Falah_Issam

They were ninety-nine…

Ninety-nine heartbeats. Ninety-nine cries. Ninety-nine souls, devoured by the fangs of tyranny.
Ninety-nine corpses, reduced to ash…
And one infant — his wail was no cry of weakness, but the roar of blood awaiting its boil.

When a clan is slaughtered, when bloodlines are ripped from the bones, only one question remains:
Why did you survive?

But survival was no mercy…
It was a curse — one of a different kind.

They sealed within his body the Legacy of Blood — the secrets of his forefathers — and exiled him to the Great Wilderness,
a place where even beasts no longer fight over dead prey.

He had no name. No lineage. No shelter.
But blood never forgets.
And when it ignites... nothing will quench its flame.

This is not a tale of a hero.
This... is the beginning of a massacre.

Path of BlooDld

In the depths of the Great Wilderness, where only the howls of wind and the creaking of nocturnal creatures could be heard, the boy's body lay stretched across a patch of barren earth—covered in blood, sweat, and dust. His breath was ragged, his face pale, as if he had fought a thousand battles without blinking.

His once dull eyes now shimmered with a faint red glow, like embers on the verge of igniting into flame.

His voice trembled as he placed a hand on his chest. His heartbeat was unstable. The rhythm was no longer human. Each pulse felt like a small explosion echoing through his veins—and with every beat, something deep inside him stirred.

A violent scream tore from his throat. Uncontrolled, fierce, and strange. It wasn't just a cry of pain… it was a cry of rebirth.

The blood in his veins began to move unnaturally, as though it had become a living beast, roaring within him, seeking escape, seeking purpose, seeking prey… seeking war!

His body trembled. His bones cracked and popped. His muscles stretched and tightened, as if they were being reforged anew.

Then, blood-red markings appeared on his skin… Strange symbols glowing faintly, one by one, across his shoulders, chest, and back.

Not mere tattoos… but blood runes—signs of the initial activation of the Primordial Bloodline at 30%.

The air around him began to tremble, and a faint vortex of energy formed above his body, as though the entire wilderness was watching this awakening, whispering in awe:

"The Primordial Blood has awakened!"

When all had calmed, the boy lay still upon the earth, his breathing steady, his face hardened, and his gaze... no longer that of an outcast child.

He stood up slowly. He could feel everything—every ant crawling beneath the soil, every insect hiding beneath the rocks, every breath of wind.

His strength… was no longer the same.

But he didn't yet know that this was only the beginning… the first spark in a coming wildfire that would make the world kneel.

He took his first steps into the forest… no map, no supplies, no allies.

But his heart? It had become a weapon.

Far away, among the black mountains, an old sage opened his eyes suddenly, gazing into a table made of bone.

In the depths of a poisoned valley, crimson eyes blinked open in the darkness.

And in a palace drowned in mist, a silver-haired girl, her face cold as death, whispered:

"He will come… The Path of Blood has begun."

Or are the beasts… beginning to gather?

Chapter 3: The First Cry of Blood