Darkness.
It was the first thing he felt—an endless void, stripped of light, sound, or sensation. From that abyss, a spark of awareness emerged. Flickers of memory—towering skyscrapers, digital screens, the hum of machines. Then pain. Blinding, final.
And silence.
He awoke to the chill of damp stone on his back. Above him, a jagged ceiling wept condensation. He stirred, sluggish and stiff, like a corpse reanimated. Low, guttural voices echoed nearby.
Where am I? What happened?
His mind was murky, his memories scattered like leaves in wind.
"Chief! The Chief is awake!" someone growled.
He turned his head with effort. Towering figures approached—hulking bodies armored in green-black scales, with jaws lined in razored teeth. Predatory eyes glinted yellow in the dark.
Crocodile demons.
He stared down at his own limbs: scaled, clawed, alien.
Not human anymore.
A tremor passed through him—not of fear, but exhilaration. This body pulsed with raw strength. He could feel it coiled in his muscles, waiting to be unleashed.
Another demon stepped forward, bowing low. "Chief, are you well?"
His memories sharpened. This body's former life surfaced—leader of a struggling crocodile demon tribe, exiled to the fringe of the demon world. Prey to beasts and rival tribes, they teetered on extinction.
But he was not the former Chief. He had returned with a power the others couldn't imagine: the Hundredfold Return.
If he gave something to a loyal subordinate, the system would return it to him multiplied—better, stronger, more potent.
He would remake this tribe.
But survival here demanded cunning. The strong were hunted as threats. Until they could defend themselves, their strength must remain hidden.
"I am well," he rasped, his voice now a deep rumble. "Just... disoriented."
Relief softened the demons' expressions. Despite his condition, their reverence was palpable.
"Chief," a warrior said, stepping forward, "the hunting party is preparing to depart. We hope to bring enough prey to feed the young."
An opportunity.
He turned to a thickset demon with dark green scales—Garuk, the most loyal of the Chief's former lieutenants. "Garuk. Come."
Garuk knelt. "Yes, Chief."
He retrieved a chipped stone blade from beside him—primitive, barely more than rubble.
"Take this. Use it well."
Garuk looked up, stunned. "Chief… this is your weapon."
"No longer. Prove worthy of it."
The moment Garuk accepted the blade, a chime rang in his mind.
Ding! The host sends a First-Grade (Mid-Level) weapon, Stone Blade, to subordinate Garuk. Triggering a hundredfold return of the Second-Grade (Low-Level) weapon: Demon Sealing Blade.
A surge of energy pulsed through him. In the space behind his mind, a void opened—a system inventory. There, hovering in silence, was a blade of dark obsidian, etched in glowing runes. Its aura radiated cold, lethal purpose.
He understood instantly. Anything returned would be stored here, invisible to others, ready when needed.
Perfect.
Garuk bowed again, unaware. "I won't fail you, Chief."
"I know."
"Then I'll lead the hunt." His voice carried steel now, bolstered by trust. "We will feed the tribe."
"Go," he said. "And return in triumph."
Garuk rose and strode out, warriors falling in behind him. The Chief watched them disappear into the gloom.
If Garuk succeeded, they would eat well. And if the ability continued to work as promised…
This was only the beginning.