The Underworld bled.Not from wounds or sword slashes or the endless screams of demons tearing each other apart for meat and status.No, this time, it bled from the footsteps of one man. One mortal, one anomaly in the endless cycle of monsters and demons.Kirin.He walked barefoot across the cracked, red sands, the ground sizzling beneath his heels. Around him were the corpses of another tribe, they were small, pitiful things. Greedy for territory. Eager to prove themselves. They came at him with iron bones and flaming mouths. And they died like ants under thunder.He didn’t even flex. Didn’t even blink.Black lightning still crackled along his forearms as he stood above their chief, smoke rising from the fresh hole he’d burned through the demon’s chest.“You could’ve just handed me your water,” Kirin muttered, dragging the dead thing by its horn and flinging it to the side like garbage.He needed land, food, shelter, water. And most of all, a cause.The Ashborne weren’t just prisoner

Kirin wasn’t far from the settlement now. The air had shifted, it always did when you got too close to where da ger lurked. Something in his chest just knew. It wasn’t a cultivator's skill or some psychic link, it was just gut. And Kirin’s gut rarely failed him.His boots crunched across jagged underworld soil, red and cracked from heat and age. The land stank of sulfur and burnt blood, like it had soaked up too many wars and wasn’t done yet. But Kirin wasn’t thinking about that. His mind was still back at the Spire, spinning with what he’d seen. Earth or at least, flashes of it, faded memories, old scars. A realm that had moved on without him.He shook his head, trying to kill the thought. That was then. This was now and he had an army to build. A war to win. And a name that was starting to mean something in this damned world.He didn’t see the hammer coming.It came like a meteor, a blur of black and red spinning out of nowhere, slicing through the air with a shriek that sounded lik

Kirin woke up to nothing but silence and complete darkness, just nothing. He opened his eyes, but it didn’t matter. It was pitch black, like a thick like ink, and pressing in from all sides. His body felt heavy, like it had been filled with stone. The cold beneath him didn't feel like a floor, it was punishment. Hardened ground, damp and lifeless. A prison with no walls he could see, but every breath told him they were there.He sat up slowly, his wrists throbbing from the tight rope burns left behind. They were gone now, the bindings, snapped in his earlier panic when he had been thrown into this dark hell hole. But it didn’t matter. The damage was done. His arms were sore. His skin was torn and he wasn’t healing as he should for some odd reason. Not like he used to.He tried to stretch his legs but pain shot through one of them. Still broken from Vaedros' hammer, he let out a sharp hiss but bit his tongue to hold in the scream. He wouldn’t give this place the pleasure of hearing him

Kirin woke again with no clue how long he’d been asleep. There was no sun. No clocks. Not even the sound of a drop of water to give him rhythm. Only cold, only blackness. His stomach felt folded in on itself, gnawing at his spine. He didn’t know what day it was anymore... hell, he wasn’t even sure if it was day or night. The only way he knew he was awake was the pain still crawling through his body. That, and the emptiness that kept growing louder inside his head.He sat up slowly, every joint aching. His breath fogged before him, barely visible in the faintest shimmer of nothing. He reached out to the walls again not for escape this time, but just for something to do. The stone was the same, cold and unmoving. He felt mocked by the wall.But then… something was different.He could hear a sudden distant breathing.He froze. It was faint, but there. A low, shaky exhale, like someone trying to breathe without being heard. It came from the wall to his right. Kirin pressed his ear to the

Kirin sat still in the corner of the cell, back against the wall, knees pulled tightly to his chest. His skin was pale from the cold stone floor, his breath shallow, his eyes sunken. He hadn't moved much since the demon left. His body ached from the throw, his head rang from the silence, but in his hand… the key remained. Cold, small, rusted.He stared at it for hours, or maybe days. He didn’t know. Time didn’t exist down here. Only pain and his lack of choices.He could use the key. He could slip out when the guards weren’t watching. But he knew better, this wasn’t some lazy dungeon above ground. This was the underworld. The moment he stepped out, he’d be torn apart, or worse, dragged back.So he waited.Until the quiet broke.He heard it again as she expected, footsteps, there were more than one this time. He shoved the key under a loose stone he’d found by the edge of the cell. Barely had time to sit back down before the door groaned open again.This time, they didn’t observe him.