Part A – Waking the Demon
The first sound of the morning was not the clamor of bells or the chatter of voices.It was the drip.
Steady. Relentless.A thin line of blood slid from the tip of Gu Kuangren's chipped sword, splattering onto the stone floor beneath him. The puddle had grown overnight, soaking into the cracks, staining the gray with a darkness that never washed away.
Kuangren sat cross-legged in the center of the cell, back straight, shoulders relaxed. His long black hair fell around him like a curtain, strands clinging where they had dried with blood. His crimson eyes glowed faintly in the gloom, half-lidded, yet alive with an intensity that could unnerve even stone.
The cell was silent but for the dripping. The guards had long since stopped pacing too close to his door. They had learned on the first night that when he stared at them through the bars, silent and smiling, their skin crawled as if insects had burrowed beneath it.
He thrived in the silence.
Kuangren lifted the sword, turning it in his hands. Its edge was no sharper than the jagged rocks outside the city gates. Rust clung stubbornly to its spine, and chips marred its once-uniform line.
But to him, it was not a broken blade.It was memory. It was extension. It was hunger given form.
He ran his thumb along its edge until it split, a bead of red welling. He didn't wince. Pain was not something to fear; pain was proof of living. He pressed the thumb to his tongue, tasting himself.
His blood was different. Always had been. Bitterer. Thicker. It lingered on his tongue longer than others'. Even when he was a boy in the orphanage, he remembered: the other children's scrapes healed with ease. His cuts bled longer, darker. And the matrons whispered.
"He's cursed.""Don't let him touch you.""Monster."
His lips twitched upward.
They had been right, hadn't they?
The dripping stopped. The sword was clean now. He had dragged his tongue along every groove, licked every drop from the steel until only his reflection remained — a pale, sharp face with crimson eyes staring back.
A face too old for fifteen.A face that would never be innocent again.
He tilted his head, studying himself. For a moment, he saw not his reflection, but the chain-wielder's last stare, blood bubbling in his throat. He saw the axe-bearer's ribs splitting like firewood.
Their terror lingered in his pupils.
He inhaled, slow and deep.
This is what it means to be alive.
A metallic clang outside the door broke his reverie. The slit at the bottom creaked open, and a tray slid in — stale bread, dried meat, a cup of water.
The guard didn't speak. They never did anymore. The first one who had mocked him for being "just another doomed boy" had vanished by morning. Whispers said Kuangren had torn him apart through the bars.
Kuangren hadn't. But he liked the story.
He didn't look at the food right away. He looked at the shadow of the guard's boots retreating. Heavy steps. Quick. Uneven. Fear carried in the rhythm.
His lips parted in a faint chuckle.
Only then did he turn to the tray. He picked up the bread, bit into it. Dry. Tasteless. He chewed, swallowed, then spat the next bite onto the floor.
"I don't eat dust."
The meat he examined more carefully. Salted. Preserved. Meat was meat. He tore into it, chewing slowly, savoring what little tang lingered. His tongue remembered blood even as his teeth worked the sinew.
The water he poured over his head instead of drinking. The rivulets cut paths through the dried blood on his skin, streaking him in fresh lines of red and clear. Drops slid down his jaw, falling onto his chest, running into the cracks of old scars.
He breathed in the scent. Wet iron. His scent. His ritual.
The walls of the cell bore marks of his nights. Scratches gouged deep where he had dragged the sword again and again, tracing invisible patterns. Circles. Spirals. A crude face with a wide grin. The stone seemed alive with those carvings, pulsing when the torchlight flickered.
Some men in Slaughter City prayed to gods. Others begged for mercy. Kuangren carved. Each mark a reminder: the only eternity was what you cut into the world.
He whispered to the wall, voice low, intimate.
"They'll bring me more tonight. Three, maybe. Four, if they're bold. The city wants to see me bleed. Wants to see me break."
His crimson eyes narrowed.
"I won't."
He pressed his forehead to the cold stone, closing his eyes. For a moment, he looked like a monk at prayer. Then he smiled again, teeth flashing.
"Let them come."
A memory rose unbidden, uncoiled like smoke in his skull. He was small again, barefoot in the alleys, scavenging scraps from bins. A group of older boys cornered him, wooden sticks in their hands, laughter on their lips.
"Monster!" one shouted, jabbing at his ribs.
He hadn't answered then. Just stared. Just waited.
The first blow split his lip. The second cracked his ribs.
And something inside him snapped.
He didn't remember grabbing the stone. Didn't remember smashing it into the boy's skull. Only the warmth after — the red on his hands, the silence where laughter had been.
That was the day he learned.
Blood was the only answer.
He opened his eyes, the memory fading but not gone. It never left him, not truly. It fed him even now.
The guards whispered "madman" when they passed. The crowd chanted "Slaughter Demon" in the square.
He accepted both. They were only words.
But to him?
To him, he was simply true.
Kuangren stood, towering, brushing against the low ceiling. His long hair clung to his shoulders, wet and tangled. He rolled his neck, joints popping, muscles coiling like a predator stretching before the hunt.
He picked up the sword, resting it against his shoulder.
The Arena would call soon.
And he was ready.
***
Yo! Your wonderful, Handsome, Loving, and charismatic Author here!!😇
I haven't seen much feed back from my readers which is making me sad 😔.
So, if this FF can get 10 power stones by Sunday Night, I'll do a mass upload of 🤔..
Let's say, 20 chapters!! If this gets 20 power stones by Sunday night, I'll do a massive upload of 40 chapters. Deal!!?? If you like this FF, put a comment and review for me 🥺. I would appreciate it!!!!!