Apocalypse Baby

Dorion grinned, his breath shaky.

"I'm dying here... help."

The Blood Monarch scoffed, his shadowy form shifting like a storm cloud.

"You useless filth. I granted you a power that a mere peasant like you should never have even dreamed of. And what did you do? Wasted it. Not on the target I sent you after, but on some old man."

Dorion's grin didn't fade. If he was going to die, he might as well talk his way out of it.

"He was no ordinary old man," he shot back.

The Blood Monarch leaned forward slightly, the air around Dorion growing heavier.

The weight of his presence alone made Dorion's bones groan in protest.

"And if you seriously wanted me to hunt down your precious target," Dorion continued, "then you should have given me a stronger ability. Defeating that man would take way more than just being able to come back to life twelve times."

Silence.

Then—the pressure intensified.

Dorion's vision blurred as the weight crushed down on him, making his wounds scream in agony.

His bones felt like they were splintering apart.

"You're quite gutsy, talking back to me."

Dorion clicked his teeth, biting back a pained groan as blood dripped from his lips.

His body was breaking. His injuries worsening.

Then the crushing pressure eased.

Dorion sucked in a sharp breath, his ribs screaming in protest. His body was battered, bleeding, barely hanging on—but at least he could breathe again.

The Blood Monarch's voice rumbled like distant thunder.

"Be grateful. I should strike you down where you grovel, but I choose to be lenient."

Dorion let out a slow, shaky sigh.

"Lenient?" He almost laughed. What a joke.

If the Blood Monarch could actually strike him down, he would've done it already. The deities couldn't directly harm humans. Dorion knew that.

Which meant the Monarch was just posturing.

Still kneeling, his body barely holding together, Dorion tilted his head, his tone dry.

"So... are you going to help me with my situation or not?"

The Blood Monarch's eyes flashed, his voice cold and dismissive.

"Get lost. You deserve nothing from me."

"Get lost? You brought me here, lunatic."

Dorion didn't even try to filter his words. He was in too much pain to care.

The Blood Monarch's shadowy form echoed through the crimson-drenched world around them.

"This is the reason I chose you. You're quite insane."

The Blood Monarch then sighed, leaning back on his throne as if discussing a mild inconvenience.

"As it turns out, you're the only candidate I still have in this tutorial. The rest have gotten themselves killed. Seriously, it's pathetic."

Dorion scoffed, wiping a streak of blood from his lip.

"Maybe you're just a bad sponsor."

The Blood Monarch's form twitched again.

Dorion could tell—he was pissed.

But he didn't lash out.

Then, in a voice steady and powerful, the Blood Monarch spoke:

"You want help? Fine. I will help. You're better off as a soldier with consciousness than a mindless ghoul anyway."

Dorion frowned.

"What?"

Mindless ghouls?

Is that what happened to candidates who died?

The thought sent a chill through him, but the Blood Monarch continued as if he hadn't just dropped a bombshell.

"I'll grant you an ability—one that will aid your recovery and fuel your growth. It's a fun one, I will say."

Dorion's chest tightened at the Blood Monarch's words.

Mindless ghouls.

That meant if he died, he wouldn't just be gone—he'd become something else. Something without thought, without purpose.

His gut told him to be wary of whatever "gift" the Blood Monarch was about to give him.

But at this point, it didn't matter.

It was life or death.

Or worse—life or becoming a monster.

Yeah, the former sounded a whole lot better.

Dorion exhaled sharply.

"Alright. I accept it."

The Blood Monarch's grin widened.

Then, just like that—his presence vanished.

His overwhelming domain collapsed.

Dorion blinked.

One moment, he had been standing beneath a being of terrifying power.

The next, he was back on the forest floor, bloodied, broken, and gasping for air.

Then—A notification appeared before him.

Ding!

[As a candidate for the Blood Monarch's legacy, you have received a new skill]

Dorion didn't feel relieved.

He knew—he just knew—this was going to be messed up.

Then, the full description appeared.

[Sanguine Predation – A cursed gift from the Blood Monarch]

Dorion's gaze sharpened.

That title alone was a red flag.

He braced himself and read further.

[Sanguine Predation – This ability allows the user to heal wounds and temporarily enhance their strength by consuming the blood of others. However, the more the skill is used, the greater the hunger it induces. If the user sustains injuries while in a state of hunger, the ability will forcibly extract nourishment from their own body, consuming user attributes to sustain them. Should starvation persist without a source of blood to feed on, the curse will take full control, triggering a monstrous transformation into a mindless Feral Hound, a creature of pure instinct driven by an insatiable need to hunt, kill, and feast until nothing remains.]

Dorion's breath hitched.

His body stiffened.

He reread it. Again. And again.

Then, a single thought crashed through his mind—

"What the hell is this?"

Dorion didn't even get the chance to rage.

Before he could curse the Blood Monarch before he could even try to process what he'd just read—

It began.

A sickening churn twisted in his stomach.

Then came the pain.

"Aaargh!"

Dorion's body jerked as he collapsed onto the ground, his fingers digging into the dirt.

His insides felt like they were being shredded apart.

No—not shredded.

It felt like a rusty saw was grinding through his stomach, tearing through flesh, sawing through muscle. Ripping him open.

His vision blurred.

His skin burned and chilled at the same time.

His entire body revolted against itself.

But then, in the middle of the agony—

His wounds were closing.

Cuts stitched themselves shut. The deep gashes that once bled freely sealed over.

The bruises and frostbite faded away.

That should have been a relief.

But something else was vanishing with them.

His sanity.

His groans turned into ragged gasps.

Then finally—

A scream.

A scream that didn't sound human.

Dorion's eyes widened, wild and unhinged.

His pupils dilated, shifting from a sharp focus to something more primal.

His breath came out in ragged pants.

His hands twitched.

His entire body screamed for one thing—

Food.

Something alive. Something warm.

Something he could sink his teeth into.

Then—footsteps.

His head snapped toward the sound.

Without a second thought, he lunged forward, his movements uneven and erratic, like a drunken predator.

The scent of life grew stronger as he closed the distance.

Then he saw them.

Two figures.

One was a fierce-looking woman clad in red and black armor.

The other—a younger lady being dragged along, as if they were running from something.

Dorion didn't care who they were.

Didn't care why they were running.

All that mattered was the hunger.

He let out a guttural growl and lunged.

Like a wild beast set loose.