Dust is the perpetual skin of this place, and the wind is its silent sigh. In the land known as the "Edge," time seems to have frozen, or perhaps, it never truly flowed, merely swirling in the crevices of ancient ruins in an endless eddy. This is a wasteland abandoned by civilization, a graveyard where legends and oblivion intertwine. And I, the Sin Tiger, live within this graveyard. I know nothing of myself. I have no name, no past, not even a clear beginning. My existence, like this borderland, is shattered and vague, pieced together from countless untraceable fragments. I only know that I possess power. A primal, savage strength that lies deep within my flesh and blood, like subterranean magma, ready to erupt at any moment. My body often undergoes a peculiar transformation. Sometimes I am in human form, walking across the wind-swept desolation, feeling the rough air scrape against my skin. At other times, merely an instant's impulse, or an instinctive reaction when facing a threat, my body will swell and contort, transforming into a swift, ferocious giant tiger. My fur stands erect like steel needles, my claws and teeth gleam with cold light, power surges through my limbs, and each breath carries the urge to hunt. This change is not something I can fully control. It feels more like a brand, an innate attribute I was born with. When I am human, the shadow of the tiger lurks in the depths of my consciousness, growling and restless; when I transform into the tiger, a trace of human confusion sometimes mixes with the pure instinct of the beast, causing me, after tearing apart prey, to occasionally lift my head and gaze into the distance, a hint of bewilderment, unnatural for a wild animal, flashing in my eyes. My strength is undoubtedly formidable. In this land where specters roam and bizarre creatures emerge, I am almost without equal. The aimlessly wandering undead, their bodies shrouded in the resentment of death, emanating the stench of decay. They are the most common inhabitants of the Edge, the embers left behind by tragic pasts. But I am different from them; I do not possess that kind of icy despair. Though equally solitary, my loneliness is mixed with a burning impulse, a seeking for something. I have crossed paths with these undead, effortlessly tearing apart their fragile skeletons. I have also faced more powerful mutated creatures, monsters spawned by the twisted environment of the Edge, possessing chillingly grotesque abilities. But no matter the opponent, when I am in my tiger form, they find it difficult to withstand the onslaught of my claws and fangs. My speed is like lightning, my strength sufficient to shatter rock, and my senses are sharp enough to detect the chirping of insects buried deep beneath the sand. Yet, this power cannot fill the emptiness within me. Each burst of strength, each successful hunt, feels like adding an insignificant piece to a vast puzzle, and I do not even know the full picture of this puzzle, much less where I should fit within it. Where did I come from? Why do I possess this power? Why is my memory a complete blank, filled only with endless desolation? These questions, like the dust of the Edge, plague me incessantly. I wander aimlessly across this land, attempting to find a single clue from the silent ruins. The ground of the Edge is scattered with the remnants of ancient civilizations. Collapsed stone pillars, weathered murals, slabs inscribed with texts I cannot understand. They are the whispers of the past, witnesses to ages long vanished. I run my fingertips across the rough stone walls, feeling the weight of centuries they bear. The patterns on the murals are blurred and indistinct, depicting creatures I have never seen, magnificent structures, and peculiar rituals. The script twists and coils like a lost tangle of serpents. I have stared at them for a long time, and besides sensing a distant and powerful aura, I have gained nothing. To me, they are completely alien symbols, devoid of any meaning. Sometimes, among those murals, I would see images resembling a "tiger." They were either sacred totems or powerful beings. Whenever this happened, an inexplicable surge of emotion would rise within me, as if those images were somehow connected to me. But this feeling would vanish as quickly as it came, like sand that cannot be grasped, leaving behind only deeper confusion. Am I a descendant of the tigers in those murals? Or am I, perhaps, some kind of legendary existence myself?
The environment of the Edge is deteriorating daily. It is not just the wind and sand, or the undead. A deeper, more unsettling change is occurring. An indescribable sense of void permeates the air. Sometimes, looking towards the distant horizon, one can see space itself subtly twisting, as if being devoured by some invisible force. Black, lifeless mist occasionally rises from cracks in the ground, and wherever it spreads, even the most resilient withered grass turns to ash. The ancient ruins also seem to be collapsing at an accelerated pace; the stones weather faster, the murals flake away more severely. This gradually spreading destruction fills me with a hint of anxiety. This land, my only dwelling place, though desolate, is at least a tangible existence. If even it is to turn into nothingness, where would I go? What would be the meaning of my search? In this state of confusion and unease, I continue my wandering. I have crossed countless sand dunes, traversed putrid swamps, and explored gloomy underground caves. I survive by instinct, protect myself by strength, but my spirit always drifts on an ocean of loss, unable to find a harbor to dock. Until one day, in a severely wind-eroded canyon, I detected an unusual energy fluctuation. This energy was neither the resentment of the undead nor the twisted aura emanating from the creatures of the Edge. It was more like a spell deliberately guided and cast, possessing a living, yet extremely cold and dissonant quality. Curiosity, or perhaps, a craving for any stimulus that might bring change, compelled me to approach cautiously. At the bottom of the canyon lay an ancient ruin, eroded by wind and sand for millennia. Some colossal stones were arranged in strange shapes, and in the center, there seemed to be an altar. I concealed myself, observing from the canyon's edge. Beside the altar stood two people.
They wore robes that seemed out of place in this desolate landscape, adorned with bizarre ornaments. One of them—who appeared to be the brother—was murmuring incantations over a stone slab, emitting a dark light from his hands. This light merged with the pervasive death energy of the Edge, yet it seemed more concentrated and purposeful. And on his chest, I saw a horrifying sight: a twisted object, resembling both an infant and a deformed tumor, seemed embedded within his flesh. It pulsed weakly with his breathing, emitting another energy that was profoundly unsettling, like a parasite. The Twin Mages. Whispers about the Evil Mage Twins were not unheard of in the Edge. They were part of the group of mages who pursued forbidden knowledge and deciphered ancient languages, rumored to possess uncanny abilities. And this pair of twins was said to be even more aberrant, the brother living in symbiosis with the parasitic entity in his chest, wielding magic related to the undead. They seemed to be trying to unearth something from this ruin. Their magic was powerful and precise, unlike the chaotic and disordered energy of the Edge's undead. The "living" aura they emanated felt particularly jarring in this land of deathly silence. I watched them, complex emotions surging within me. There was wariness towards outsiders, scrutiny of their powerful magic, and even a strange impulse. They seemed to know how to utilize the power of this land, how to interact with these ancient ruins. Perhaps they held some secrets about this borderland, about ancient civilizations, or even about myself? But soon, another feeling, more primitive and aggressive, took precedence. They were intruders. They were attempting to take something that belonged to this land, and this land, in a sense, was the only thing I possessed. Their "living" aura, while sparking my curiosity, simultaneously ignited the dormant hunting instinct of the tiger within me. This desolation belonged to the undead and the beasts, to me, not to these intruders carrying the scent of civilization. My body began to warm slightly, muscles tensing. My fingertips involuntarily curled, as if already sensing the pleasure of tearing apart prey. A low rumble echoed in my chest, the tiger's roar brewing. They were focused on their spell, unaware of my presence hidden at the canyon's edge. Their backs, and the quest for the Edge's secrets they represented, no longer seemed like potential answers in my eyes, but rather a threat that needed to be expelled. Enough. Enough of confusion and waiting. Perhaps, the answers are not to be found in passive searching, but in active taking, in conquering. These outsiders, they bring the scent of power and knowledge. Perhaps from them, I can find what I seek. Whether it was to protect this desolation, or to satisfy the savage instinct deep within me that craves conflict and conquest, or to force secrets about myself from them, my decision became crystal clear in that moment. I lowered my stance, moving silently along the canyon's edge, searching for the optimal angle of attack. The wind still howled, but it could not conceal the boiling blood within me and the power on the verge of erupting. A dangerous light glinted in my eyes, locked onto the two "Evil Mages" below, engrossed in ancient secrets. The silence of the World's Edge was about to be broken.
My claws tore through the air, trailing a gale steeped in centuries of bitter resentment. The tiger's roar shook loose stalactites from the cavern ceiling, yet three inches from the pale throat, my strike collided with an invisible barrier. A hundred translucent faces materialized from the void - men, women, children stacked like ghastly parchment, bleeding tears from hollowed sockets.
"What a pity, little tiger." The Surface Twin turned, his ritual robes pulsing with sickly jade light. The parasitic head embedded in his chest snapped open lidless eyes burning with corpse-fire. "Your rage... reeks of Xuanwu's bloodguilt."
Agony exploded behind my eyes as the name struck like a bronze bell. Visions surged through fractured memories - monsoon rains battering fortress walls, a tiger-shaped military tally splintering beneath armored boots, comrades' screams swallowed by raging floods. My claws extended uncontrollably, amber irises reflecting the cavern's writhing murals - the painted dragon's scales now shimmering with patinaed bronze under phantom moonlight.
The Parasitic Twin emitted an infant's shrill laughter. Black ichor seeped from stone walls as skeletal hands clawed through the earth, reeking of grave soil. I twisted mid-air, tiger tail shearing through limestone pillars. In the settling dust, twelve will-o'-wisps ignited like damned constellations.
"*Qiankun inverted, spirits return!*" The Surface Twin bit through his finger, painting blood sigils in the air. Floating wraiths coalesced into a three-zhang tall skeletal general, its rusted *modao* cleaving downward with the wails of ten thousand slaughtered souls. The blade's metallic stench struck memory - identical to the weapon that pierced White Tiger Guardian's heart a century past.
Primordial fury ignited my blood. As the guillotine-blade descended, jagged bones erupted from my spine. Azure tiger stripes writhed beneath my skin like living tattoos. Some slumbering power from antiquity stirred - my claw-strike carried thunderous force, shattering the general's helmet to reveal half-rotten flesh beneath a Vermilion Bird-emblazoned mask.
"Brother, beware!" the Parasitic Twin shrieked. I lunged for the ritual's epicenter but froze mid-pounce - the mural dragon had opened eyes like molten gold, pupils swirling with collapsing galaxies. My chest burned as faded tiger tattoos wept blood.
The Surface Twin wiped black ichor from his lips, torn robes revealing flesh inscribed with pact-sigils. "As I suspected." He stroked the squirming parasitic head. "The White Tiger Guardian's malice took form in this wasteland. How poetic - the betrayed becoming the betrayer."
Murals began crumbling. Through cascading debris, devastating truth unveiled - Four Celestial Guardians forming seals beneath stormy skies, only to be impaled by blades from behind. Vermilion feathers burning in heavenly fire. Azure Dragon's spear snapping against Black Tortoise's carapace. When the final barrier shattered, the sky tore open a colossal pupil, deluges bearing ancient draconic hymns devouring the earth.
"Our predecessors' demise wasn't mere catastrophe," the Parasitic Twin rasped like nails on burial urns. "Those righteous cultivators from Empire Dominion made pacts with Zhulong long before the flood..."
The cavern trembled violently. From the abyssal depths came the snap of sundered chains, an primordial heartbeat pounding until my ears bled. The Surface Twin ripped his robes open, revealing pulsating bronze scales over his heart - Yinglong's reversed armor!
"The frontier crumbles into void." Black tears oozed from stone as archaic glyphs rearranged in bloody streams. "When the Twelve Primordial Dragons fully awaken, reality's laws will unravel. And you..." His bloodied finger pressed my brow, "...bearer of the Guardian's karma - don't you crave to know who erased your past?"
Claws sank deep into quaking earth. Memories crystallized - White Tiger banners snapping in tempests, comrades' souls siphoned into bronze cauldrons, last sights of blood-stained boots embroidered with Taotie gluttons. Prophecies manifested as Yinglong's tail cast skyscraper shadows, distant booms signaling Zhulong's eyelids parting.
"Join us." The Twin offered half a tortoiseshell engraved with matching sigils to my tattoo. "Your legion of wraiths combined with our forbidden rites could..."
The cavern collapsed before he finished. Plummeting through darkness, I glimpsed colossal bronze dragonbones below - its heart pierced by a tiger-headed *modao* from my final battle. Countless spirits surged from skeletal gaps, dissolving into light particles that fused with the spectral tiger manifesting behind me.
When we emerged from rubble, the Parasitic Twin's eyes had become reptilian slits. His jaw unhinged serpent-wide as he ogled the flickering White Tiger apparition. "Elder brother... We've found the key to Xuixu's Gate..."