The chamber breathes.

That’s the first thing I notice. The walls seem to shift, just slightly—expanding, contracting—like lungs exhaling dust after centuries of silence. My boots leave faint prints in the layer of ash coating the floor. No footprints before mine.

No one’s been here in a long time.

And yet… it feels like something has been waiting.

At the heart of the chamber is a pedestal, half-swallowed by the stone floor. Upon it floats a shard. That’s the only word I can think of. Not a crystal. Not a machine. A shard—a jagged piece of something ancient, gleaming with a light that pulses like a heartbeat.

Red.

Not bright. Not warm. A deep, viscous red—like blood under moonlight.

I should turn back. Every part of me knows that. Whatever this place is, it’s not part of the Games. The hunters wouldn't come here. This isn't their kind of playground.

And yet, I step forward.

The shard calls to something in me. Not my mind. Not even my soul. Deeper. A part of myself I forgot I had. Rage, maybe. The part that remembers chains. The part that refused to beg when the whip cracked. The part that never screamed.

I reach out.

The air grows heavy. Pressure builds around my fingers. The moment my skin touches the shard—

Pain.

Not like a burn. Not sharp. It's worse. It's intimate. Like something crawling beneath my flesh, peeling back my thoughts. My knees hit the stone. My throat is raw—was I screaming? I can’t hear it.

Darkness swallows the chamber.

Then—

A voice.

Not a whisper. Not a shout.

A presence that speaks inside me, around me, through me.

“You bleed. You break. You burn. Good. Let me show you what comes next.”

The pain fades. Replaced by warmth. Heat. Power.

The shard melts into my palm like smoke drawn into a dying flame. Symbols burn across my skin—jagged, shifting. They dig deep, but I feel no blood. Just strength.

My collar blinks once.

Then shuts off.

Gone. Disarmed.

I stare at my hands, breathing hard. They look the same. But they don’t feel the same.

A screen opens in the air before me—no tech. No glass. Just red symbols rearranging into a form I understand.

[BLOOD GOD SYSTEM — V.1.0]

Host: Kiro Varn

Status: Bound 

ApostleCore Authority: Incomplete

Primary Trait: Adaptive Regeneration

System Directive: Feed. Survive. Reclaim

A second wave hits me—memories that aren’t mine. Images carved into my mind like scars:

A planet burning red under three suns.
Oceans turned to rivers of blood.
A god of hunger, shrouded in crimson flame, watching worlds fall with open arms.
A cult slaughtered for worshipping too well.

And then—nothing.

Silence.

The chamber is still again. But I am not.

The System hums inside me, quiet but alive. Dormant, for now.

But I feel it.

Like a heart that’s not mine beating beneath my ribs.

I crawl out of the cave before dawn. The forest is quiet again.

But now, it’s not the hunters who are stalking prey.

It’s me.