The dungeon beneath Blackiron Keep never truly slept.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Water leaked through hairline cracks in the ceiling, striking stone in a steady, merciless rhythm. Rats skittered behind the walls, claws whispering through rot and mortar. Somewhere far below, a chained beast roared once—muffled, furious—
Then fell silent.
Orion sat motionless in the dark, counting heartbeats.
Seven hours remained until dawn.
Until the Cleansing.
He had spent the first hour mapping the cell with his fingers. Rough stone walls. Iron bars thick as his wrist. A rusted ring bolted into the floor, anchoring his chain. Twelve links to the wall. Four more to the ankle cuff.
Old metal—but solid.
No weak points he could exploit with his current strength.
The second hour he spent testing the body.
Slowly, carefully, he flexed his good leg. The muscles responded sluggishly, wasted from neglect but usable. The crippled left leg answered only with dull, distant pain. No movement below the knee.
Nerve damage.
Permanent, if untreated.
The borrowed memories were useless—fragments of crawling through mud, chasing older slaves for scraps, learning early which blows hurt least if you leaned into them.
Orion crushed the rising pity without mercy.
Pity was a luxury.
He turned inward.
The system panel hovered patiently before his eyes.
[Bloodfallen System — Status]
Name: Orion Voss (Host Soul) / Vessel (Unnamed Slave)
Rank: Mortal (Unawakened)
Bloodline: Dormant Fallen Fragment (Sealed)
Strength: 3
Vitality: 4 → 4.1 (Minor regeneration detected)
Affinity: 1
Shadow: 0
Skills: None
Hidden Quest: Survive the Cleansing
Time Remaining: 6:59:18
Vitality had increased.
By a tenth.
The system was already working—knitting flesh at a glacial pace. Not enough to walk by dawn, but enough to keep infection from killing him in his sleep.
Barely.
Orion focused on the sealed bloodline entry.
The words pulsed faintly.
[Warning: Premature awakening risks host collapse.]
[Recommendation: Initial blood catalyst required.]
Blood catalyst.
His gaze slid to the empty slop bowl.
Then to the scabbed cuts on his own arms—old wounds from whips and mining tools.
His blood was thin.
Human.
Impure.
It wouldn't be enough.
He needed something stronger.
Footsteps stirred in the corridor.
Different this time.
Lighter. Uneven.
A single set.
A boy's voice whispered from the neighboring cell.
"Hey… cripple. You still alive?"
Orion waited.
Let a weak cough tear from his chest first.
Then, hoarsely, "Water…"
Silence.
Then—
SCRRRK.
Something slid beneath the bars separating their cells.
A cracked clay cup.
Half-full of murky water.
Orion dragged himself forward, chains clinking pitifully. He exaggerated the limp, let his good leg shake as if ready to give out. When he reached the cup, he lifted it with trembling hands and drank greedily, spilling some down his chin.
The boy watched from the shadows.
Seventeen, maybe. Thin but unbroken. Wrists raw, not scarred.
New slave.
Still had hope.
Hope was dangerous.
But useful.
"They're taking the weak ones at dawn," the boy whispered. "You. Me. Old Marta in the end cell. Direhound pit."
Orion wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Why tell me?"
The boy shrugged. "Misery likes company. Name's Ren."
Orion studied him quietly.
Strong enough to still stand straight.
Strong enough to be a threat.
"I can't even stand," Orion murmured. "They'll have to drag me."
Ren huffed softly. "Better than walking. Hounds like it when you run."
A pause.
"There's a loose bar in my cell," Ren added. "Third from the left. Been working it for weeks. If I get out, maybe I can—"
His voice died.
Even he didn't believe it.
Orion lowered his head. "If you get out… leave me the cup."
Ren hesitated.
"I'll need something to bite on when they come."
A long look.
Then Ren nodded and retreated into darkness.
Orion waited until the boy's breathing slowed.
Until sleep claimed him.
Then he moved.
He crawled back to the wall, lifted the slop bowl, and smashed it against stone.
CRACK.
Clay shattered into jagged fragments.
He selected the longest shard.
Pressed it to the inside of his forearm—just above the slave brand.
And drew a slow line.
Pain flared.
Clean.
Bright.
Welcome.
Blood welled, dark and thick in the faint torchlight. He angled his arm, letting the drops fall into the remnants of water in the cup.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then he pressed the wound closed and waited.
Nothing.
Then—
[Chime.]
[Minor blood catalyst detected: Host blood (impure)]
[Awakening Progress: 1%]
[Skill Unlocked: Blood Sense (Lv.1)]
The world changed.
A new sense bloomed—subtle, invasive.
He could feel the blood in his own veins. Sluggish. Weak.
Beyond the bars—
Ren's blood pulsed stronger.
In the far cell, old Marta's flickered like a dying candle.
Deeper still—
A chained beast.
Its blood thundered like war drums.
And beneath the dungeon floor—
Something ancient.
Slow.
Viscous.
Alien.
The Fallen Fragment stirred.
Hungry.
Orion smiled in the dark.
Progress.
He bound the cut with a strip torn from his cloak, then curled against the wall, body limp, breath shallow.
Crippled.
Helpless.
Hours passed.
Then—
Footsteps.
Many this time.
Dawn was close.
Four guards arrived, torches blazing.
The bearded one unlocked Ren's cell first.
"Up, boy. Time for the pit."
Ren resisted.
Briefly.
A prod to the ribs dropped him gasping.
Then Marta.
She didn't fight.
She only whispered prayers to forgotten gods.
Finally—
Orion's door.
The younger guard sneered. "Still breathing? Persistent little rat."
Hair clenched in a fist.
Pain exploded across Orion's scalp as he was hauled upright.
He let his body go slack.
A whimper escaped his lips.
They dragged him into the corridor.
Torchlight revealed him fully—filthy, gaunt, broken. The fur cloak hung in tatters. His crippled leg dragged uselessly behind him.
Perfect.
They didn't bother chaining the prisoners together.
Where would cripples run?
Stone stairs.
Iron gates.
Cold air.
The inner courtyard.
Blackiron Keep loomed overhead, its walls swallowing the dawn. Snow dusted the ground, thin and gray.
At the center—
The pit.
Twenty meters wide.
Iron grates rattled beneath.
Direhounds bayed below.
A crowd watched.
Guards.
Minor nobles.
Lord Cassian himself, goblet in hand.
Orion was dropped at the edge.
He stayed down.
Ren was thrown beside him, pale but defiant.
Marta knelt, praying.
Lord Cassian raised his voice lazily.
"For the crime of bearing useless blood, these slaves are sentenced to the pit."
Laughter.
The grates rose.
Orion felt it before he heard it.
The blood.
Hot.
Thick.
Three direhounds.
Starved.
His own blood answered.
[Awaiting catalyst…]
Ren whispered urgently, "When they open it, I'm running left—"
"Don't," Orion murmured.
The first hound burst forth.
Marta never screamed.
Blood sprayed the snow.
The crowd cheered.
Ren gagged.
The second hound circled.
Then the third.
Lord Cassian sipped his wine. "Bring the next."
Ren fought.
Harder this time.
A kick.
A shout.
Then convulsions.
Dragged to the edge.
Orion was ignored.
Just the cripple.
Perfect.
As Ren was lifted—
Orion rolled.
Let his bandaged forearm press into the blood-soaked snow.
Skin met blood.
[Blood Catalyst Detected: Human (Awakened Trace) + Direhound Proximity]
[Awakening Progress: 47% → 89%]
[Warning: Forced Awakening — Vessel Strain Critical]
Molten agony flooded his veins.
Orion bit through his tongue.
Ren was thrown into the pit.
The hounds turned.
And Orion rose.
Slowly.
Trembling.
Upright.
"Oi—!" a guard shouted. "The cripple's—"
Orion lifted his head.
His eyes glowed crimson.
Blood crawled up his fingers like living veins.
Vitality: 4.1 → 6.3 → 8.7
Strength: 3 → 7
His crippled leg twitched.
Bones ground.
Tendons shifted.
Not healed.
But enough.
Ren screamed.
[First Blood Awakening Complete]
[Rank Up: Mortal → Awakened (Initial)]
[Skill Unlocked: Blood Draw (Lv.1)]
The courtyard fell silent.
Lord Cassian lowered his goblet.
In the pit, the lead direhound leaped—
And froze.
A crimson thread connected its heart to Orion's outstretched hand.
The beast whimpered.
Then collapsed inward.
Blood poured out, arcing through the air—
And flowed into Orion's palm.
Silence.
Ren stared.
Orion stood.
Chains dangling.
Small.
Thin.
But the snow at his feet hissed and melted.
The remaining direhounds backed away, whining.
Orion tilted his head, voice soft.
Curious.
"Whose blood next?"