A rush of energy swept through my body, purging it from within. My skin prickled, aching bones, a burning pain coursing through every vein—but this was not what unsettled me to my core. What truly surprised me was the hunger. Hungry not in a sense to be quelled by a meal or drink. A craving—bitter, gnawing, ceaseless. A thirst for blood.
I struggled more, the harder it became. My eyes welled up, my throat was burning, and a snarl rumbled in my chest. Instincts I didn't even know I had fought to the surface. Just when I thought I would never keep my hold on control, a scent reached my nose—metallic, hot, heavy. Blood. My legs carried me before I even had a thought, hauling toward the scent with panicked desperation.
What I discovered froze me.
There, amidst a sea of darkened red, stood a creature I had never seen before. His skin was a deathly grey color, his body marred by deep gashes in the skin and pulled-open flesh. But it was the six tattered wings along his back—three on either side—and the two black, curved horns sprouting up from his forehead whose presence seized my breath. A demon. And not alone. Even though he was battered, the auras surrounding him distorted the air. He had been powerful—horrible. The kind of beast people spoke about in fearful hushed tones.
I sprang behind a clump of bushes, attempting to control this evil greed consuming me. Every beat of his death-dealing heart released clouds of blood-scent into the air. Semi-lethal as this demon was, he also had enough strength to kill me. He was dying, however. I knew this by the way his aura shook like a candle wick blown by a breeze. So I waited. The seconds clicked into minutes. The minutes dragged into hours. The pain in my legs ceased to bother me, however, the greed never subsided. It intensified. Hungering.
Finally, after more than ninety minutes of ragged, convulsive gasps, the demon breathed out one last breath—and died.
I didn't hesitate. I didn't let fear settle in, nor did I allow doubt. I initiated the Devouring Dragon Art, and the moment its runes lit up within my dantian, I sensed the pull begin.
His blood was burning, blazing, thick with fierce energy. It seemed to flow into me like a tsunami. His bones, meat, even pieces of remaining bits of soul were dissolved, torn apart and rebuilt in me. My veins expanded. My skin burst. My bones were splintered and rebuilt themselves with dragon density. Pain wailed through me like a beast, yet, beneath it—it was power. Raw, intoxicating power.
All at once, memories flooded back.
They came at me like pieces of splintered glass. A throne room lit by moonlight. A boy not much older than I a triumphant hold upon a spear. War. Victory. Applause. Betrayal. Screams. Blood. Fire.
He was once a magnificent demon throne prince—a brilliant, arrogant young prince. A youngster who had reached the Fourth Claw Realm at age fifteen, with a Void Emperor-level demon bloodline coursing through his body. Fated to achieve greatness.
He did not fall in battle, nor was he vanquished by a foe. No, he was killed by treachery. His own uncle had grown jealous of his brilliance, his charisma, and his legacy. Ambition-stricken, he conspired against him with foreign powers, tricking palace guards with false promises. The palace was stormed during the night. The king and queen killed in bed. His younger brothers decapitated. The demon prince fled a burning palace, wounded, poisoned, incensed. Still, it was not enough.
He managed to pack little more than a small space ring in his flight—filling it with nothing more than excess robes and a sack full of coins. Worthless now, yet at one time it had been all he was able to pack with him in his final moments.
Memories melted away, and I collapsed onto my knees, gasping. My body shuddered with power released from me. The Devouring Dragon Art had augmented itself with this banquet, devouring not only meat, but bloodline. I sensed something ancient stirring within me now. It had slumbered. Waited. A touch of draconic appetite and hellish vanity.
When I finally looked at my own hands, I hardly recognized them. My skin had a slightly darker shade, with a rosy glow in my veins. My nails had transformed into claws, and my senses had become more acute—I would even listen to my own heartbeat.
I stood up, staring a last time at the charred body of the demon. Nothing remained other than a smoking remains and an empty ring lying in the ground. I picked it up and placed it upon my finger.
Nobody would mourn for him.
I would never forget.
I had made my initial true move along the path to actual power due to him.
As I pulled out the ring from where it had been planted within him, my hand shook. I knew not if it was this power I had newly gained or this man's last desperate fervor. I cast a thread of energy into the ring, and its contents flooded into my mind—faded robes stained in reds and blacks, splattered with dried blood. A bejeweled belt, a king's payment to a buyer, most certainly. And coins made of gold. Two hundred at a minimum, maybe.
No weapons. No treasure. No hidden bloodline potions or ancient scrolls.
So much power in life, nothing remains in death.
Still, I hid the ring. Gold was worth something, and the clothes would be useful for disguise. I did not want to show up in bloodstained rags like I was currently dressed in.
I rose slowly. My form was. changed. Every step had a lighter, gentler touch upon the earth. The wind caressed my skin differently, as if I were made of air. The energy of the demon within me, altered by the Devouring Dragon Art, was transformed.
Yet it came at a price.
My chest ached. My thudding, irregularly beating heart beat like a war drum. My hungry belly gnawed at itself, and I realized I didn't even need food.
Blood. Again
I gritted my teeth and struggled. I would not succumb to this hunger. I had eaten the demon's essence, to be sure, but I was not. I had to be so.
I was suddenly disturbed by a noise.
Voices
I ducked behind a bush, holding my breath. Two men came into view. They were dressed in black leathers, each with a sword slung behind them. Mercs. Their clothes bore a crest I didn't know—a vulture with red claws.
They scanned their surroundings with piercing gazes.
"Still fresh," grunted one of them, driving the toe of his boot into the bloodied dirt. "No body, though."
"Eaten by animals, or somebody got to him ahead of us," stooped down the other. He sniffed, frowned. "There's something wrong."
I remained motionless. They had not yet noticed me.
"Was he carrying any useful items?" asked the first one.
I doubt it. The bounty was for the prince's head, not for his belongings. Still, search the grounds.
They parted ways.
I slipped silently into the shadows and backed away, being careful not to step on dry leaves or snapped branches. The Devouring Dragon Art had sharpened my senses; I could pick up the sound of crunching boots from over a dozen meters away. The sound of their heartbeat. The sound of their breath.
I'd kill them. A quick sprint, a punch to the throat, and they'd never even see it coming
I pushed the thought away. I wasn't going to begin murdering for murder's sake. Not yet.
I turned around and ran.
There was a mist in the woods, wind tearing at my skin. I didn't stop until I reached a hidden ledge above a sweep of rough country. That's where I stood, in trees and quiet, and was able to catch my breath at last.
I need to understand who I have become.
I sat cross-legged upon green earth moss, quieted my breath, and began to circulate the Devouring Dragon Art. The energy within me roiled—raw, untamed, and stormy. But controlled by the art, it gradually ceased to rage. The demon prince was a Four Claw Realm practitioner. Whatever ranking this world's power structures held, they were far beyond me.
And power was now in my hands.
In part.
My foundations were not strong enough to keep up with everything he had left behind. If I was not careful, remnants of his spirit would overtake me instead!
"Clear your mind," I told myself.
I continued to cycle my cultivation, slowly evening out the flow. At last, after a sense that had been almost certainly hours, turbulence ceased, and I felt a shift—like a door deep within my core, shut tightly, creaking slowly open. My body thrummed with power, yet I was famished.
I got up, stretching my limbs. I wasn't just stronger. I had changed. My bones were more substantial. My skin weighed more. My senses. untamed. The demon blood I'd consumed had not been dormant. It was alive. Watching. Tasting. I would not crack. Nobody had bestowed this authority on me. I had spilled blood for it. I'd murdered for it.