The world had not always been this way.

There was once an age when humans ruled, when their civilizations stretched across vast lands, their banners fluttering atop castles and cities of stone and steel.

Kingdoms warred against kingdoms, empires rose and fell, yet through it all, humanity remained the dominant race.

But then, the apocalypse came.

No one knew the exact moment it began, only that one day, the sky cracked open, and reality itself seemed to shatter.

The first to emerge were the demons — twisted, nightmarish beings that seeped through the rifts between worlds, bringing destruction with them.

They did not wage war like men. They did not conquer through strategy or diplomacy. Instead, they corrupted everything they touched.

The land itself became sick, twisting into grotesque shapes. The sky darkened, the sun itself seeming to wither beneath their influence.

Then came the creatures of the night — vampires and werewolves.

Once hidden in the dark corners of the world, they now walked openly, no longer needing to fear human retaliation.

They descended upon the remnants of civilization like scavengers feasting on a dying beast, their fangs and claws carving out their own empires in the ruins of humanity.

The balance of power shifted.

For the first time in history, humans were no longer at the top of the food chain.

The world was now divided into fractured territories. The few remaining human strongholds were fortresses built out of desperation, surrounded by walls thick enough to withstand an invasion and defended by warriors wielding the last remnants of magic and steel.

Outside these bastions, the world belonged to monsters.

Some humans resisted, taking up arms and forming warrior clans, attempting to carve out an existence in the ruins.

Others submitted, choosing servitude over death, offering themselves as cattle to the vampires or as slaves to demonic overlords.

And then there were the truly desperate, those who simply survived day by day, clinging to the scraps left behind by stronger beings.

It was a brutal world.

A world where the weak were crushed beneath the weight of fate.

A world where someone like Alexian Veynor was doomed from the start.

Alexian sat hunched against the crumbling wall of a nameless alley in the slums, his body curled in on itself as he fought off the relentless gnaw of hunger.

The streets were nothing more than filth and decay, the air thick with the stench of unwashed bodies and rotting refuse.

Rats scurried between the broken cobblestones, their emaciated forms mirroring the state of the people who lived here.

He had woken up in this body three days ago.

And in those three days, he had learned one undeniable truth: this world did not care if he lived or died.

His fingers traced the edges of his own ribs beneath the thin, ragged shirt he wore. His body was weak, frail, malnourished from years of starvation.

His muscles ached, not from exertion, but from sheer lack of sustenance.

He had nothing.

No money. No home. No allies.

Only a stolen name and a past that didn't belong to him.

Because he wasn't Alexian Veynor.

Not truly.

In his mind, there were memories — distant, fractured images of another life. A life of bright lights and towering skyscrapers, of warm beds and food that came without struggle.

A life where he had been someone else entirely, in a world where magic and monsters were nothing more than fiction.

That life was gone.

And now, he was here.

In a body that wasn't his.

In a world where being human meant being prey.

His stomach growled, the ache in his gut sharpening to a painful knot. Hunger. A reminder of his mortality.

A warning that if he didn't find food soon, this second chance at life would be just as short as the first.

He needed to move.

With effort, he pushed himself to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him. The slums were a dangerous place, but danger was nothing new.

Even in his past life, the world had been full of predators — men who fed on the weak, who took and took until there was nothing left.

He just had to be faster.

Smarter.

He made his way through the winding alleys, his eyes scanning the crowds that gathered near the marketplace.

The slums sat at the edge of the city, close enough to the trade districts that a few desperate merchants still set up shop, selling whatever they could to the poor and destitute.

Dried bread. Rotten vegetables. Meat of questionable origin.

And most importantly — silver coins.

His gaze locked onto a man counting a handful of coins, their dull gleam reflecting the midday sun. He was well-dressed, but not a noble.

A merchant, perhaps. Someone who would notice a missing coin but not risk his life over it.

Just one silver.

That was all he needed.

He moved carefully, his body slipping through the crowd like a shadow. His fingers brushed against the edge of the man's coin pouch —

A hand caught his wrist.

His heart froze.

"You little rat," the merchant growled, his grip tightening like iron. "You think you can steal from me?"

Alexian yanked his arm, but the man's grip was unrelenting. Panic flared through him, his mind racing for an escape.

"I — "

Bang!

A gunshot split the air.

Pain.

A hot, searing force slammed into his side, knocking the breath from his lungs. His body twisted, his legs giving out beneath him as he crashed into the dirt.

The world spun.

His vision blurred.

Distantly, he heard screaming. The sound of people running, fleeing in all directions. The merchant who had shot him didn't linger — he turned and bolted, disappearing into the chaos like a coward.

The pain spread, molten fire burning through his ribs.

His fingers twitched weakly against the dirt. His breath came in short, ragged gasps.

Dying.

The realization was distant, almost absurd. He had just gotten here. He had barely begun to understand this world, and already, he was dying on the streets like some nameless beggar.

Then, something shifted.

A voice — no, a presence — echoed through his mind.

[System Initializing…]

The pain dulled, replaced by something else. A warmth that wasn't natural, something ancient stirring within his very blood.

[Host Detected. Binding to Bloodline System…]

His vision blurred, his mind pulling away from reality.

Memories that weren't his flooded through him — no, they were his. Memories of a boy who had starved, who had suffered, who had fought for every scrap of food.

Memories of a world ruled by monsters.

And beneath it all, something deeper.

Something that had always been there, waiting.

[Bloodline Evolution Initiated.]

His body convulsed.

Power surged through him. His veins burned, his skin tingling with an energy that was neither magic nor human. His wounds closed, his breathing steadied.

He was changing.

Becoming something more.

[Evolution Complete – Human (Primed).]

His fingers clenched into the dirt.

The people who had been watching — those who had thought he was dead — began to murmur.

Whispers of fear. Of something unnatural.

He couldn't stay.

Gritting his teeth, Alexian pushed himself up — his limbs moving faster, stronger than before. His ribs no longer ached. His heartbeat no longer felt fragile.

He ran.

Away from the marketplace, away from the prying eyes of the slum-dwellers, into the depths of the city's abandoned alleys.

He was supposed to be dead.