The silence wasn't empty anymore. It was alive—filled with growls that slithered through the air like whispers of death. The wolves didn't rush me. They were patient, circling like shadows with teeth. Predators that knew time was on their side. Every second I bled into the dirt, every breath that rattled in my chest, made me weaker. Easier.
I gripped the broken sword tighter. My knuckles turned white, but the blade was laughable—half a rusted edge, chipped and dull. Against those beasts? It was like bringing a spoon to a gunfight.
One wolf stepped forward. Its fur shimmered like smoke, eyes glowing like embers in a dying fire. It growled low, a sound that vibrated in my bones. The others fanned out, forming a crescent around me. Their claws scraped against stone, sending sparks into the dusk.
I swallowed hard. My throat was dry, my stomach screaming for food, but fear drowned out hunger now. Fear—and something else. That spark. That stubborn ember that refused to die.
"SpectreZero never dies," I whispered again, though my voice cracked like brittle glass.
The lead wolf lunged.
Instinct took over. I rolled sideways, pain exploding in my ribs. Its jaws snapped shut where my head had been a heartbeat ago. I swung the broken sword, catching its flank. A shallow cut. Barely a scratch. But it yelped, more surprised than hurt.
The others snarled, closing in. Their eyes burned brighter, hunger dripping from their fangs.
I didn't think. I grabbed another rock and hurled it at the second wolf. It hit its snout. The beast recoiled, growling louder now. Angrier.
Good. Anger made them reckless.
I scrambled toward the ruins, dragging my useless legs. My fingers clawed at the stone wall, pulling myself up inch by inch. Behind me, claws scraped against the ground. They were coming. Fast.
I found a gap in the wall—a narrow opening, barely wide enough for my body. I shoved myself through, ignoring the agony in my ribs. The wolves slammed against the stone, their snarls echoing like thunder. Dust rained down from the ceiling.
Inside, it was dark. Cold. The air smelled of dust and old blood. My hands brushed against carvings on the walls—symbols I didn't recognize, glowing faintly in the dim light. Spirals, jagged lines, shapes that pulsed like veins under skin.
And then… something shifted.
A hum. Low, vibrating through the stone. The carvings pulsed, light spreading like fire crawling through cracks. I stumbled back, heart pounding.
The wolves outside howled, but they didn't follow. They stayed at the entrance, pacing, growling—but not crossing the threshold.
Why? What was this place?
I turned slowly. At the center of the chamber stood a pedestal. On it lay a book—black, bound in leather, its cover etched with the same glowing symbols. It looked ancient, yet alive, like it was breathing.
I limped toward it, drawn like a moth to flame. My fingers hovered over the surface. The moment I touched it, the hum roared to life. Light exploded, blinding me.
The light swallowed me whole.
It wasn't just brightness—it was weight, pressing against my skin, sinking into my bones. My body convulsed, every nerve screaming like molten wires. I collapsed to my knees, clutching my chest as if I could hold myself together.
Then came the voice.
Not mine. Not his. Something older. Something vast. It didn't echo—it resonated, vibrating through marrow and memory.
"Weakness is the first chain. Break it, and you will rise."
The words carved themselves into my mind, branding me with fire. The book on the pedestal flipped open, pages turning like a storm caught in a cage. Symbols glowed, bleeding light into the air, forming sentences I couldn't read—but I understood them all the same. Not with language. With instinct.
The chamber pulsed like a living heart. Shadows crawled along the walls, twisting into shapes—wolves, serpents, blades, and broken crowns. My breath hitched as the carvings bled light, wrapping around my arms like molten vines.
Pain surged—but this time, it wasn't breaking me. It was remaking me.
My muscles tightened, cords of steel replacing brittle twine. My heartbeat steadied, pounding like war drums. My vision sharpened, piercing the darkness. I could hear the wolves outside—every breath, every scrape of claw, every twitch of muscle before a lunge.
And then, something deeper stirred. A hunger—not for food, but for survival. For dominance. It clawed at my ribs, whispering promises in a tongue older than words.
I staggered to my feet, gasping. My fingers no longer trembled. My grip was firm, steady. The broken sword felt lighter, as if it belonged to me now.
The carvings dimmed, their glow sinking back into stone, leaving only the faint hum of power lingering in the air. The book closed on its own, silent as a grave.
I turned toward the entrance. The wolves were waiting, their eyes burning like twin suns in the dark. They sensed it—the shift. The prey wasn't crawling anymore.
I stepped forward, each movement deliberate, my senses screaming with clarity. The cold stone underfoot. The musk of predators thick in the air. The rhythm of their breathing, the twitch before a strike.
And for the first time since waking in this cursed body, I felt something close to power.
"Round two," I whispered, blood dripping from my lips. "Let's see who's prey now."
The ruins spat me back into the night like a wounded animal. The air outside was colder now, heavy with the musk of predators. The wolves hadn't left. Their glowing eyes burned in the dark, patient and merciless.
They sensed the change. I could feel it too—something thrumming beneath my skin, a pulse that wasn't mine. The carvings' light had faded, but their power lingered, coiled inside me like a serpent waiting to strike.
I gripped the broken sword tighter. It was still rusted, still chipped, but it felt different in my hands—lighter, sharper, as if the weight of despair had been stripped away. My breath came steady now, no longer ragged gasps but measured draws of air. Every sound was sharper. Every shadow clearer. I could hear the wolves' claws scraping stone, the low rumble of their growls vibrating through the earth.
They circled, slow and deliberate, their bodies rippling like smoke. The leader stepped forward, its teeth glinting like shards of moonlight. It growled—a deep, guttural sound that promised death.
I crouched low, my back brushing the cold stone of the ruins. My ribs still ached, my legs still trembled, but my mind was clear. Cold. Calculating. I wasn't strong. I wasn't fast. But I was aware. Every twitch of muscle, every flick of an ear, every shift in weight—I saw it all.
The first wolf lunged.
I moved—not with speed, but with precision. A sidestep, just enough to let its jaws snap empty air. My arm swung, dragging the broken blade across its flank. The edge bit shallow, but blood sprayed, hot and metallic. The wolf yelped, staggering back.
The second came from the left. I pivoted, snatching a jagged stone from the ground and hurling it into its snout. It recoiled, snarling, fury igniting in its glowing eyes.
The pack surged.
I rolled, pain screaming through my ribs, and slammed my shoulder against a fallen column. Dust rained down, choking the air. The wolves lunged again, claws raking stone as I ducked behind the rubble. My fingers closed around another rock—heavy, sharp-edged. Not a weapon, but enough.
One wolf leapt over the column, jaws wide. I swung the rock with everything I had. It cracked against its skull with a sickening thud. The beast crashed to the ground, stunned but not dead.
I didn't hesitate. I drove the broken sword into its throat. The blade snapped, but the wolf convulsed, choking on its own blood. Its glowing eyes dimmed, fading into darkness.
The others froze. Just for a breath. Just long enough for me to drag the corpse toward the ruins, my hands slick with blood. My heart hammered, not with fear, but with something darker. Something primal.
The wolves didn't follow. They couldn't. Whatever power guarded that chamber kept them out. They paced at the threshold, snarling, their eyes burning like embers in the night.
I collapsed beside the dead wolf, panting, drenched in sweat and gore. My stomach twisted, a hollow ache gnawing at my insides. Hunger. Real, savage hunger. I stared at the carcass, its blood pooling like ink on the stone.
And then I did what I swore I'd never do.
I tore into its flesh.
The wolf's body lay still, its blood pooling like ink across the cracked stone. My hands trembled as I tore into its flesh, teeth sinking into raw meat. It was bitter, metallic, and wrong—but hunger didn't care. Every bite was survival. Every swallow was defiance.
When the ache in my stomach dulled, I leaned back against the cold wall, panting. My body was a battlefield—bruised, bleeding, broken—but something burned inside me. A flicker. A spark that refused to die.
Then the air shifted.
The ruins grew colder, shadows stretching like claws across the walls. The faint hum that had lingered since the book's awakening roared back to life, vibrating through the stones. Dust swirled, rising like smoke, and from it, a figure emerged.
Not flesh. Not bone. A silhouette carved from light and shadow, towering and regal. Its eyes glowed like molten gold, piercing through me as if stripping away every lie, every weakness.
I froze, blood dripping from my chin. My fingers clenched the broken sword, though I knew it was useless.
The figure spoke—not with words, but with a voice that thundered inside my skull.
"You crawled. You bled. You killed. But is that strength… or desperation?"
I swallowed hard, throat raw. "Who… who are you?"
The figure tilted its head, light rippling across its form like liquid fire.
"I am the Echo of the First Blade. The spirit that guards this place. Many have come seeking power. Most died before they could touch the book. You… survived."
Its gaze dropped to the dead wolf at my feet, then back to me.
"But survival is not enough. Tell me, Kairo Veydran—why do you fight?"
The name hit me like a blade. My name. Not the Weak Hero's. Mine.
I gritted my teeth. "Because I refuse to die. Not here. Not like this."
The spirit's voice rumbled, shaking the chamber.
"Refusal is not purpose. You were a king in your world—a master of games, of strategies. Here, there are no screens. No respawns. Only blood and steel. Will you rise… or will you break?"
I forced myself to stand, legs trembling but unyielding. "I'll rise. I don't care what this world throws at me. I'll tear it apart if I have to."
The spirit's golden eyes flared, brighter than fire.
"Then prove it."
The ground split with a deafening crack. From the shadows, another wolf emerged—larger than the others, its fur black as midnight, eyes burning crimson. Its fangs dripped with venom, sizzling as it hit the stone.
My breath caught. This wasn't a beast. It was a nightmare.
The spirit's voice thundered again.
"Defeat the Shadowfang. Not with tricks. Not with luck. With strength born of will. If you fall, your soul will scatter into the void."
The wolf snarled, muscles rippling like coiled steel. It lunged, faster than lightning.
I gripped the broken sword, heart pounding like war drums. My ribs screamed, my arms burned, but I moved—sidestepping, rolling, grabbing a jagged shard of stone. The beast slammed into the wall, shattering it like glass.
Dust blinded me. Claws slashed the air, carving deep scars into the stone. I ducked, swung the shard into its leg. It roared, blood spraying black and thick.
Pain tore through me as its claws raked my shoulder. I staggered, vision swimming—but I didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
I hurled the shard into its eye. The beast shrieked, thrashing, its venom sizzling against the floor. I dove for the broken sword, gripping it like a lifeline, and drove it into the wolf's throat with every ounce of strength left in me.
The blade shattered. The wolf convulsed, choking on its own blood. Then it collapsed, its crimson eyes dimming into darkness.
Silence fell.
The spirit loomed above me, its golden gaze burning like a sun.
"You bleed. You suffer. Yet you endure. Perhaps… you are worthy."
Light wrapped around me, warm and searing, sinking into my skin like molten gold. My wounds burned, then closed. My breath steadied. Strength surged—not from magic, but from something deeper. Will.
The spirit's voice softened, like distant thunder fading into rain.
"Rise, Kairo Veydran. The path ahead is cruel. But if you walk it, you may yet become the blade that shatters fate."
And then, it was gone—vanishing like smoke in the wind, leaving only silence and the stench of blood.
I stood alone in the ruins, broken sword in hand, heart pounding with a single truth:
I wasn't just surviving anymore.
I was beginning.