I felt a sudden rush of energy enter my body, purifying it from the inside out. My skin prickled, my bones ached, and a burning sensation surged through every vein—but that wasn't the part that left me shaken. What truly caught me off guard was the hunger. It wasn't the kind that could be sated by food or drink. It was a craving—primal, sharp, and relentless. A thirst for blood.
The longer I resisted, the worse it became. My vision blurred, my throat burned, and a low growl rumbled in my chest. Instincts I never knew I had clawed to the surface. Just when I thought I would lose control, a scent reached my nose—metallic, warm, and thick. Blood. My legs moved before I could think, rushing toward the source with desperate urgency.
What I found made me freeze.
There, lying in a pool of dark crimson, was a being unlike any I had ever seen. His skin was a pale, deathly gray, his body covered in deep cuts and torn flesh. But it was the six tattered wings on his back—three on each side—and the two curved black horns sprouting from his forehead that made my breath hitch. A demon. And not just any demon. Even in his broken state, the pressure around him twisted the air. He had been powerful—monstrous. The kind of existence people whispered about in fear.
I dove behind a bush, struggling to control the monstrous hunger gnawing at me. Every beat of his failing heart sent waves of blood-scent into the air. Even half-dead, this creature could crush me. But he was dying. I could feel it in the way his aura flickered like a candle in the wind. So I waited. Seconds became minutes. Minutes dragged into hours. The ache in my limbs dulled, but the hunger never did. It only grew sharper. Hungrier.
Then, after nearly two hours of shallow, ragged breaths, the demon gave one last sigh—and died.
I moved without hesitation. I didn't let fear or doubt take root. I activated the Devouring Dragon Art, and the moment its runes lit up within my dantian, I felt the pull begin.
His blood was thick, scorching, and filled with violent essence. It surged into me like a tidal wave. His bones, muscle, and even lingering soul fragments were devoured, torn apart and reformed inside my body. My veins stretched. My skin cracked. My bones shattered and reformed with a dragon's density. Pain roared through me like a beast, but underneath it—power. Pure, intoxicating power.
And then the memories came.
They flooded into me like broken shards of glass. A throne room bathed in moonlight. A boy no older than me standing proudly with a spear in hand. War. Victory. Praise. Then betrayal. Screams. Blood. Fire.
He had been the crown prince of a vast demon kingdom—young, arrogant, and brilliant. A prodigy who had reached the Fourth Claw Realm by age fifteen, carrying within him the bloodline of a Void Emperor-level demon. He was destined for greatness. But fate had different plans.
He didn't fall on the battlefield, nor did he lose to a rival. No, it was treachery that ended him. His own uncle had grown envious of his talent, his charisma, and his birthright. Greedy for power, he conspired with foreign forces, luring the royal guards away with lies. That night, the palace fell. The king and queen were slaughtered in their sleep. His younger siblings beheaded. The demon prince fought his way out of a collapsing palace, bleeding, poisoned, and filled with rage. But it wasn't enough.
He managed to grab only a small space ring before fleeing—stuffing it with nothing but spare robes and a pouch of gold coins. Useless now, but at the time, it had been everything he could carry in his dying moments.
The memories faded, and I collapsed to my knees, gasping. My body trembled with the surge of energy running rampant through me. The Devouring Dragon Art had evolved with the feast, taking in not just flesh but bloodline. I could feel something ancient coiling within me now. Dormant. Waiting. A whisper of draconic hunger and infernal pride.
When I finally looked at my hands, I barely recognized them. My skin had darkened slightly, veins pulsing faintly with red light. My nails had hardened into claws, and my senses were sharper—my hearing, my smell, even the rhythm of my own heartbeat.
I stood, glancing one last time at the scorched remnants of the demon's corpse. There was nothing left but a charred outline and an empty ring lying in the dirt. I picked it up and slid it onto my finger.
No one would mourn him.
But I would remember.
Because thanks to him, I had taken my first real step on the path of true power.
When I pulled the ring from his corpse, my fingers trembled. I wasn't sure whether it was from the power I'd just absorbed or the lingering echo of his final desperation. I sent a sliver of energy into the ring, and its contents appeared in my mind—worn robes dyed in royal blacks and crimsons, stained with dried blood. A belt sewn with jewels, likely worth a fortune to the right buyer. And gold coins. About two hundred, maybe more.
No weapons. No treasures. No ancient scrolls or hidden bloodline elixirs.
So much power in life… and nothing left in death.
Still, I tucked the ring away. Gold was gold, and the clothes could be useful for disguise. I couldn't afford to be seen in the bloodstained rags I now wore.
I rose slowly. My body felt… unfamiliar. Every step made the ground feel softer, lighter. The wind tickled my skin differently, as though I was part of the air itself. The Devouring Dragon Art had taken the demon's strength and twisted it into something new inside me.
But it wasn't without cost.
My chest ached. My heart beat irregularly, thudding like a war drum. My stomach gnawed at itself with hunger, and I knew it wasn't food I needed.
Blood. Again.
I gritted my teeth and resisted. I wouldn't let this hunger define me. I might've absorbed the demon's essence, but I was still me. I had to be.
A sudden noise broke my thoughts.
Voices.
I crouched low behind a thicket of underbrush, calming my breath. Two figures stepped into the clearing. Both wore dark leather armor, swords strapped to their backs. Mercenaries. Their clothes bore a crest I didn't recognize—a vulture with bloodied claws.
They glanced around the area with sharp eyes.
"Still fresh," one muttered, nudging the blood-soaked dirt with the tip of his boot. "No body, though."
"Either eaten by beasts or someone got to him first," the other replied, crouching. He sniffed the air, then frowned. "Something's not right."
I remained motionless. They hadn't seen me yet.
"Think he had anything useful on him?" the first asked.
"Doubt it. The bounty was on the prince's head, not his belongings. Still, search the area."
They split up.
I silently slipped into the shadows and backed away, careful not to step on dry twigs or disturbed leaves. The Devouring Dragon Art had sharpened my senses; I could hear the crunch of their boots even over a dozen meters away. Their heartbeat. Their breathing.
I could kill them. A single dash, a strike to the throat, and they'd never see me coming.
No. I shook the thought away. I wasn't going to start killing for no reason. Not yet.
Instead, I turned and ran.
The forest passed in a blur, the wind rushing against my face. I didn't stop until I reached a secluded ridge overlooking a vast stretch of wilderness. There, surrounded by trees and silence, I finally let myself breathe.
I need to understand what I've become.
Sitting cross-legged on the mossy ground, I calmed my breath and began circulating the Devouring Dragon Art. The energy inside me churned—raw, potent, and chaotic. But under the technique's guidance, it gradually began to settle. The demon prince had been a Four Claw Realm cultivator. Whatever that meant in this world's power scale, it was leagues above me.
And now that power was mine.
In part.
My foundation wasn't ready to hold everything he'd left behind. If I wasn't careful, the remnants of his soul could consume me instead of the other way around.
"Focus," I muttered to myself.
I continued cycling my cultivation, slowly stabilizing the influx. After what felt like hours, the chaos quieted, and I felt a shift—like a locked door in my core had creaked open. My body thrummed with power, yet I was still starving.
I stood, stretching my limbs.
I wasn't just stronger. I was something else. My bones felt denser. My skin, tougher. My senses… animalistic. The demon blood I absorbed wasn't dormant. It was awake. Watching. Testing me.
But I wouldn't break.
No one had given me this power. I'd bled for it.I've killed for it.