ANOMALY
The iron door shut with a sound that echoed like judgment.
In the deepest block of Blackstone Prison, a man sat alone, hands resting calmly on his knees. His hair was neatly trimmed, his posture relaxed, his eyes cold and awake. To the prison records, he was merely Inmate 7719. To the underworld outside—and secretly within—he was known as the Kingpin.
He had ruled a city without a throne.
Bars, walls, cameras—none of them mattered. From the moment he entered prison, his men had already begun to move. One connection at a time. A smuggled favor. A bought silence. A loyal whisper passed between inmates and guards alike. The prison never realized it was already conquered.
The first guard fell during a routine patrol.
No alarm.
The second collapsed near the armory, foam on his lips, eyes wide in disbelief.
Still no alarm.
Three minutes later, every guard in Blackstone Prison was dead.
Silent. Efficient. Clean.
Only the warden remained.
The Kingpin stood as the cell door slid open. His men knelt briefly—not in fear, but in respect.
"Boss," one of them said. "It's time."
They moved fast, cutting through corridors that should have been impossible to breach. The warden was dragged forward, shaking, sweat pouring down his face.
"You think this ends well for you?" the warden screamed.
Before an answer could be given, the world exploded.
Sirens. Floodlights. The thunder of armored vehicles.
The military had arrived.
Gunfire tore through the night as chaos swallowed the prison whole. His men fought like demons, buying time with their lives. The Kingpin ran, boots slamming against concrete, lungs burning as he headed for a black sedan waiting beyond the outer wall.
He was five steps away.
Then a small metal object bounced once… twice… and released a hiss.
Poison gas.
His vision blurred instantly. His body betrayed him, strength draining like water from cracked glass. He fell forward, coughing, choking, his world turning green and black.
"So this is how it ends," he thought—not with regret, but annoyance.
Darkness claimed him.
—
He woke up choking again.
But this time, it wasn't poison.
It was dust.
He gasped and sat upright, eyes snapping open to a sky so blue it looked unreal. Wooden buildings stood around him, ancient and unfamiliar. His body felt… lighter. Smaller. Weaker.
Pain surged into his mind.
Memories that were not his own crashed in.
Huang Xuan.
Outer disciple.
CLEAR SKY SECT.
Sixteen years old.
Failed spiritual roots.
Mocked. Beaten. Forgotten.
He froze.
"This isn't prison…" he muttered.
He looked at his hands—slender, unscarred. His reflection shimmered in a nearby basin. A young man stared back, eyes sharp but face unfamiliar.
Then something deeper stirred.
Not memories.
Blood.
A strange pull echoed in his bones, as if the world itself had taken notice. He felt it instinctively—he was different. No… unrecorded.
This body belonged to the Huang race.
A race that did not exist.
Yet.
Huang Xuan clenched his fists, a slow grin forming.
"In my last life, I ruled from the shadows," he whispered. "In this one… I'll rule the heavens."
Above him, unseen, the laws of this world trembled.
An anomaly had arrived.