The Primal Blood Demonic Dragon

Gin remained still for a long time.

Even with his spiritual sense tightly woven around the area within a few tens of meters, he hesitated to move. His silver-blue form glimmered faintly beneath the forest’s filtered light, nestled in the shade of a half-collapsed ridge and surrounded by the lingering remnants of blood energy mixed with elemental. His body still ached, dull pulses of pain trailing through his muscles like fading aftershocks from an earthquake but the greater turmoil lay in his mind.

How was he supposed to approach them?

The others the ones he’d once traveled beside, spoken with, stayed beside as more than just a companion were just ahead. Unaware that the wolf prowling the ruined landscape was the very person they might be mourning. Or worse... fearing. He had no idea what he looked like to them now. His body, majestic as it was, was foreign even to him. He still hadn’t come to terms with it.

Would they attack first and ask questions later?

Would they even believe him if he tried to explain?

The uncertainty gnawed at him.

He lowered his head slightly, letting his ears fold back, eyes still closed but spiritual sense wide and alert. Every breath he took came with a strange blend of wild instinct and primal reasoning. The wolf’s sharp nose picked up faint scents burnt earth, corrupted blood, the metallic tinge of recently spilled elemental energy. But his primal awareness filtered those details into thought, into concern, into strategy.

’Think Gin. Don’t rush.’

So he stayed hidden among jagged stones and shattered tree roots, pacing occasionally in slow, cautious circles. Each step came with care. His muscles tensed and relaxed in rhythm, his balance gradually adjusting to this new form. There was grace in the movement, even wounded but it lacked the ease of instinct. He was still adapting.

Then it happened.

A sharp sting sudden, cold amd precise lanced on the core of his soul.

Gin froze, every nerve over-clocking in alarm with light pain.

It wasn’t a physical pain. No claws, no blades, no elemental burn. This was internal, spiritual. A direct strike against his soul. He knew this feeling after all he had used soul energy many time on several occasions. Yet this... this time was his turn to experience the affect. Subtle yet unmistakably dangerous. The pain flickered like a rock smashing on head, not enough to do too much damage but enough to make him understand.

He was being hunted.

Soul attack... but where

His spiritual sense flared outward again, expanding quickly but carefully, scanning every angle, every tremor in the surrounding residential energy. Rocks, trees, scorched corpses, distant echoes of footsteps all became visible in the web of his perception. He looped the spiritual net tighter, probing deeper, tracing possible paths of residual energy.

Nothing.

No signature. No enemy presence. No clue.

Whoever had launched the attack had done so from beyond his current range outside the thousand-meter perimeter he could cover in his cureent state.

But he remained alert. Whoever had targeted him might not stop at one strike.

He began to move, silent as fog across stone.

His pawsteps were light, each footfall muffled against the broken terrain. He weaved between collapsed trees and jagged stones, occasionally dipping behind the blackened corpses of corrupted beasts to avoid any direct line of sight. His tail swayed low for balance, and his ears flicked back and forth, constantly scanning for the faintest sound. Though wounded, his wolf body was efficient deceptively so.

He kept his spiritual sense sweeping in tight arcs, trying to pick up any ripple of movement, any trace of intent hidden in the wind.

Nothing.

He circled the same areas multiple times, climbing over ridges, sliding into shallow trenches, moving in wide arcs. He passed the place where he first woke, now marked by the impressions of his pawprints and dried blood. He passed fallen trees split down the middle by lightning and fire. He passed areas where wind-element blades had sliced through boulders like tofu.

And then... it happened.

He wasn’t watching.

Not with his physical eyes.

Not with his spiritual focus.

His attention was fully locked outward, scanning for the unseen soul attacker, and in doing so, he had failed to realize how close he’d wandered.

The air shifted suddenly too warm, too familiar.

And then...

"Gin!" called a voice high, melodic, unmistakably girlish.

Something dropped onto his head. He froze.

It was small. Warm. The pressure was light, but the energy it carried was bright and cheerful. Whatever it was sat comfortably atop his head as if it belonged there.

Then the voice repeated again, this time laced with delight:

"Giiiin!"

His ears flicked upward in alarm, and his spiritual sense snapped inward instantly.

What he saw next made his heart lurch.

They were right in front of him.

All four of them.

Lucy stood just meters away, wide-eyed. Her hand half-raised as if about to gibe the signal. Her gaze locked onto his wolf form, but her expression wasn’t fear—it was intense scrutiny. Her amber eyes gleamed, not with panic but calculation. The sketchbook at her side fluttered in the wind, half-forgotten.

Mira—Saira—stood slightly behind her, water energy swirling subtly around her in a defensive aura. Her mouth was parted slightly in surprise, and her stance had changed from relaxed alertness to cautious readiness. She hadn’t attacked yet but her eyes were locked onto him, watching every muscle twitch.

Xingning was... well, exactly as he remembered. Her jaw was open, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, and one hand gesturing toward him as if demanding someone to explain how the the silver-blue wolf just changed its soul wave without warning.

"What the hell happened?!" she mouthed, clearly unaware she was muttering aloud.

Alice, for her part, stared in silence. Her eyes softened first, even before the others reacted. She blinked once, then again, as though something inside her recognized the wolf before her on a level deeper than the mind. She didn’t move but she didn’t step back either.

And then, of course... the creature on his head giggled again.

He couldn’t see her the way he saw others through spiritual sense. She was small—barely the size of his paw. A tiny lizard with delicate small wings-yet sharp pointy. Glowing dark lime, perched comfortably on his head like a crown.

"I found you~" she sang, swaying back and forth. "I told them you weren’t dead."

Gin’s entire body stiffened.

The words. The name.

He turned his head slightly, careful not to dislodge her and gave a low, questioning growl. Not aggressive. Not defensive. Just... confused.

"Don’t look so surprised, wolfy" the lizard chirped. "You smell like Gin, you move like Gin, and your soul tastes like Gin. Who else would you be?"

At this, the others visibly tensed. Lucy took a cautious step forward and Mira raised her arm subtly in warning. Xingning looked ready to leap in either direction. Alice though, tilted her head.

"Gin...?" she whispered.

Gin stood still.

He wanted to speak. To explain. To scream that yes, it was him.

But his mouth couldn’t shape those sounds. His tongue and vocal cords didn’t function like a primal anymore. All he could do was lower his head slightly and whine softly a sound that trembled with more than physical pain. His soul burned with need.

Need to be known.

To be accepted.

To not be seen as a stranger by the only people who were his.

The little winged lizard, who had clearly recognized him suddenly flapped her wings and floated in front of his face, giving his nose a tiny, playful boop with her tail.

"Oh come on, don’t look so sad. You got turned into a shiny wolf! That’s way cooler than half the corpses I’ve seen today."

Gin blinked at her.

Lucy spoke at last.

"...He didn’t attack us. Even when surrounded and surprised."

Saira nodded, still watching closely. "And his spiritual signature... feels familiar."

Xingning squinted. "No way. Gin was tall, like a giant. This is... furry."

Alice stepped forward, silently. Slowly.

Her hand trembled as she reached out, pausing just shy of his muzzle.

"Host... is it really you?"

Gin took a risk.

He stepped forward and gently lowered his head, letting her hand brush against his fur.

It was soft. Cool. Surreal. And her fingers trembled even harder the moment they touched.

Her breath hitched.

Lucy knelt beside them now, sketch forgotten on the ground. "I don’t know what kind of transformation this is... but since they are so sure....."

Saira murmured, "He reacted to his name. That... Jean on his head seems to sure of him too."

"I do know for sure!" the lizard chirped again, puffing her tiny chest proudly. "I was there when he collapsed. I followed his energy trail. I even saw his fur go poof!"

Gin looked at her again. "...Who are you?" he tried to ask, but only another soft growl emerged.

"I’m Jean" the lizard said proudly, as if reading his thoughts. "I can change my size now. Hope that’s cool."

Xingning sighed and crossed her arms. "So let me get this straight. Gin died. But didn’t. And turned into a wolf. And now he has a pet that talks."

"I’m not a pet!" Jean barked indignantly. She never uttered one word during those battles but since he came..

Gin lay down carefully, his legs folding beneath him, exhausted from the soul attack and the tension of discovery.

He was safe.

For now.

Seen.

Recognized.

That was enough.

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To Be Continued.