"What's the difference… between here and there?"
Sunny's voice echoed through the empty, quiet sky.
Back there — Amon's prison — it had walls, chains, and silence wrapped in screams. Cold metal. Concrete judgment. Constant eyes.
And here?
No walls. No noise. No pain.
But no purpose either.
"Back there, I was alive," Sunny muttered, bitterness slipping into his tone. "Even if I was in chains, I felt something."
Across from him, a Starborn stood. Wrapped in pale light, face unclear — like a shadow wrapped in grace.
"And here," the Starborn replied, "you have the right to choose."
"Choose what?"
"What you want to become."
But before Sunny could respond—
The ground trembled.
A burnt figure erupted from the dust — black smoke trailing behind it. A twisted body, broken and possessed. Its skin was cracked, eyes hollow, teeth like rusted blades.
A demonic presence.
The Starborn didn't even flinch.
"Demonic possession," he said softly.
"This world has three kinds of people."
---
"Clanborn."
Those born into families, clans, or tribes. They have protection, structure, support — a system that holds them up.
"The Possessed."
Those who let guilt, rage, or hunger consume them. Darkness takes root in their souls. They crave power at any cost. They don't care who dies — as long as they rise.
"And the Bloodborn…"
A cursed path. No home. No name. No allies. Bloodborns are born from loss. They walk alone. They drink their pain. And they grow — by taking the blood of others.
---
The possessed creature lunged.
Sunny ducked, instincts taking over. But as he moved, his fingers brushed the attacker's arm… and in that instant, a wave of memories flooded his mind.
A child. Cold. Starving. Labeled a devil. His own mother abandoned him. And something entered him in the dark — not a spirit, but a hunger.
It lived inside him ever since.
Sunny stumbled back, breathing heavily. The pain wasn't physical — it was familiar.
"That's what you could've become," the Starborn said calmly.
"That's what anyone can become if they take the wrong path."
---
Then, the Starborn looked toward the sky and spoke something far more chilling:
"In this world, everything is ranked by levels."
"Level 1 to 3 are servants. Followers. Starborns lead them."
"But from Level 4 and above…"
"You no longer follow."
"You create."
"You forge your own realm."
"And even Starborns must bow before you."
Sunny's eyes widened.
"So the ones who rise… become gods?"
"No," the Starborn whispered. "They become something worse. Something lonelier."
"And Bloodborns… they're the only ones who can reach that place."
"But they must pay the price."
"To level up… they need blood. Not just of beasts… but of people. Of legends. Of pain."
---
Sunny turned to the demon once more. He didn't strike.
Instead, he placed a hand on its chest.
"You were thrown away. So was I."
"But I won't throw away myself."
With a scream, the demon spirit was pulled from the creature's body — and vanished.
But in its place, a mark burned itself into Sunny's hand.
His first Blood Seal.
The first step on the path of a Bloodborn.