Douluo Dalu:Shards of Fate

Clang. 

Clang. 

 Loud metallic rattling of chains reverberated through the bleakly lit, cavernous chambers. Ryo's bare feet slapped against cold, rough stone, spreading behind him thin smudges of blood. His soles were raw and swollen, the skin tearing on every desperate step, but he kept running. He couldn't stop.

Snarling erupted behind him, off the dark walls; a guttural, bone-shaking growl broke through the cacophony and Ryo dared a glance over his shoulder. 

They were coming. 

A pack of monstrous hounds bounded after him on grotesquely muscular legs, each hound the size of a small tower. Their black fur was matted with blood, their snarling mouths wide in rows of jagged teeth glinting like splinters of bone, while their eyes glowed red as embers, searing into him unrelenting and feral. They were nightmare creatures born of this hellish place. 

Forcing the sobs back, Ryo pushed himself harder, ignoring the searing pain in his legs. In front of him, the chains shackled to his wrists and ankles clattered wildly with his movements, the iron biting into his pale skin. His mother's voice echoed within his mind, haunting him like a ghost. 

"Ryo, run away now. Run away from this hell, run away from this damned place, and promise me. Promise me that you will survive..." 

"Mother," he whispered. His voice cracked, and his piercing red eyes welled with tears. 

He stumbled, faltering in his speed as the weight of her dying words crushed him. He should not have looked back. 

And there was no image of her, only the beasts that swarmed in her stead. 

She was gone, obviously, she'd died because of him; because he existed. 

Because of what he was. 

A savage snarl snapped him out of his daze. One of the dogs sprang, its huge maw snapping just inches from his head. Ryo let out a strangled cry, diving to the side, barely dodging the beast's attack. The hound slammed into the stone wall, sending shards of rock flying. 

The other dogs did not falter. They ascended, relentless. 

He scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding like a war drum. No weapons, no soul technique in his armory of defense—only his mother's last stand had bought him this chance. Her blood had drenched the floor of the chamber behind him, her enemies dead at her feet. And now... now it was left to him to make it out alive. 

He clenched his teeth as the chain on his wrist dug deeper into his skin when he clutched it tightly. He had to fight; otherwise, he would die here. No, worse—her sacrifice would have been for nothing. 

The hounds sprang again, this time faster than before. Ryo was ready for them this time. Twisting his body, he sent the chain in his hand taut and swung his arm in a powerful sweep. The iron links cut across the beast's face, issuing a sharp crack at stunning volume. The hound let out a pained yelp as its glowing eyes flickered small, falling limp on the ground, blood pooling from the gash in its skull. 

Ryo stumbled backward, chest heaving. The metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils, thick and suffocating. 

The remaining dogs paused for only half an instant. Their scarlet orbs narrowed while they danced circles around him. 

Then they charged all at once. 

Ryo's vision blurred, his mind consumed with panic and exhaustion. Screaming, he lashed out in wild arcs with the chain; the links caught one hound across its snarling muzzle. Another leaped at him, claws grazing his shoulder before he let himself fall under its massive body. 

The battle was chaotic—a maelstrom of blood, snapping jaws, the clang of iron ringing in his ears. His world reduced to nothing but survival. 

It wasn't until the last dog fell, crumpling into a pile of bloody flesh, that Ryo sank to his knees. His hands were shaking as he stared around at the carnage, his pale face smeared with blood—most of it not his. 

 He was alive. Barely. 

 The distant sound of howls snapped him out of his stupor. More were coming. He couldn't stay here. 

Dragging himself to his feet, Ryo moved reeling towards the light in the distance. The air grew colder with every step, the stuffy heat of the chamber giving way to a biting chill. He could see his breath by the time he made it out. 

He emerged into blinding whiteness. 

Before him lay endless snow-capped mountains, and the wind whistled through it, shrill and forlorn, like the cry of a mournful spirit. Now the sun was low upon the horizon and cast a red-and-gold glow over the jagged peaks. Ryo fell into the snow, cold seeping into his bloody torn flesh. For a moment, he lay in the snow, too exhausted to ever rise again. 

But he was not allowed to rest, not yet. 

"Because of me... she's gone." The guilt wore at him, sharper than tooth or claw. He clenched his fists and the chains on his wrists jingled softly.

He would keep his word. 

He will survive and destroy those wretched bastard

Whatever the cost.

---

Bloody footprints and jagged drag marks marred the pristine snow of the valley.

A small boy stumbled through the frost, his pale frame trembling, his glowing red eyes dim with exhaustion. Each breath escaped as a faint puff of mist, and his bare feet left streaks of crimson across the icy expanse. Behind him, heavy chains carved deep grooves into the whiteness as they dragged through the snow.

"Must… survive," Ryo thought. The mantra echoed faintly in his weary mind, the only thing keeping him moving. His frostbitten hands trembled as they struggled to pull the weight of the chains forward, but his strength was fading. Frost clung to his black-and-red hair, and his pale skin bore countless bruises and cuts, a grim testament to his suffering.

"Must survi…" The words dissolved into nothing as his knees buckled, and he collapsed into the snow. He began to roll down the slope, the chains clattering noisily behind him. Snow swirled around him in a chaotic blur of white until he finally came to a stop at the bottom of the valley, a crumpled and bloodied heap.

The cold seeped deep into his bones, numbing everything. He opened his crimson eyes briefly, the tears on his cheeks freezing as his vision began to fade.

He wanted to scream, but his body was too far gone. Darkness closed in, and Ryo slipped into unconsciousness.

---

He wasn't alone in the dark. Dreams clawed at him—fragments of memories he couldn't escape.

"My name is… what was my name?"

The thought drifted sluggishly through the haze of his shattered mind. "Before. My current name is Ryo… but before? I can't remember."

In his dreams, the memories sharpened.

"I wasn't born. I was incubated. A cruel experiment. My mother… she hated me. I remember her hands, shaking as they wrapped around my neck. She tried to kill me."

The images flickered in his mind. Her face—tear-streaked, anguished—as she wrestled with the monstrous task forced upon her. His small, gasping body, choking for air as her grip faltered.

"But I survived. I shouldn't have, but I did."

Then, something changed. She couldn't finish it. Months passed, and maternal instinct overpowered the hatred that had been sown in her. "She became my sanctuary in that cursed place. My mother refused to give me up for further experiments, no matter what they did to her. She shielded me. Protected me."

Ryo stirred faintly in his unconscious state, the sound of chains jingling softly against the snow. The memories continued, relentless.

"We escaped together. But it cost her everything. My mother… my mother."

The final image burned itself into his mind: her lifeless body sprawled across the cold chamber floor, blood pooling beneath her. She had been his shield until the bitter end, sacrificing herself to buy him time to flee.

---

A sharp jolt yanked him from the dream. Ryo's crimson eyes snapped open as he let out a strangled gasp. His small body jerked upright, but pain lanced through him, forcing him to collapse against the rough wood beneath him.

"Whoa, easy there, boy."

The voice was warm and gruff, like embers glowing in a winter hearth. Ryo blinked rapidly, his vision swimming. His head throbbed, and the sharp scent of spices and smoked meat filled his nostrils—a stark contrast to the blood and frost of before.

As his sight cleared, he realized he was lying in a caravan. The cramped, rickety space rocked gently as it moved, its patched curtains swaying with the motion. The rough wood beneath him was softened by a heavy blanket draped over his frail body, and the warmth of a nearby brazier warded off the cold.

"Morning, sleepyhead," the voice said again.

Ryo turned his head, locking eyes with an old man sitting across from him. The man's weathered face was marked with years of experience, but his expression radiated kindness. Most striking of all was the enormous crescent-shaped mustache adorning his face—pure white, curling outward like the horns of a moon. Comical in size, it somehow conveyed authority, complementing his wiry frame.

The man smiled warmly, holding out a skewer of steaming meat. "You look half-dead, boy. Eat this."

Ryo hesitated only briefly before snatching the food. He devoured it ravenously, his trembling hands clutching the skewer as if it might vanish. The warmth of the meal filled his hollow stomach, spreading through him like life itself.

The old man watched in silence, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "What happened to you, son?"

Ryo froze. The skewer shook in his hands as he lowered his gaze, his voice raw and hoarse. "They killed her."

The old man's face fell, his eyes softening as he took in the boy's battered form—his torn wrists, the blood-streaked chains, and the haunted glow in his crimson eyes.

"What a cruel fate, my boy," the man murmured after a long pause. Leaning forward, he pulled the trembling child into a firm but gentle embrace.

Ryo stiffened, his small body rigid with distrust. But the man's arms remained steady, his warmth painfully familiar. Something inside Ryo's chest ached as he allowed himself to be held. It wasn't the same—it never could be—but it reminded him of his mother.

"They killed her," Ryo whispered again, his voice cracking. A single tear rolled down his cheek. "My mother. They killed her because of me."

The old man stroked the boy's blood-matted hair. "Shhh," he murmured. "You're alive, son. That's what matters now."

---

That night, as the caravan swayed gently under the moonlit sky, the old man handed Ryo a steaming bowl of soup.

"Well, son," the man said, his crescent-shaped mustache twitching as he smiled, "my name's Li Anye. What's yours?"

"Ryo," the boy said softly, his voice still hoarse. "No last name."

Li Anye frowned thoughtfully, stroking his mustache. "No last name, eh? That won't do." His face lit up as he grinned. "Well, if you've got no family name, how about I give you mine?"

Ryo blinked, his crimson eyes wide. "Yours…?"

"Li Ryo," the old man declared, nodding as though it was already settled. "You're small enough to be my grandson, and I'm old enough to need one. How does that sound?"

Ryo hesitated, clutching the bowl tightly. He didn't know what to say. A name, a family… it felt like too much to accept.

Li Anye chuckled, his laughter filling the small caravan. "Don't overthink it, boy. You're Li Ryo now. That's all there is to it."

For the first time in what felt like ages, Ryo let out a faint, broken laugh. It was weak and bittersweet, but it was real.

"That night," Ryo would later reflect, "I gained something I never thought I'd have again. A family. A dying old man with a mustache like the crescent moon. A grandfather."