My name is Kraznys Bloodfang, a warrior of the Bloodfang Tribe.
My homeland was once called the Wildbone Prairie, where countless tribes like mine roamed freely.
The prairie was never peaceful. Tribes migrated with the seasons, and battle was a way of life. Before the war, I believed my fate was to die gloriously in combat, either in a tribal skirmish or while fending off savage beasts. Then, my soul would return to the Ancestral Realm, where great warriors feast and drink in eternity.
Until that war.
It was led by the Bloodaxe Tribe, the most powerful tribe on the entire prairie. Unlike most nomadic clans, they were strong enough to remain settled.
Their warriors were countless, and even totem warriors, like our chieftains, were in great number. Legends said the Bloodaxe chief's might rivaled that of the Ancients themselves.
With such a leader, the war should have been a war of honor.
Until the Mages came.
They called themselves 'sorcerers,' terrifying beings who emerged from a floating fortress of steel. Each was misshapen and unnatural. They had no majestic manes, no shining tusks, and only two arms.
And beyond their strange looks, they transformed in battle, some became blazing fire spirits, others turned into beasts.
They wielded fire and thunder with ease, far surpassing the shamans of our tribes.
And so we were crushed.
The spirits these sorcerers summoned shattered the courage of even our bravest warriors. No one wanted to die in such a dishonorable war.
I fled from the battlefield like a coward, hiding in a pit and praying the sorcerers wouldn't find me.
But their hunting beasts found me all the same.
The sorcerers had no use for warriors. They collared me and threw me into a pitch-black mine where I labored day and night.
I was not alone, many warriors of the Bloodaxe Tribe were there.
The sorcerers didn't care who we had been. They had only one goal in the Wildbone Prairie, enslavement.
Captured warriors were collared. Strong totem warriors were taken elsewhere. Warriors like me were left to rot in the mines.
The mines were hellish. One by one, those around me died. In the end, I was the only healthy one left.
I believed this was the Ancestors' blessing. They had not forsaken me despite my cowardice.
I still had a chance to reclaim my honor.
Then the sorcerers pulled me from the mines and into a new prison.
They told me I was to fight. If I survived, I would earn my freedom.
I knew it was a lie. The sorcerers would never let me go.
But I still yearned for the battle.
I had once fled the battlefield like a coward.
Now, I would return to it.
And reclaim my honor.
My soul will return to the Ancestral Realm!
"0521, prepare for combat."
The cold voice of a sorcerer woke Kraznys from his dreams. It had been fifteen days since he arrived in this world.
The natural energy here was pitifully weak, terrifyingly so. He shuddered to think what these monsters had done to their homeworld.
The sorcerer removed the collar from Kraznys's neck and handed him a massive machete.
The blade was made of fine metal, etched with glowing runes, better than even the Bloodfang's finest weapons.
"You've been told the rules. Whether you earn your freedom now depends on your strength."
The sorcerer cackled as he raised his staff, and Kraznys was instantly teleported into the exam arena.
Elsewhere, nine other alien beings from different worlds were also being transported in. Each had been told the same thing: survive, and you'll be free.
Once the teleportation ended, Kraznys knelt down and scooped a handful of earth, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply.
The mine's air had been foul. Even the prison was thick with stench.
But here, the scent of dirt, fresh and real, reminded him of home.
"Freedom! Honor!"
Kraznys roared to the sky, then charged toward a seemingly ordinary hill.
BOOM!
A flash of his blade carved a deep gash in the hill, cleaving a hidden Mage apprentice clean in two before they could react.
A red mist burst from Kraznys's body. His frame swelled like an inflated beast.
He yanked up the corpse.
"So this is a baby sorcerer?"
He studied the body, unable to reconcile its weak appearance with the monsters who had ravaged his people.
"He must be a criminal peasant," Kraznys judged, based on tribal experience.
In the Bloodfang Tribe, those unfit for warriorhood were deemed commoners. This weakling resembled them.
If the sorcerers let him slaughter these 'babies' freely, it meant they were of no value, criminals, perhaps.
The truth, of course, eluded him. He could never imagine the Mages would raise apprentices through such brutal means.
Even the most savage tribes on the Wildbone Prairie wouldn't do this.
But Kraznys didn't dwell on it.
These baby sorcerers were his enemies now, sacrifices.
He was here to reclaim his honor.
He flared his nostrils, taking in faint scents that ordinary Mage apprentices couldn't detect without augmenting their sense of smell.
"There's someone over there."
He charged.
Soon, another apprentice was dead, Kraznys's punch punched clean through their chest.
As they died, the apprentice released a fireball.
The exploding fire scorched Kraznys's mane and burned patches of his skin.
But he didn't care. He sat down and began drawing in natural energy.
Wounds that would've taken days to heal in this magic-starved world closed within minutes.
"Too little…" he muttered.
After a while, he rose and walked over to the apprentice's body. He stripped away the robes, revealing pale skin.
"Weak, but the meat looks decent."
With that judgment, Kraznys tore into the corpse and began to eat.
No mana? Then replenish with flesh.
As Kraznys devoured the body, a black deathcrow circled silently above.
"I've found the monster, Elia," came Edwyn's voice.