R:IX "Devouring Tyrant "

"Power is not given. It is taken, earned, or stolen from those too weak to hold it."

"The weak hesitate at the edge of change. The strong leap into the abyss."

"Every transformation begins with pain. Growth is the price of evolution."

Ryuxian paused at the entrance of the cave, his scales reflecting the dim, filtered light. The last time he had ventured out, he had almost been a swift, squirmy snack for something much bigger and much hungrier. His instincts howled, a cacophony of primal warnings that resonated through his very existence: You are small. You are weak. The world outside is a vast hunting ground, a banquet for predators with teeth and claws infinitely keener than yours.

But deep inside him, a small flame of rebellion burned, a tender spark of resistance refusing to be smothered. It murmured back, a soft but adamant counterpoint—Then become strong. Evolve. Adapt. Overcome.

He slid out, his obsidian armor scraping against the hard, uneven ground of the cave. Outside, the air was heavy, reeking of rot and the acrid zip of dried blood.

When he stepped out into it all, his senses were hit, blinded by the magnitude of the devastation. The battlefield lay out before him, an endless expanse of dead warriors and monstrous creatures, a reminder of some long-forgotten, world-shattering war. Blood covered the ground, staining the soil a rich, black mire that clung to his scales. Some of the bodies were fresh, emitting a cloying, sweet stench that made his belly turn, while others were old, their bones stripped by scavengers, bleached white by sun and time. The air pulsed with the low thrum of unseen bugs, a perpetual, buzzing counterpoint to the sorrowful rustling of wind through bony trees. The smell of rot was heavy, covering his tongue with a bitter coating that remained long after he had withdrawn it. And then, the visions—broken bones, rent flesh, and the dull sheen of ancient swords lying on the ground like abandoned toys, tokens of a long-forgotten war.

And yet, amidst the overwhelming presence of death and rot—

The Tree remained unscathed, a silent guardian in the devastation.

It towered in the distance, a great titan among the wasteland, its presence emitting an almost tangible strength.

Its bark glimmered like burnished steel, catching the faint, filtered light like a signal in the darkness. Its branches, twisted and knotted, stretched toward the sky as if in silent prayer, a sharp contrast to the shattered wasteland below. Hung on its branches were the fruits, deep red and pulsing softly, like they had their internal heart, a beat that harmonized with the very air. The tree observed him as if watching, its red fruits pulsating to an almost wolfish beat, inviting him in with an irresistible charm. Ryuxian did not dare take a step closer yet.

Not until he had bolstered himself until he have the strength to encounter whatever evil waited in the shade of that grand tree.

His belly roared, its grumbling warning of his precarious position. He was hungry, and he needed to be right now, in order to ignite his newfound strength.

His tongue lashed out, tasting the air, catching the movement—a rat, scrambling across the debris. Small, but still something to eat, a stepping stone to greater might.

His muscles wound tight, his instincts honing to razors, his senses keen as a razor's edge. I am a predator. I am danger incarnate. This rat doesn't have a prayer.

SHADOW.

His body stiffened, each scale quivering with terror, each nerve ending shouting a warning. A huge shape swooped over, obscuring the already fading light, and dropping a sickening shadow on the barren terrain. Freezing fear clutched him, crushing his heart like a vice, threatening to freeze him stiff.

A bird. A great big one. A predator, soaring overhead, its sharp eyes searching the ground below for food.

Ryuxian's thoughts whirling a mad rush of terrified ideas, a confused jumble of terror and urgency. Play dead? No, birds aren't fools. Hide? No time for that.

Run? But I—

The wind pressure struck him beforehand, a sharp, brutal gust that almost pushed him off his feet, a physical expression of the predator's will.

"Oh crap—!"

He teleported.

It wasn't planned, a strategy. It wasn't controlled, or polished. One instant he was on the ground, and the next—space distorted, warped, and hurled him a few meters ahead like a catapult stone, a wild eruption of unguided energy.

The bird let out a frustrated screech, its talons slapping into the earth where he had just been, gouging deep furrows into the ground. Ryuxian landed on the ground, rolling in an undignified tumble, scales rasping against the rough ground, his body thudding from the abrupt, jarring motion.

His heart was pounding like a drum, his breathing rough and shallow, his lungs searing with effort.

Did I live? How? What just happened?

He hardly had time to realize what had happened before he ran back to the cave, plunging headlong into the comforting shadows just as the bird flew back, its sharp eyes raking the ground, looking for its elusive quarry.

Panting, curled up tightly in the cold blackness, he looked down at himself, his obsidian mark throbbing dimly like a dying spark, a faint light in the darkness.

I can. teleport?

The thought struck him like a bolt of lightning, a rush of adrenaline laced with incredulity, a flicker of hope against desperate odds.

I have a power. A genuine one. I am not helpless. I am not prey.

He stretched his body tentatively, experimenting with the new strength, attempting to learn its boundaries, its possibilities. I must control this. I must be quicker. Stronger. I will not be prey again. I will be the predator.

Night descended, casting long shadows over the barren wasteland, darkening the shadows, making the silence more oppressive. Hours ticked by, and hunger clawed at him, a ravenous beast gnawing at his determination.

His eyes traveled back to the tree. The fruit.

Something in it beckoned to him, a siren's call of hidden strength, an unresistible draw that spoke deep within his soul.

This time, as he departed the cave, it wasn't in fear, in reluctance. It was in determination, burning zeal, ravenous hunger for power.

Slithering forward, he teleported in brief, spasmodic bursts—faster, smoother with each try, each leap. The power was still restricted, and unpredictable, but he was learning, adapting, and expanding. Step by step, he approached the tree, the source of the inescapable pull, the promise of something greater.

Close up, it was even more entrancing, its aura exuding an almost tangible magic, a hum that vibrated with his very essence. The magic emanating from it vibrated, nearly alive, pulsing with an ancient power. His tongue darted out, tasting the air—the fruit smelled unlike anything else, a seductive mix of sweetness and something ancient, something primal, something deadly.

His hunger blazed, a hungry need that overcame caution, a basic urge that drove him past fear.

Without hesitation, acting on instinct, on a desperate need—he attacked.

The flesh of the fruit was abnormally smooth, cold to the touch, a jarring contrast to the fierceness of his hunger. As soon as it hit his tongue—

Awakening… Glitch… The world flashed, like a malfunctioning illusion, reality itself bending and distorting, a mad kaleidoscope of shattered images.

Error: Predator is too weak.

Pain.

It was as if his whole body was being ripped asunder from the inside out, his very being unraveling, his existence shattered. His scales blazed, his vision distorted, the world bending in unnatural patterns, a kaleidoscope of pain, a symphony of suffering.

Then—

Darkness.

"The unknown does not care for your hesitation. It calls, and you answer—or you vanish."

"To step forward is to abandon the self that hesitates."

"Some doors, once opened, cannot be closed. Some fruits, once tasted, cannot be forgotten.