A river of blood stretched from the shattered city gates all the way to the crumbling temple steps.
It gleamed under the broken moonlight, thick with the stench of death and magic. Corpses floated in it—both monsters and men—lifeless and forgotten.
At the center of the carnage stood Emperor Fenrir.
Blood dripped from his fingers. His robes, once white, were soaked black with it. Around him, the ground pulsed with a heavy, sickening mana.
No living thing dared step closer.
After all, life was a precious resource and no one wanted to lose theirs for going against the emperor.
Fenrir lifted his head slowly, eyes burning with cold fire.
"I have sacrificed enough"
He said, voice low and heavy.
"Enough that even fate can no longer deny me."
Before him, the ancient pool of blood quivered.
It beat like a living heart, resonating with the spell etched into the very bones of the earth.
Fenrir raised his sword—a jagged relic forged from the fang of a fallen god. With a roar that shook the mountains, he drove it deep into the pool.
The blade pierced not just the liquid, but the very fabric of reality.
The world cracked.
Space itself split open at the altar, the fissure swallowing the blood, the corpses, the mana.
Fenrir stepped forward, unfazed by the maelstrom forming around him.
He knelt, his hands moving with practiced precision. He carved the final seal into the altar, each stroke burning white-hot into the stone. One command, simple and absolute:
"Reincarnate me into a body with the highest percentage of god's blood, one that will surpass all mortal limits."
The seal pulsed violently.
Power surged through the broken temple, rattling the heavens themselves.
Fenrir closed his eyes as the blood swallowed him whole, dragging him into the space between worlds.
The temple collapsed behind him.
Minutes later, streaks of golden light descended from the skies. Divine beings, dozens of them, slammed into the ruins.
Their faces twisted with fury as they searched the bloodied ground.
But Fenrir was gone.
Only the seal remained, glowing faintly under the rubble.
The leader of the divine host, a towering figure clad in shimmering armor, knelt by the seal. He pressed his hand against it, feeling the raw power still humming within.
"It's too late. We were too late to stop that madman."
He said, voice grim.
The others shifted anxiously, weapons drawn, wings spread wide.
To think that a mortal had the divine so worried, and it was when he was limited by his body.
Even if no one knew what Emperor Fenrir was planning, they all knew one thing - they could not allow his plans to come to fruition.
"We must guard this place. From this day forward, no mortal shall bear a bloodline stronger than twenty percent godhood. It is law."
The leader continued.
The decree was carved into existence that night—a new commandment binding gods and mortals alike.
And so, centuries passed.
The world changed. Divinity faded from daily life, retreating into myths and temples. Gods became little more than patrons to a handful of mortals they favored.
Humanity rose, stumbling blindly into a new era, unaware of the ancient danger buried deep beneath their feet.
Until the dungeons came.
Rifts in the world, bleeding chaos and monsters into the human realm. An age of hunters began, men and women wielding borrowed divinity to fight the endless tide.
And deep below, in the forgotten ruins of a dead empire, the seal cracked.
A hand burst from the blood-soaked earth and then, Fenrir was reborn into the body he hoped to get.
The world had long forgotten the horrors of the past, but there was no way for them to be prepared for what was to come.
______
Fenrir opened his eyes to a blinding light.
Pain flooded his body, sharp and immediate. His right hand throbbed violently, as if every bone inside had been shattered. He gasped and looked down.
Blood coated his knuckles, dripping onto the floor. His breath came heavy and uneven.
In front of him, a boy lay sprawled on the ground, his face a mess of bruises and cuts.
Fenrir frowned.
'How odd. I was supposed to reincarnate long before this time. Ah well, at least I got what I wanted. Now, let's take a look at myself.'
He reached inward, scanning his new body.
Injuries everywhere—nothing fatal, but painful. His bones were dense, his veins hot with power still settling into place.
He flexed his hand. Pain flared up his arm, but he gritted his teeth and forced it into a fist.
The boy on the ground stirred, coughing weakly.
Fenrir's vision sharpened. The boy's injuries were superficial. The blood was more his own than the boy's.
'So, this body is strong. Stronger than anything I've felt before. I can feel the missing potential deep inside my veins. But I cannot use it.'
He thought, feeling the weight of divinity coiling beneath his skin like a slumbering dragon.
But weak, still, compared to what he needed.
At this point, his body had the energy that he wanted. But what use was it when he could not even use it to it's full advantage?
'Tsk. I will have to work hard to make this body more useful. But at least, I fulfil the condition to bypass the barrier this time.
Footsteps echoed nearby—heavy, angry.
A door slammed open.
"Oi! What the hell's going on here?!"
Three figures burst into the room—two boys in cheap uniforms and a short girl with a scowl. They took one look at the blood and the unconscious boy, and their faces twisted in rage.
"You bastard! How many times do we need to tell you to keep to your lane? Do you not understand? Would a beating do you in?"
One of the boys shouted, charging forward. Mana surged in his body and Fenrir noticed it instantly.
Fenrir straightened calmly, blood dripping from his fist.
He met the charge head-on. No hesitation, no wasted motion. His hand snapped out, catching the boy by the collar.
A twist of the wrist, a shove of mana into his palm—and the boy crumpled like paper, crashing into a row of lockers.
Fenrir looked at his hand with a muted silence. He did not like the fact that even the tiniest bit of mana required him to concentrate.
'Ugh. I will need to train a lot. Looks like this body used to be a civilian before I got into it. Tsk, what a pain.'
The others froze, stunned.
Fenrir tilted his head slightly.
"I am not interested in your squabbles. Walk away. This is your final warning."
He said flatly. His voice cut through the tension like a blade.
The girl growled and raised her hand, light gathering in her palm. A spell—rudimentary, weak.
Fenrir sighed.
'Magic like this... like children's games. During my time, this would have been a fight to death. Has the world truly fallen this far?'
In a blur, he closed the distance. His hand clamped over hers, squeezing until the magic flickered out with a pained cry.
He shoved her back, sending her stumbling into the second boy.
"Last warning."
Fenrir said, voice colder than the winter winds.
They fled, now injured and cradling their arms. They looked like they would cry at any second. But Fenrir was not gracious enough to be soft on them.
Silence returned to the broken room.
Fenrir exhaled slowly, the mana in his body finally settling. His hand still hurt, but he ignored it.
More important was the question burning in his mind:
'Where am I? How long has it been? And how long until they find me again? I need more information about myself.'
A cruel smile touched his lips.
"Doesn't matter. This time, I have what I need. I'll take everything that was not available to me before and reach new heights."
He murmured, looking down at the faint, golden glow beginning to rise from under his skin.
______
This will be republished in the WPC. This is just early access for now.