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Fifteen days before the Black Dragon forces were to enter the Hunters' Jungle, Ryan was perched on a high tree branch, studying the land below.
"So this is the only way in," he muttered, his eyes tracing the narrow path that cut through the dense foliage. "The path is large, but for 3,000 soldiers, it becomes a choke point. A big stone could crush many, but it's not enough. Fire alone would just scatter them." He needed something more, something unstoppable.
The sound of heavy thuds and angry bellows echoed through the trees. Ryan climbed down to investigate. Two massive oxen were locked in a fierce battle, their powerful bodies slamming into each other, their horns tearing up the earth.
A dangerous, brilliant idea ignited in his mind.
Yes. The oxen are the key to my victory!
He watched the raw, untamed power on display. "In this jungle, they are the only animals that stay together in large herds. And when they become crazed, they can destroy a city. But how can I make them crazy?" He looked at the dry brush around him. Fire.
He knew that when oxen see fire, they are consumed by a primal terror, charging through trees, walls, and anything in their path. This world's soldiers could never stand against such an attack.
The plan was set. It would take time.
For the next two weeks, Ryan worked relentlessly. He gathered vast amounts of dry plants and surrounded the oxen's grazing grounds with the highly flammable material, creating a perfect funnel leading toward the army's path.
The day finally arrived. The Black Dragon procession entered the jungle—a display of imperial might with spearmen, shielded swordsmen, and elite archers flanking the Prince.
From his mountain perch, Ryan didn't hesitate. He fired a single, flaming arrow.
It landed in the dry brush. The fire caught instantly, spreading with terrifying speed, creating a wall of flame that encircled the herd. Panic seized the animals. The only escape route was the jungle path—the very path filled with soldiers.
With a ground-shaking roar, the herd stampeded. A tidal wave of muscle, horn, and terror, some of their bodies now also wreathed in fire, smashed through the treeline and into the army.
Chaos erupted. Horses reared and threw their riders. The vanguard was trampled into the mud. The shield wall of the second squad shattered like glass under the relentless charge. Arrows flew, only enraging the beasts further.
The sky itself seemed to darken with the dust and despair. The Prince, his face a mask of terror, screamed a single command: "Run! Or all of us will be dead!"
His army broke, men abandoning their posts and comrades in a desperate, cowardly flight.
Ryan descended from the mountain. The battlefield was a graveyard. Nearly a thousand soldiers lay dead. He approached a great ox, fallen and pierced by arrows, its breath labored.
"I am sorry," Ryan whispered, his voice thick with a strange grief. "But your death will save everyone in this jungle. I am thankful to you. You are the true heroes." To end its suffering, he cut its throat, then took its skin and horns as a grim trophy.
With a heart feeling the first flicker of victory, he began the long journey home.
After seven days of travel, Ryan reached the edge of his village. But something was wrong. A deep, unnatural silence hung in the air.
"It is daytime. Why is no one here?"
A cold dread began to coil in his stomach. He ran from house to house, throwing open doors, but found only empty rooms. "Ryan, what is it?" he asked himself, his voice rising in panic. "I stopped the soldiers! So what is this? Why?"
He sprinted to his own home and threw himself against his parents' bedroom door.
A weak, rasping voice came from within: "Who are you?"
It was his father's voice, but it sounded ancient and broken.
"It is me, Ryan! Dad, open the door! What is it?"
A stronger, desperate shout answered him. "Don't, Ryan! Don't come in!" His father's voice was filled with a final, agonized strength. "After you left... a sickness came. A plague. Your mom... me... the whole village. All of them are dead. Only I remain, and it is my time. So, burn the whole village and leave! Now, Ryan!"
"But, Dad! But—"
His plea was cut off as flames erupted from within the room, consuming everything with a sudden, violent roar. Ryan fell to his knees, utterly broken. He had changed nothing. This was worse than the last time.
As the fire surrounded him, the world dissolved into a blinding, featureless white.
He was on his knees, his soul shattered. Then, a voice, boiling with pure anger, echoed around him.
"You are a fool, Ryan! You really think you can make everything fine? You can break fate?"
A figure emerged from the light and grabbed his face, forcing him to look. It was a boy who looked like him, but twisted—a being of fire with burning red eyes.
"Who are you?" Ryan gasped.
"I am the Wrath of your heart! And I am here to show you how weak you are!" The entity struck him, and Ryan fell. It sat on his chest, pounding him with fists of fire. "This is what you need to know. You are a fool. You need to die. I will take your body and take my revenge!"
Revenge?
The word was a spark in the darkness of Ryan's despair.
"No!" Ryan roared, finding a strength he didn't know he had. He grabbed the Wrath by its fiery hair. "You are not going to do this! The only one who can show them hell is me, not you!"
He wrestled the demon of his own anger, flipping their positions. Now he was on top, and all the pain, the loss, the helplessness, erupted from him. He struck the Wrath again and again.
"What do you know of me?" he screamed, his voice raw. "What do you know of how angry I am? How much pain I see? How it feels that you didn't save the people you love?"
His hands turned red, and the white void around them shifted to a deep, bloody crimson.
He finally stopped, his chest heaving. The Wrath's broken face looked up at him, and it was smiling.
"Ryan," it whispered. "You are worthy of my anger."
The creature dissolved into a stream of energy and flowed into Ryan's chest. In its place stood the green, armored soul he had seen before.
"RISE, RYAN!" a voice commanded, written in the blood of his conquered rage.
The green soul regarded him. "Ryan, you passed your first trial. Now we can go for the second."
Ryan pointed a trembling, bloodied finger. "First, tell me why I saw my family. If the first trial was defeating the Wrath, why that... that torture?"
The green soul's gaze was inscrutable. "After you end all of these trials, you will know yourself." It raised a hand, and the crimson world began to dissolve. "The second trial starts now."