a battle to remain sane.

Everything wanted to eat him.

First came the beasts—direwolves, death bears. He fought with sticks, rocks, claws.

Then the weather—acid rain, red fog.

One day, a carnivorous plant ensnared him. Vines pierced his body while casting healing spells to keep him alive.

It didn't eat him. It wanted him alive.

Vines pierced his flesh and wove healing spells to keep him conscious. It fed on his screams. It fed on his madness.

he was bound. He saw his mother's corpse in the sky. Heard his friends scream from the trees. He stopped speaking. His voice became a memory.

torturing him endlessly. Days passed—then weeks. He hallucinated his mother's face, his friends dying again and again.

His screams became silent.

His hair turned white.

His eyes became red.

And deep inside, something shattered.

His body radiated unstable mana. As the Rage boiled and his eyes was bleeding.

Mana exploded from him—black, unstable, and seething with rage. The plant burned, howling like a demon. Ryu collapsed amidst the smoke, trembling.

Yizo's voice echoed within him:

Yizo: "I see... you are my host now."

But something had changed. The boy who emerged from the forest was no longer the same. His innocence had been burned away, his mind twisted, his heart numb.

He was only seven years old.

But the world had made him a monster in the making.

And his story was just beginning.