The Scorching Badlands stretched endlessly before Arthur, a molten wasteland simmering under the weight of volcanic fumes and radiant heat. Waves of blistering air rippled across the land, warping the scenery as he made his way deeper into the heart of the Badlands, where the cracked ground glowed faintly with hidden rivers of lava.
The smell of sulfur clung to his scales as he lumbered over searing rocks, his claws leaving deep grooves in the charred earth. Scattered around him were remnants of something strange—objects embedded in hardened lava, rough and crude, yet oddly deliberate. Stone fragments and clay shards jutted from the ground, scorched black but not entirely destroyed. He eyed them warily, trying to make sense of these odd shapes and jagged structures. They looked like the skeletons of long-abandoned shelters or tools, as if something small had once attempted to carve out a home in this unyielding land.
Arthur leaned in, sniffing a cracked pillar half-buried in blackened earth. Strange marks, weathered by time and fire, spiraled up its surface in chaotic patterns. He rumbled softly, inspecting it with [Analyze].
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Analyze Result: This is a remnant of a former human civilization, scorched and lost in time. Crude stone tools and remnants indicate they harnessed basic fire magic. Estimated Age: Several centuries.
He pulled back, gazing over the lava-encrusted site. Humans…? The term lingered, oddly familiar yet foreign. An instinctive understanding tickled the back of his mind, sparking faint echoes of memories he couldn’t grasp. For a moment, he almost felt as if he knew these shapes, these markings. But the notion was hazy, like smoke drifting just out of reach.
As he moved forward, his vision began to waver. A shiver of psychic energy flared along his horns, throbbing in time with the ancient symbols etched across the crumbling stones. The scorched surroundings dimmed, blurring as if reality itself was slipping. Then, suddenly—
Blinding lights. Colossal towers, lit up against a dark sky. A hum of something distant yet vibrant filled his ears—a sound he could neither name nor place.
The image flickered and vanished, leaving him in the ashen silence of the Scorching Badlands. Arthur shook his head, growling low. What had he just seen? The scene was so unlike the harsh land around him. It was vibrant, alive in a way this world was not.
His first instinct was to dismiss it as a system glitch, some residual effect of his psychic abilities reacting to the ancient symbols. But as he stared at the charred pillar, a strange sense of familiarity washed over him. He couldn’t shake the image of those massive towers, piercing the night sky like dark spires. Was this… something he knew?
His tail lashed behind him, agitated by the strange thoughts clawing at his mind. Why did these scorched stones and broken shards matter to him? He was a creature of destruction, a beast forged to survive and conquer. And yet… the flicker of recognition gnawed at him, sparking the faintest trace of frustration.
With a heavy snort, Arthur turned away from the strange artifacts, ignoring the uneasy stirrings in his mind. These remnants were of no use to him; they were just shadows of the past, burned and buried under lava and time. He had a purpose now—strength to gain, power to devour. Whatever memories or instincts had been triggered, he would not let them interfere with his survival.
But as he moved forward, his steps heavy and decisive, he found himself drawn to the remnants of a village. Small structures, long since reduced to heaps of ash and rubble, dotted the area. The outlines of simple huts, cooking pits, and broken pottery painted a bleak picture of a life once lived here. It was clear from the arrangement that something had once called this place home, perhaps even thrived in this harsh environment.
Arthur’s horns pulsed again, and his vision blurred as another image slammed into his mind with the force of a tidal wave. This time, he saw hands—human hands, calloused and strong, working tirelessly. They crafted tools, built structures, shaped the world around them. The hands were his, and yet… they weren’t.
A growl rumbled in his throat, a primal sound full of confusion and irritation. He shook his head, willing the strange visions away. Why did these human images keep flashing before him? Why did he feel as though he had known this place, these stones, in another life?
He stomped forward, his claws crushing a fallen stone slab beneath him. Whatever faint connection he had to these things, it didn’t matter. He was here, now, in this powerful, monstrous form. The past, if it was even his, was gone. It meant nothing compared to the raw power thrumming through his body, the strength that defined him.
This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.
Yet, a sliver of curiosity remained. The urge to explore, to understand the world around him—an urge he didn’t usually indulge. Perhaps there was more to be gleaned from these remnants, something that could further his evolution.
He prowled through the village, [Analyze] picking up faint traces of life long extinguished. The system confirmed it as a human habitation site, now reduced to ashes and memories. The thought lingered in his mind, provoking an uncomfortable sensation that he couldn’t quite define.
A stray piece of pottery caught his eye, buried half in the ash, its surface etched with swirling geometric patterns. He leaned in, sniffing it, feeling his psychic energy thrum. For a brief, fleeting moment, he imagined a hand—the size of his old human hand—tracing the markings. His horns pulsed with the image, his senses engulfed in the ghostly feeling of touch, of creation.
But then, the sharp pang of survival instincts roared back, clawing away at any sentiment he might’ve felt. His gaze hardened, and he crushed the pottery shard underfoot, grinding it into the ash.
He wasn’t human. Not anymore. The fragments of memory, whatever they were, held no place in this world. This was a world where power dictated survival, where weakness spelled death. He wouldn’t let these ancient echoes distract him.
Just then, a faint glint in the ash caught his attention—a spearhead, blackened by fire yet sharp enough to draw his interest. He reached out with his claws, pulling it from the ground and inspecting its rough, jagged edge. The weapon was primitive, but it bore traces of enchantment, a faint spark of power that had long since waned.
As he studied it, a chilling realization crept over him. These humans, weak as they might’ve been, had survived here once. They’d wielded magic, harnessed fire, built a life in this land. And now, they were gone, their relics all that remained. Would he one day share their fate? Would some future beast wander through his bones, sniffing at remnants of his strength?
A low growl escaped him, a fierce determination solidifying within him. He would not end up like these humans, a forgotten relic buried under centuries of ash. He would carve his place in this world, one battle at a time.
A faint rumble shook the ground beneath him, pulling him from his thoughts. The earth trembled, as if disturbed by some distant force, and a familiar tension prickled along his scales. The air was different here, charged with an energy that didn’t belong to the Scorching Badlands. Something powerful lay in these ruins, hidden beneath the weight of centuries.
Instinctively, Arthur’s gaze traveled to the heart of the village, where a large, charred pillar jutted out from the ground. Strange symbols were etched into its surface, faintly glowing despite the blackened stone. His [Analyze] revealed nothing concrete, only hints of an ancient, forbidden magic.
As he approached the pillar, his horns pulsed, and a final image tore through his mind—a flicker of himself as a human, standing in front of a massive structure, his hands stained with soot and determination. He was building something, something grand, something meant to last.
The vision faded, leaving him shaken. But even as confusion gripped him, a primal instinct roared louder. He was not here to dwell on forgotten lives or lost civilizations. His purpose was survival, power, and dominance.
Arthur reared back, inhaling deeply before releasing a thunderous roar that echoed across the scorched landscape, scattering ash and dust. Whatever memories lingered in the remnants of this place, they would not haunt him. He was a beast of this world, reborn in the fires of evolution, and he would claim his strength through conquest, not relics.
As the echoes of his roar faded, he stomped away from the ruins, his focus sharp and unyielding. The Scorching Badlands still held mysteries, and his journey had only just begun.
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Thank you for joining Arthur’s journey through the Scorching Badlands! Your support and enthusiasm mean everything as we dive deeper into this world of monstrous battles, mysteries, and evolution. Every chapter is a step closer to unlocking Arthur’s true potential. Here’s to more epic moments ahead—thank you for reading!