Douluo Dalu:Shards of Fate

The village streets teemed with life as merchants hawked their wares and townsfolk hustled up and down the cobblestone roads. Ryo was on his own, which suited him just fine; his crimson eyes scanned their surroundings as he made for the small hotel Li had arranged for them. The old man had gone to attend to some business, leaving Ryo to his own devices for the time being.

Oh, the day was so bright—the sun shone warmly overhead—but Ryo certainly couldn't shake the feeling of unease that stirred under his skin. Deliberate, he stepped lightly, his gaze sharp.

Soon, he became aware that he could hear the faint echo of footsteps behind him. The echoing of footsteps wasn't loud, but it was distinct enough to make him acknowledge it. He slowed down a little, his head cocked slightly as if to listen.

The footsteps also significantly slowed down.

Ryo stopped.

The footsteps stopped.

He whirled abruptly, his glowing red eyes locking onto the figure of a man standing several paces behind him. The beggar.

The man was in tattered clothes; his frame hunched, and a hood cast a shroud over much of his face. Still, as he moved closer, Ryo had a glimpse of keen, pale features and eyes that shimmered unnaturally, almost as if the light in them reflected the void itself. His skin was sickly, ashen, and perfect veins as dark as ink spread over his cheeks and neck with faint overstrain.

"Can I help you?" Ryo asked coldly. His voice was steady—but the tension was stealing into his shoulders.

The beggar didn't say a word. He took another step closer, his head tipping as he peered deep into Ryo's red eyes. Then he brought up a thin, spindly hand and delicately lifted Ryo's chin.

Ryo moved without thought. His foot lashed out in a sharp, precise kick, slamming into the beggar's chest and sending him stumbling backward.

The man's hood fell, and his full face was disclosed: a cavernous face, high cheekbones, greying hair falling around his shoulders in lank strands. Eyes sunken and gleaming with some subtle light, lips curled in a thin smile.

"A hatred eternal," the beggar whispered, his voice all hoarse but strangely echoing. "So pure, buried so deep and yet lingering there."

Ryo's crimson eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

The beggar was like a harbinger of doom, staring into him as if right through Ryo's soul. "Do you know what you are, boy?" he rasped, taking a slow step forward.

Before Ryo could get another word in, his fist suddenly lashed out, and his knuckles cracked against the beggar's jaw. The force of the punch sent him sprawling to the ground, but even as he fell, he let out a rasping chuckle.

The beggar sprang to his feet with surprising swiftness, his body unnaturally fluid. "Interesting," he muttered, his eyes aglow with something akin to fanaticism. Then, in a flash, and before Ryo could attack again, the man whirled and ran into the darkness of a narrow alleyway and disappeared from view.

Ryo dusted his hands and turned back toward the hotel, his expression tranquil despite the surreal confrontation. He turned back toward the hotel, where he noticed Li was standing some way off, his half-moon mustache quivering as if with apprehension.

"You look unconcerned," Li said, his voice laid-back, but his keen eyes studied Ryo closely. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Ryo answered curtly.

Li didn't look convinced. Closer, his features changed as he set a hand on Ryo's shoulder. His brow creased, his fingers clamping down on Ryo's shoulder. "Something's wrong."

Ryo blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

Li didn't answer immediately. His eyes narrowed as he focused, his hand remaining on Ryo's shoulder. He sensed two very weak, unfamiliar energies caught within Ryo's own, buried just beneath the surface. One was cold and synthetic, dark tendrils that barely held on to life, and the other foreign, yet somehow inert.

Li's mustache flickered and his face darkened, but in a flash, he relaxed again. "Forget it," he said finally, turning away. "Let's get you inside."

He motioned for Ryo to sit on the bed, and back in the hotel room, Li's usual casual demeanor had turned into something a little more serious, though he tried to mask it behind a calm exterior. "Take your shirt off," Li said, abrupt, and not allowing for dissent.

Ryo scowled but did as instructed, tugging off his yawning shirt to reveal a pale, lean torso. Li's eyes scanned him closely, searching for some visible mark of abnormality. His palm traced gentle patterns across Ryo's back and over his chest as furrows deepened in his brow.

But there was nothing.

No marks, no visible abnormalities, no corruption could be seen. Other than the faint glow of vitality bestowed upon him by the blessing of the Goddess of Life, Ryo was perfectly normal.

Li leaned back, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You're fine," he said in a perfectly neutral tone. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

Ryo said nothing else, his head merely cocking a little to one side, the crimson of his eyes furrowing. "Then why do you look so serious?"

Li waved a hand dismissively, his crescent moon-shaped mustache twitching as he forced a grin. "It's nothing, boy. Just an old man being overly cautious." Standing, he brushed off his hands. "Rest up. I have some things to take care of."

Without waiting for an answer from his companion, Li quietly excused himself, closing the door softly behind him.

Ryo let his thoughts wander and sat cross-legged on the floor with his glowing eyes fixed upon the silent glass box floating in his palm.

It looked fragile, almost useless. But Ryo refused to believe it. There had to be more to it.

Then, with a mighty clench of his fist, the box exploded into countless shards, each of which gleamed like crystal in the dim light. The shards hung suspended in the air, shifting now slowly, now jerkily, as Ryo concentrated on them. His eyebrows knit in effort as tiny droplets of perspiration began to bead his forehead while he strove to master the pieces.

It was tiring. The shards resisted his will; their movements were confused and uncoordinated. Gradually, he coaxed them with a great deal of effort back into the shape of the box, frustration simmering below the surface. "There has to be more to this," he muttered, low in his throat. "Storage. It's got to store something."

And then, with this thought in his mind, the world shifted.

In an instant, he was standing in a void: endless white, without ground, without sky, without horizon. No time was passing, no sound arose, nothing moved, and there was nothing but infinite emptiness.

Ryo's crimson eyes widened as he looked around, confusion and curiosity warring inside him. "What... is this?"

He reached out for something, anything to touch, anything to hold onto. The void pressed in upon him, expansive and unforgiving, yet peculiarly connected to him, a part of his very soul.

"This isn't storage," he muttered, frowning. "It's... something else."

It pulsed faintly, somehow as if it was answering his thoughts, but no answers came from the void.