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. When he emerged, he held a knife too large for his hands and approached the imperial commander who had led the slaughter.
The man laughed, effortlessly sidestepping the boy's clumsy thrust. He kicked Ryu in the stomach, sending him tumbling.
Burut: "You'll never kill me if you're that weak."
He spat beside him.
Ryu: "I'll slit your throat one day."
Burut: "Funny. From a child's mouth? This world doesn't care about words. Power is all that matters."
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.
One night, he snuck into the commander's tent, blade in hand, shaking but determined. But Burut was waiting. With cold cruelty, he stabbed Ryu through the shoulder and tossed him into a nearby river.
The boy's body drifted, blood trailing like ink in the water. Darkness swallowed his consciousness.
Then—eyes. Vast, red, ancient. And a voice like an earthquake:
???: "A human child?"
The void around him seemed to ripple as Ryu opened his eyes. He stared into the gaze of a being beyond comprehension. A dragon—colossal, eternal, terrifying—stared back.
Ryu: "Kill me already."
Dragon: "You interest me. I do not know why our souls are linked, but... I'll keep you alive for now."
Ryu: "Why does it matter?"
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.
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 six years old.
But the world had made him a monster in the making.
And his story was just beginning.