Once upon a time, in a forgotten corner of a war-ravaged world, there was a small village nestled in the shadow of mountains, surrounded by forests whispered to be cursed. Here, far from the eyes of kings and emperors, lived simple people—farmers, fishermen, craftsmen—unaware that the tides of history were turning toward them.
In this world divided by six vast continents, the Central Continent stood as a land of unending war, corruption, and the insatiable hunger for conquest. Among its many empires, one kingdom—known for its strength and wealth—sought expansion. Its ambition cast a dark cloud over the peaceful village where a young boy named Ryu lived.
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, 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.
His body radiated unstable mana.
One night, the rage boiled over. Mana surged outward, black and burning. The plant shrieked as it was incinerated. Ryu collapsed, panting.
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.