Blood soaked the ground beneath him. Limbs broken, breath ragged, Lin Hao stared up at the sky that flickered behind the silhouette of a beast no man should witness in his final moments.
It towered over him—horns like twisted obsidian, scales that shimmered with malevolence, wings that blotted out the sun. Its maw opened slowly, revealing rows of jagged fangs. Death was moments away.
How... did it come to this?
He couldn't move. His body was finished. But his mind—his thoughts—raced back through the years like a storm of knives.
A thousand years had passed since Blue Planet had mutated. The world had never been the same. Humanity adapted. Some trained their bodies until they became weapons. Others—rare, exceptional few—awakened power within their minds, forming a dual path few could even comprehend. Lin Hao had walked one path, stumbled through the other, but neither had been enough.
He was thirty-five now. Broken. Alone. Waiting to be devoured.
And yet, he remembered love.
His father was a factory worker. No talents. No spark. But his hands were strong, his will stronger. He worked until his body gave out, just to feed them. Lin Hao remembered the hollow echo of the news when they told his mother, the way her body trembled but never broke.
She took up that burden without complaint. Two jobs. Three sometimes. She never smiled the same again, but she gave everything for him and his sister. When the compensation money finally came, it wasn't much, but it got them into the Academy.
It should have been the beginning.
Then the beast came.
A creature born of chaos, one of the first new wave mutations that shattered their city. Lin Hao hadn't been there. He was locked in detention, accused by sons of wealth and influence who twisted the truth to protect themselves. He defended himself—and they made him the villain.
By the time he got home, there was no home left.
His sister. His mother. Gone. Crushed beneath a collapsed apartment tower while he sat helpless, forced to stare at a wall under surveillance.
He never forgave himself.
A friend of his father's—an old man with eyes like carved stone—found him in the ruins. Took him in. Taught him the basics of martial arts. Not cultivation, not power—just the foundation of discipline, the art of surviving one more day.
At eighteen, Lin Hao barely passed into the military university. He wasn't gifted. Not like the sons of martial clans. Not like the chosen who awakened at six and were guided from the cradle. He was slow. Behind. But he fought, trained, clawed forward inch by inch.
Then, two years ago, the world changed again.
The beasts mutated further. Smarter. Deadlier. Cities fell in weeks. Only one remained now: Iron Citadel, humanity's last fortress.
And today... it too had fallen.
He was one of the last standing. Not because he was strong, but because death just hadn't found him yet.
Until now.
The dragon-beast descended, its breath reeking of rot and ash. Its eyes locked onto his, as if it understood the weight of his regrets.
He closed his eyes. No tears left.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to the ones he'd failed. "If I'd had another chance… if I'd started young… if I'd just known what I was capable of…"
The jaws snapped shut.
Darkness.
And then—
Light.
He gasped, jerking upright. Breath came in shallow, panicked bursts.
"Hao'er!"
A voice. Familiar. Too familiar.
He turned.
There she was.
His mother. Not broken. Not exhausted. Alive.
Holding a baby girl in her arms.
His sister.
He couldn't speak. Tears streamed down his face before he even realized it. He collapsed into her arms.
"You had a nightmare, didn't you?" she whispered, stroking his hair. "It's alright now."
Was it a dream?
No. The warmth in her arms, the scent of home, the weight of the world gone—it was real.
He pinched his cheek. Pain.
He was five years old again.
His chest heaved.
Not a dream. Not a fantasy.
Somehow... he had returned.
Lin Hao clenched his fists, still trembling. The memories of the future burned behind his eyes. The pain. The failure.
But this time—
This time, it will be different.
He would not wait. He would not be average. He would not be late.
The world didn't give second chances.
But now that he had one—
He would forge his path with blood, sweat, and fire.