He laughed.
A broken, trembling laugh that echoed across the valley of death.
It wasn't joy. It wasn't relief. It was the desperate, hysterical cry of a soul on the verge of collapse.
Raiyo laughed as his torn flesh knit itself slowly back together, his arms trembling, his lungs burning, and his consciousness dancing on the edge of unconsciousness. Blood still trickled from his lips, his vision was blurred, and his ribs pierced his own skin like broken branches.
He laughed—because silence would have been unbearable.
His entire body shook not from the pain, but from the weight of what he had become. He hadn't asked for this. None of it. He never wanted this cursed power, this endless bloodshed, this world of monsters and gods and meaningless trials. All he ever wanted… was to live.
A simple life.
Maybe boring.
Maybe average.
But peaceful.
The kind of life where mornings began with a warm breakfast and ended with quiet sunsets. Not this—this carnage. This abyss.
But peace died the day the portal opened in the sky. The day the stars bled.
And now, survival meant power. No matter how much it hurt.
With a trembling breath, he sat upright. The wound on his abdomen still oozed blackened blood. His shoulder had been ripped open during the fight against Cerberion, exposing bone. His right eye was nearly blind.
He couldn't risk dying now.
He wasn't allowed that peace—not yet.
So, Raiyo drew a circle with trembling fingers, pressing his hand against the cracked earth beneath him. A radiant dome of golden light expanded in all directions, forming a five-meter-wide Purification Barrier—a sanctuary carved into the heart of a battlefield.
Unlike the sacred lake, this wasn't a divine miracle.
It was his.
His own regeneration spell.
Weaker in speed, yes—but far more efficient now.
The Purification Barrier blocked ambient Yin, neutralized poisons, and enhanced his regenerative capabilities tenfold. Within its sanctified borders, the body rebuilt itself from the inside out. Muscles reattached. Organs reformed. The shell of death peeled away, and life bloomed once again.
He had earned this.
If he hadn't mastered it, he would have lost against Cerberion.
He would've been devoured like the rest.
Time passed slowly—minutes? Hours? He couldn't tell.
Each breath was a war.
Each heartbeat, a rebellion against death.
But eventually, the agony dulled into a simmering ache. The holes in his flesh closed. The bleeding stopped. His bones mended.
He lived.
He was whole—barely, but enough.
And now came the true test.
The field around him was silent, save for the whisper of the wind brushing across the mountain of corpses. Over a thousand wolves lay dead—black-furred monsters, their eyes lifeless, their essence lingering in the air like a storm waiting to break.
Raiyo stood, bare-chested and covered in dried blood. He extended a hand, and his palm began to glow with Yin-purple light.
Absorption.
The Yin energy of the wolves flowed toward him like a reversed waterfall—thick and cold, but manageable. It entered his upper dantian, spiraling inward, reinforcing his body, enhancing his affinity for balance.
Then came the real challenge.
The corpse of Cerberion still radiated power—an overwhelming, beastial hatred that lingered even in death.
Raiyo placed his palm against the three-headed monstrosity's chest.
Cerberion's Yin surged into him.
It was like trying to swallow a storm.
A monstrous, howling typhoon of domination, rage, and despair.
His eyes widened. His head pulsed with pain so intense he screamed, blood gushing from his nose and ears. His knees buckled. The energy didn't trickle—it invaded. A full-on assault into his dantian, seeking to possess, to corrupt, to enslave.
This Yin was alive.
It wanted him.
It wanted to dominate him, the same way Cerberion had dominated his pack.
This wasn't just power—it was will.
A will that refused to die.
"No... I won't be your puppet," Raiyo hissed, teeth gritted, blood painting his jaw.
He slammed his hands together.
Purification!
Purification!!
Purification...!!!
A torrent of divine light erupted from his core, golden and searing, flooding his entire body with Yang-based cleansing fire. His upper dantian shook under the pressure, threatening to collapse.
"Purify!"
The Yin twisted and screamed, but it could not overpower him. He had endured too much. He had climbed too high. He had stared death in the eyes and laughed.
And now, he conquered.
With one final pulse of light, the storm subsided.
Silence.
Raiyo fell back onto the ground, body steaming, fingers twitching.
He had absorbed it.
All of it.
And within that cursed Yin… a memory.
A skill.
Domination.
He saw it—how Cerberion once bent thousands of lesser demons to his will. How he broke their minds. Made them loyal. Made them fight. Made them die for him.
Now… that power was Raiyo's.
He could dominate lesser demons with a single glance.
Hold the will of equals for fleeting seconds.
A new weapon in his arsenal.
And yet, he felt nothing but cold.
His breath trembled. His eyes, now glowing faintly with gold light, stared up at the sky that had long since forgotten him. His heart felt heavier than ever.
Why?
Why him?
Why did the world choose him to carry this burden?
The corpses around him didn't answer.
But something else did.
Movement.
He felt it before he saw it.
From the west, the sharp cries of goblins.
From the east, the thunderous wings of shadowed creatures.
He turned his head.
There—on the edge of the horizon—green-skinned scouts skittered from the forest. Goblins. Cowardly and cunning. Drawn to death like flies to rot.
And from the skies—Nightwings. Bat-like demons with sharp claws and even sharper instincts. They swooped, their black wings casting long shadows across the crimson battlefield.
Both species were after the same thing: the corpses.
Cerberion's wolves were superior. Their flesh, their energy—it could spark evolution in the lower ranks. Strengthen them. Turn weaklings into soldiers.
But Raiyo had done the hunting.
And yet… they didn't even ask.
They fought.
The goblins screeched and hurled spears.
The Nightwings dived and clawed.
Blood sprayed. Bodies fell. The sky darkened with chaos.
And Raiyo, still lying on the ground, watched with a hollow stare.
"They're fighting over my kill..." he whispered, voice dry. "Tch… they didn't even ask permission."
His lips curled into a tired, bitter smile.
Then, an idea.
A terrible, delicious idea.
He sat up slowly.
And for the first time since the fight, he laughed again—not in despair.
But in calculated malice.
He raised a single hand and murmured the word:
"Domination"
A wave of invisible energy pulsed from his fingers, subtle and precise. It slithered into the minds of the goblins. Then into the Nightwings. No pain. No alarm.
Just whispers.
False truths.
To the goblins: "Cerberion's wolves have died, and the Nightwings now intend to devour their power. If they succeed, they will take your land later."
To the Nightwings: "Cerberion's wolves have died, the goblins found the corpses first and aim to evolve, seize Cerberion's territory, and enslave you"
He didn't even need to stay to see the results.
But he did.
Because it was funny.
Because it was tragic.
Because it was exactly the kind of insanity this world deserved.
Hours passed.
The sun never rose.
This place—Yomimori—had no sun.
Only gloom.
Only death.
Raiyo sat atop the corpse of Cerberion, flipping meat on a handmade grill made from broken bones and enchanted stones. The aroma of roasted wolf filled the air.
To the west: 5,000 goblins, armed to the teeth, charging through the woods.
To the east: 4,000 Nightwings, soaring like a black storm, answering the challenge.
And in the center…
Raiyo.
Cooking.
Silent.
Alone.
The sky cracked with the roars of war.
But he took another bite of his roasted meat.
"Well…" he muttered… eyes half-closed. "Bon appétit."
To be continued…