The city never sleeps, they say, but at this hour, it seemed to hold its breath. The neon haze was faint, reflected in puddles that glimmered like fragments of distant galaxies. Rain had returned, light and cold, misting the streets with a wet chill that crawled under my thin jacket. I pulled the collar tighter and glanced around. Every shadow seemed heavier tonight, as if they were aware of me—aware of what had awakened inside.
I had spent the past days testing my power, learning its reach and limits. Lifting objects, sensing presence, moving with precision I never thought I'd have. And yet, the city felt too small. My instincts whispered that what had awakened in me was only the beginning—a seed meant to grow far beyond these streets.
I walked toward the industrial district, drawn to an abandoned warehouse I had noticed during one of my nights of wandering. Something about it called to me—not the building itself, but the space beneath it. A low hum, faint but insistent, like the heartbeat of something alive.
The Hidden Chamber
Prying open the rusty door took effort, but the hinges groaned and yielded eventually. Inside, dust hung thick in the air, the smell of oil and metal strong enough to sting my nose. Broken crates, shattered tools, and the remnants of machines from decades ago lay scattered across the floor. Yet beneath the debris, something else stirred.
My hands glowed faintly as I moved toward a cracked floor panel. The hum beneath grew louder, vibrating in tune with the rune on my wrist. With a push, the panel shifted, revealing a hidden staircase spiraling down into darkness. My pulse quickened.
"This… this can't be real," I whispered. But something in me knew better. It felt like destiny—like the Omoyogi bloodline itself had guided me here.
The stairs led to a chamber illuminated by a soft, blue glow emanating from strange, tech-like glyphs etched into the walls. Devices I couldn't name hummed silently, flickering with a faint energy. And in the center… a pedestal. On it lay a small, obsidian cube, pulsing faintly, almost like it was alive.
I approached cautiously. The cube responded to my presence, hovering slightly above the pedestal. When I reached out, it shifted, and an image projected into the air—a map of glowing lines, symbols, and cities I didn't recognize. It pulsed in rhythm with my own heartbeat.
"The power… is connected to me," I murmured, awed. "This is… a gift from my ancestor."
First Demon Lord Encounter
Before I could study further, a low growl echoed through the chamber. The air thickened. My senses flared, and I saw it: a figure emerging from the shadows. Its eyes glowed crimson, wings folded tightly against its back, claws scraping against the floor. Its aura was suffocating, a mix of martial energy and something far darker.
A demon lord.
"You should not be here, child of Omoyogi," it said, voice echoing like distant thunder. "The world is not yours to meddle in."
I froze for a heartbeat, then let instinct guide me. I raised my hands. Objects from the chamber—tools, metal fragments, shards of stone—rose into the air around me. The cube pulsed, amplifying my aura.
"You think you can stop me?" it hissed, claws extending. "You don't even understand what you are yet."
"I'm Minjae Omoyogi," I said, voice firm. "And I will understand. I will survive. I will rise. And I will protect what belongs to me."
Energy flared from my hands, striking the demon lord. It stumbled back, surprised. Its aura clashed with mine, sending sparks across the chamber. This was my first real combat test—a fight not for survival in the streets, but for life and legacy itself.
The battle was chaotic, but my senses, sharpened beyond normal human limits, allowed me to anticipate its attacks. The objects around me moved like extensions of my body, striking with precision. Each strike, each dodge, each movement taught me more about my potential.
The demon lord hissed, circling me. "Not bad… for a fledgling. But power alone won't save you. Control, strategy, and knowledge… those are what make the strong immortal."
I didn't reply. I focused, felt the cube pulsing at my side, and allowed its energy to flow into me. My aura expanded, and the demon lord froze, taken aback by the sudden surge. It gave me a fleeting nod—acknowledgment—and vanished in a swirl of smoke and shadow, leaving the chamber trembling and silent.
Lessons of the Omoyogi Bloodline
I sank to my knees, chest heaving, sweat mixing with rainwater. My hands still glowed faintly, runes pulsing softly. The cube hovered, whispering faint energy into my veins.
A thought struck me: this power is more than just strength. It is knowledge. It is strategy. It is legacy.
My ancestor—my bloodline—had left this for me. Not just for survival, not just for fighting, but to build, to guide, to reshape the world.
I thought of the future. Descendants. Reincarnators who would awaken because of me. My bloodline. A family I could trust. A legacy I could forge. And perhaps, one day, the world would kneel not out of fear, but out of awe for the Omoyogi Clan.
I smiled, tired but resolute. This was only the beginning. The alley had awakened me, the streets had tested me, and now… the city, the shadows, even the demon lords themselves had taken notice.
I rose, fists clenched, eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. Minjae Omoyogi was no longer just a beggar. I was a survivor, a fighter, the first of my bloodline, and the world—Murim, tech, demon lords, and all—would soon know my name.