Your foreign body twitches with unnatural life.
You jolt awake on a bed of ash and bone. Broken blades and burnt spears jut from the ground like makeshift tombstones. Smoke lingers over corpses not yet cold. Your chest rises. You don’t remember how — only that you shouldn’t be breathing. Yet the air pushes in, thick with iron and rot.
Around you, the battlefield holds its breath; The silence is too loud. Somewhere behind your eyes, something stirs — not memory. Not quite dream. Something ancient. Something waiting.
You were not lost. You were claimed — and now unbound.
〘 CHOOSE WHAT YOU HAVE BECOME 〙
⟴ Orc — Your name is a warcry they learnt to scream in their sleep.
⟴ Werewolf — The moon grants no mercy. It only shows what claws beneath.
⟴ Wendigo — What’s left of you whispers louder than your flesh ever begged to.
⟴ Blightdrake — The dragon’s blood curdled in you. What hatched hungers for fire.
⟴ Skinwalker — You shed skin like others shed lies. But yours twitch when left behind.
⟴ Shadowling — Shadows cling to your skin; claws poise to carve fate’s cruel tale.
⟴ Kitsune — You lie so sweetly, even the truth now wears your face.
