Chapter 1: The Blind Beast
Darkness. That was all he knew.
A thick, endless void stretched before him, filling his mind, his soul, his existence.
He could hear the distant, hollow sound of dripping water. His body felt heavy, weak. The damp, metallic scent of rust filled his nose, mixing with something more acrid—something rotting. The cold ground beneath him sent chills through his bones. His fingers twitched as he tried to move, but even that small action felt like an eternity of struggle.
Where was he? Who was he?
Fragments of a past life—or was it past lives?—flashed in his mind. He remembered dying. Memories—no, fragments of something—floated at the edge of his consciousness, but when he reached for them, they scattered like dust in the wind. His body felt foreign, unfamiliar. The cold steel blade of the warden piercing through his chest. The last breath escaping his lips as his blood spilled onto the cracked ground. But now... he was here again. Alive. But changed.
His hands trembled as he tried to look at them. They still felt human, but something felt... off. His nails had grown slightly longer, almost claw-like. His skin was tougher, his senses sharper than before. His muscles were stiff, his skin raw, his breath shallow. But most of all, he was blind. His ears twitched at distant echoes of growls and howls from the abyssal depths of the prison.
This isn't normal.
He tried to recall his own name, his past. But there was nothing. Only a faint whisper in his mind, an echo of something deep within him. And then, as though answering his confusion, a voice—no, a presence—resonated from within.
There was nothing but endless, suffocating darkness.
He wanted to scream, but his throat was dry, cracked, as if he hadn't spoken in years. Instead, he listened. The sound of chains rattling somewhere far away, the scuttling of small creatures across jagged stone floors, the echo of something massive breathing in the depths of this forsaken place.
A prison. He was in a prison.
But why?
Then, pain—searing, burning pain lanced through his skull. He gasped, his body arching, his nerves igniting as if set aflame. His mind flooded with fragmented memories, pieces of himself that didn't fit together.
Experiments. Needles piercing his flesh. Voices discussing his 'failure.' His body rejecting the modifications. A cold, clinical decision to discard him.
"Dispose of it."
That was the last thing he remembered.
His breathing grew ragged as the realization settled. He wasn't blind by birth—they had taken his sight from him. The experiments had left him broken, tossed away like trash.
And yet… he was still alive.
Something stirred deep inside him, something primal, something that refused to die. His hands clenched against the stone floor. His nails, sharper than he expected, scraped against the surface.
He wouldn't die here. He refused to die here.
The Hunger Awakens
The hunger came suddenly. It wasn't normal hunger—it was something deeper, more terrifying. It gnawed at his insides like a beast clawing its way out. His stomach twisted painfully, but it wasn't food he craved.
It was flesh.
His body screamed for sustenance, for something raw, something alive. His fingers trembled as he pushed himself up, his movements shaky.
Blind as he was, he had to rely on his other senses. His ears caught the faintest echoes of movement. Small creatures, breathing, heartbeats. Prey.
He moved, crawling at first, then forcing himself to his feet. His legs protested, weak from disuse, but he didn't stop. Each step was uncertain, his feet brushing against the uneven stone ground, every small sound amplified in his world of darkness.
Then, a whisper in the silence.
Something breathed just ahead.
His instincts screamed. He lunged forward, arms outstretched. His fingers met something warm, something small and wriggling. A rat.
It shrieked, but he didn't hesitate. His hunger took over, his body moving on its own. His teeth sank into the struggling creature, hot blood filling his mouth. He tore into the flesh, his mind clouding as an overwhelming rush of energy pulsed through his veins.
He devoured it whole.
And then… something changed.
The Chaos Seed Stirs
Pain erupted through him, sharp and unbearable. His body convulsed, his bones cracking, his muscles spasming. Something inside him was shifting, mutating.
Then, suddenly, his world wasn't dark anymore.
No, he still couldn't see—not in the normal sense. But he could feel something new.
Shapes. Vibrations. The world around him painted itself in strange, distorted images, as if his mind was assembling a picture from the sounds and energy flowing through the air.
He reached out. The walls weren't solid masses anymore; he could sense their cracks, the faint pulses of something alive moving behind them. The ground wasn't just stone—it was a canvas of sensations, marking every twitch of movement.
The Chaos Seed within him pulsed, a faint, rhythmic thrum that echoed in his chest. It was alive, a living thing nestled deep within his core. He didn't understand it, but he knew one thing: it was the source of his transformation.
Memories—fragmented, fleeting—surfaced. A laboratory. Cold, clinical voices. "The Seed is unstable. Dispose of it."
They had tried to kill him, to destroy the Seed. But they had failed.
His lips curled into a grim smile. They had thought him a failure, a broken experiment. But they were wrong.
The Seed was not a curse. It was a gift.
The Chaos Seed within him pulsed. The failed experiment, the discarded 'beast,' had begun its evolution.
His hunger returned, more intense than before. But now, he understood something vital.
The more he devoured, the stronger he would become.
His transformation had only begun.
The First Hunt
Something bigger lurked nearby.
He could feel it, the slow, deliberate breaths of a predator. It was waiting. Watching.
It wasn't a mere rat—it was something stronger. Perhaps another failed experiment. Another prisoner.
His fingers curled into fists. He had no weapons. No vision. But he had adaptation.
Slowly, he crouched, his body lowering into the stance of a beast ready to pounce. Every vibration, every breath, every subtle movement in the air painted the battlefield before him. The creature ahead took a step closer, its claws clicking against the stone.
Then, it lunged.
He moved purely on instinct, dodging by inches. He could feel its hot breath, its rancid scent, the brush of fur as it passed by. He reacted—not with thought, but with hunger.
His hand shot out, claws sinking into the creature's neck. It howled, thrashing, but he didn't let go. His teeth found flesh, tearing, consuming. Blood rushed down his throat, and with it, another surge of evolution.
His body convulsed again.
A new sensation—his ears twitched, shifting, sharpening. Sounds became clearer, more detailed. He could hear the heartbeat of the beast slowing, its life fading. He could hear the whispers of other creatures, hidden in the shadows, sensing the shift in power.
For the first time, the blind beast was no longer prey.
He stood over the carcass, blood dripping from his lips, and let out a slow, steady breath.
He was not a failure.
He would devour them all.
He would survive.