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Inkbound: Naelii

Itslaoni
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Synopsis
No mark. No power. No chance—until something older than the gods chooses her. A hundred years ago, the sky split open. Gates tore through the world, spilling monsters made of fang, metal, and nightmare. Humanity was on its knees—until the tattoos awakened. Ink became weapon and worship. The Marked rose, wielding living tattoos bound to their souls. The rest became expendable. Forgotten. Unmarked. Naelii is one of the forgotten. The scanners confirmed it: no manifestation, no potential, no worth. Cast out by her family, she drifts to the edge of the Mojave Sectors—a city that bleeds ink and fear in equal measure. Desperate to survive, she lies her way into a Gate raid. But inside the shimmering rift, something answers. It doesn’t roar like a beast. It remembers her. The thing beneath her skin isn’t a tattoo. It isn’t ink. It’s older—something buried deep in the marrow of the world, waiting for a name to wake it. And when it stirs, it tears the rules of the Inkbound apart. Naelii wasn’t chosen by the gods. She was claimed by something they tried to erase. Now, hunted by Guilds that fear what she carries and monsters that crave it, Naelii is forced to make a choice: hide her secret and die quietly, or unleash what sleeps within her and risk unraveling the fragile truce between man, ink, and god. Because the gates didn’t just open— They were summoning her all along.
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Chapter 1 - PROLOGUE: THE FIRST INK

A hundred years ago, we were ready to kill each other.

Borders were bleeding. Nations cracked. Cities collapsed under flags raised too high for too long.

Then the gates opened.

Not one. Hundreds. All over the world. Fissures in the sky, in the sea, in the ground. And from them came monsters — twisted things of fang and metal and nightmare.

We stopped fighting each other overnight.

Humanity didn't surrender.

We adapted.

No one could explain why the tattoos awakened. Maybe it was the gates. Maybe it was magic. Or madness. But the ink responded. The marks on our skin began to breathe. To move. To fight.

The first tattoo to awaken belonged to a dead man.

A soldier — throat slit, chest broken. But the tiger across his back rose from his corpse, roared into the air, and tore three beasts to shreds before vanishing in smoke.

That was the beginning.

Old tattoos stirred first — born before the gates, inked without purpose, suddenly alive. New tattoos came later, built with intent. Some whispered to their bearers. Others burned their way into flesh. All of them chose.

To be Marked is to survive. To be Unmarked… is to be forgotten.

Now, we don't worship gods.

We ink them.

Present Day

Gate 56-K — Mojave Sector

The creature lunged — all claws, jaws, and bone. The ground shook.

Naelii didn't move. The ink on her arm rippled first.

It peeled from her skin with a hiss, twisting midair, taking shape — not smoke, not solid, but something in between. A dragon uncoiled, black as midnight, and launched itself at the beast.

The explosion of inkfire lit up the battlefield.

Dust and blood fell like rain.

The creature collapsed — split from shoulder to spine — and the dragon hovered, watching. Then it turned to Naelii, dipped its ink-soaked head once, and dissolved back into her skin, leaving behind only a faint shimmer across her arm.

She staggered to one knee, heart pounding.

"Status?" someone barked through her comm.

She looked down at her still-glowing forearm.

The mark pulsed once — like it wasn't finished.

"Alive," Naelii said quietly. "For now."