The scorching wind tore across the ground, raising whirlwinds of sand and ash that lashed the air like dry blades.
The desert vibrated beneath crushing heat, smothered by an arrogant sun.
Lying amid shattered ruins, a man regained consciousness in pain.
His vision wavered, blurred by a heavy haze as if his mind refused to return. His skull throbbed. His throat was dry. Nothing felt familiar.
His face bore the mark of absence: no memories. No bearings. Nothing.
Still dazed, he clutched his head.
He looked around with one eye.
A dead landscape stretched before him. Torn concrete carcasses. Collapsed walls like broken bones. Ruins as far as the eye could see — vestiges of a world that had already fallen before it could ever be saved.
No thoughts. No memories crossed his mind.
A black void.
No… impossible… nothing? Not even my name…?
Erased. Clean. As if he had never existed.
His gaze caught on something on his right wrist. A tattoo. Black. Simple. A single Roman numeral "I."
Yet… something vibrated beneath it. As if the mark were more than a symbol. As if it were alive. A dull heat spread under his skin. He gripped his wrist instinctively. He didn't understand why, but the symbol mattered. It was vital.
He slowly got to his feet, breathing heavily, still unsteady. Grains of sand clung to his face and his worn clothes. He scanned the horizon. Nothing. Sand. Ash. And a filthy sky.
"Where is this place?" he muttered, startled by his own voice.
It was hoarse. Foreign. As if someone else had stolen it. His throat scraped; a metallic taste rose in his mouth. No matter how hard he tried, the voice didn't feel like his.
He moved through the concrete husks.
No sound. No soul.
The silence was hostile.
He had no direction. No objective. Standing still meant waiting for death.
Alone. Without bearings. He pushed forward along the only path that offered itself.
Then the silence shattered.
A sound struck him like an icy blade.
Grrrr…
A low growl. Animal. But not natural. His blood ran cold. Between two concrete carcasses, silhouettes emerged. Not human. Not animal. Something else. Twisted creatures. Hunched backs. Overlong limbs. Muscles stretched too tight beneath the skin. Their heads resembled deformed jackals. Their red eyes burned with cold hunger.
What the fuck is that thing… and what the hell am I doing here?!
His heart spiked. Instinctively, he stepped back. Too late — they had seen him.
"Oh no."
He turned and ran. No strategy. No plan. Just run. His legs slammed against the dry ground, his lungs already screaming. Every step threatened to send him crashing down. Every stone could snap his neck. He ran to live.
But he wasn't fast enough.
GRAAAH!
They were closing in.
An alleyway ended abruptly. Collapsed walls. Rubble everywhere. At the far end, a rusted metal door.
The only way out.
"Shit!"
He threw himself at it.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
"Open up! Open up, damn it!!!"
Nothing. Not an inch.
Grrrr…
They were almost there.
He struck again, desperate. No escape. No weapon. No memories.
He glanced back briefly, then slammed his fist one last time.
Then it happened.
A strange sensation surged up his left arm. A dull heat. Internal pressure. Something awakening.
He looked down. His tattoo was glowing crimson. Slowly. Like a heart coming back to life.
He froze.
"Huh?! What the—"
His gaze snapped to his left arm. Beneath his skin, something crackled, a dark glow ready to explode.
Heat surged up to his shoulder — violent. Wild.
Use the skill. [Demon Fist].
Shout it, if you want to live.
"This… it's coming from my arm?!"
A crushing energy burst outward. His fist trembled.
He didn't hesitate.
"[Demon Fist]!"
FWOOM!
His arm ignited. Scarlet filaments raced along his veins. His fist vibrated with power. Teeth clenched in panic, he struck.
BAKOOM!
The door exploded into fragments. Debris flew everywhere.
"What the— what was that?!"
His arm still burned. His skin tingled, as if a savage beast slept inside his bones.
He didn't have time to think — his breathing was ragged, his heart on fire.
He burst through the shattered opening into a vast ruined hall. Half the ceiling had collapsed, letting in a current of dust-filled air. The other half lay drowned in shadow.
Gasping, still shaken by what had just happened, he pressed a hand to his chest to steady his breathing.
A familiar heat climbed his left arm again. The same as before… but stronger. More insistent.
A glowing inscription burned itself into his skin, etched like molten iron.
The Voice returned.
The power that triples your strength.