The last thing Kiran remembered was the stench of searing iron and his own burning flesh. The last sensations: the gauntleted grip on his nape, the hollow gaze of Baron Varek reflected in the ritual flames, and the bitterness of betrayal sharper than any blade. He screamed—a human scream—but what tore from his throat now was a ragged, discordant sound, choked by the icy air stabbing his new lungs.
Consciousness surfaced like drowning from a nightmare. He was trapped in something damp, suffocating, and vile. Blind instinct drove him to struggle, trying to tear through the shroud of darkness with something hard and sharp—a beak. With desperate force, the membrane ruptured.
The world that greeted him was a palette of greys and shifting shadows.
Cold. Bitterly cold. His downy feathers—feathers?—were soaked, plastered to skin wracked by violent shivers. He tumbled onto a soft surface reeking of decay. His body felt frail, tiny bones brittle as dry twigs. He tried to stand, but spindly legs trembled uncontrollably. His first wing-flap was an awkward slap against the damp air, sending him sprawling again.
Then, hunger came. Not a desire to eat. A physical agony gnawing, eroding the last shreds of his human mind. It felt like his gut was being gouged with a blunt knife. He emitted a short, panicked croak.
That's when the blood-text appeared at the edge of his vision, cold and undeniable, as if etched onto the air itself:
> `[Carrion Ascendancy Protocol - ONLINE]`
> `[Host Designation: Kiran - Status: Corvus Corax (Juvenile)]`
> `[Primary Objective: SURVIVE]`
> `[Warning: Biomass Critical. Locate Sustenance. Mortality Risk: 92%]`
System? Reincarnation? Crow? The remnants of Kiran, the betrayed blacksmith, rebelled. Impossible! A nightmare! But the gnawing hunger was more real, more urgent than any memory or denial. A pungent scent suddenly assaulted his new nostrils—the reek of fresh carrion, blood, and early decay. It triggered something primal within him, an undeniable magnetic pull. The System wasn't a savior. It was a whip on his wounded soul.
Survive, whispered something cold in his head, maybe the System, maybe his own tainted instinct. Or die. Again.
Trembling, Kiran pushed himself forward. Each step in the muck was torture. His legs sank, thorns snagging his damp fluff. Rustling sounds came from behind trees with trunks black and twisted like the hands of the tormented. Shadows swayed within the perpetual grey mist. Whispers—wind? Insects? Or something else?—hissed constantly in his ears, feeding paranoia. But the carrion stench grew stronger, guiding him like a beacon of death.
He found it behind a curtain of roots: **a wood rat, likely dead less than an hour. Half its belly was torn open, entrails spilled on the wet earth, buzzing with tiny flies. Blood still glistened crimson in the gloom. The sight triggered profound revulsion from his fading humanity. Saliva—bird saliva?—dripped unbidden from his beak. His stomach growled horribly.
No. I can't...
`[Potential Sustenance Detected. EXP Gain: Minimal]`, the System blinked emotionlessly.
Before his inner battle concluded, a low growl vibrated the air. From behind dense undergrowth, a creature with dull fur and red-glowing eyes lunged—a gaunt, starving weasel. Its eyes locked on the rat carcass, then on Kiran, seeing an obstacle or extra meat.
Panic. Kiran scrambled back, wings flapping chaotically. But the weasel was faster, experienced. It lunged, filthy claws swinging for Kiran's eyes. Sharp pain flared, followed by blind terror greater than anything he'd known as a human. I'll die again! Here! As weasel food!
His hatred for Baron Varek, his fear of a second death, and the maddening press of hunger fused into one. Something within him—perhaps `[Survivor's Scorn]`—boiled over. He wasn't Kiran the blacksmith anymore. He was a cornered animal. With a shriek of hatred and terror, he lunged back, pecking blindly at the weasel's eyes with his still-blunt beak.
The fight was dirty, short, and brutal. Feathers flew. Claws left red lines on Kiran's pinkish skin beneath his down. He fell, was trampled, tasted mud in his beak. But one desperate peck, driven by pure despair, found something soft on the weasel's face. Squelch! A disgusting sound. The weasel screamed—a piercing shriek—and recoiled, pawing at its bleeding face. It shot Kiran a pained, confused look before turning and vanishing into the brush.
Kiran lay gasping, breath rattling like a broken bellows. Pain radiated everywhere. But the rat carcass… was still there. Untouched. Unclaimed. His.
His last shred of humanity groaned, then drowned. He crawled to the corpse. His beak, without thought, tore into the still-warm flesh. The taste of raw meat, salty-metallic blood, matted fur—it flooded his mouth. It was revolting. Yet every morsel eased the terrible hunger, filling him with basic, biological warmth. He ate ravenously, eyes half-closed, driven by instinct and primal physical relief.
> `[Biomass Stabilized.]`
> `[EXP Gained: 5 (Scavenging)]`
> `[EXP Gained: 15 (Combat - Minor Threat)]`
> `[Total EXP: 20]`
The numbers appeared, cold and judging. He ignored them, focused on the physical satisfaction that felt so… profound. But as the hunger faded, revulsion and self-loathing crept back. He'd eaten carrion. Fought like a beast. What have I become?
The System gave him no time to brood:
> `[Accumulated EXP sufficient for Initial Evolution.]`
> `[Select Pathway:]`
> `- [Tough Feathers I] (Increased Resilience)`
> `- [Agile Wings I] (Improved Flight Maneuverability)`
> `- [Sharp Beak I] (Enhanced Piercing/Damage)]`
A choice. Kiran looked at his beak, still smeared with rat and weasel blood. He remembered its weakness against the weasel. He remembered Baron Varek's cold face. He needed a weapon. Something to hurt. To kill. "Need a weapon," he thought, his inner voice hoarse with trauma and despair. He chose `[Sharp Beak I]`.
> `[Selection Confirmed: Sharp Beak I.]`
> `[Initiating Minor Morphogenesis...]`
The pain struck sudden and vicious. Not normal pain, but like white-hot iron being forged onto his face. His jawbone creaked, shifting, hardening. Nerves at the beak's base ignited, sending electric jolts of agony into his brain. He thrashed on the ground, emitting pained, ragged caws. Flashes of ritual fire, searing iron, Baron Varek's face merged with the present torment. The process lasted seconds, yet felt eternal. Then, abruptly, it stopped.
He lay gasping in the mud. Something was different. His beak felt… heavier, denser, sharper. He touched it with a claw, feeling the newly honed, horn-like point. `[Sharp Beak I] Active.` A cold satisfaction flowed through him, not from the System, but from within. He glanced at the rat remains. Not just food anymore. It was proof of his victory. He felt a sharp, small urge to rend it further. An unnatural chill settled in his chest, replacing some of the revulsion.
Exhaustion overwhelmed him. With his last strength, he hid beneath the sprawling roots of a massive tree, his damp feathers making him shiver. His mind spun: his death, the betrayal, the terrible hunger, the filthy fight, his new beak… and Baron Varek. Vengeance was the only warmth left in him, a red ember in the dark.
He had just closed his eyes, seeking impossible rest, when a new scent infiltrated his nostrils. Different. Deeper. More… hollow than normal decay. Like freshly turned grave soil and something rotting from the inside out. The System reacted coldly:
> `[Warning: Anomalous Death Energy Signature Detected - 500 Meters North-East.]`
> `[Classification: Potential Void Plague Vector.]`
From the indicated direction, through the black trees and mist, came a sound: a dry, rasping cough, unlike any healthy beast or man. It was cut short by the heavy crash of a large body collapsing, followed by the horrific crunch of bone. The wrongness of the death-stench intensified, seeping into his new nerves.
Kiran froze. Every feather stood on end. His dark, round eyes fixed sharply on the north-eastern gloom. His new, hard-sharp beak snapped shut reflexively with a loud click in the sudden forest hush. The System's cold whisper felt like ghostly laughter in his skull.
"Survive," it seemed to say.
And this time, the darkness reaching for him felt… profoundly different.