The Chosen One [Honkai: Star Rail]

The sword's weight still dragged at his arm, awkward, unfamiliar.

Anthony adjusted his grip, fingers curling tighter around the rough leather handle as he trudged forward. The red sand shifted beneath his boots, gritty and uneven, every step crunching like brittle glass.

The landscape stretched endlessly—a jagged wasteland of stone, cracks webbing through the earth, floating rock platforms drifting lazily overhead. The sky bled a constant, sickly crimson, clouds swirling like bruises that never healed.

Not exactly a welcome party. His throat tightened, but he forced the thought down. 

His family—his home—it all felt distant now, like a photograph curling at the edges, slipping further away the longer he stayed here.

Anthony exhaled, adjusting the sword again. His arms ached already—nerves rattling more than muscle—but he had to keep moving. Standing still here? That was asking to die.

Small ridges lined the rocky paths, natural cover in the cracks and crevices, but nothing comforting. No trees, no buildings—just exposed stone and far too much open space.

After a few minutes of cautious steps, the faint scent of smoke hit him.

His stomach twisted. He slowed, eyes narrowing.

The ground ahead blackened, charred patches bleeding into the red sand. Tracks—distorted paw prints—led across the terrain, claw marks dug deep into the brittle stone.

Anthony's pulse kicked up, every instinct screaming familiarity.

A Pyre Dog.

The first one nearly killed him. He didn't have the luxury of going in blind this time.

Crouching low, he followed the tracks, each step careful, and measured. The sword felt clumsy in his grip, but better than nothing. His jaw clenched, heart pounding hard enough to drown out the wind.

The scent grew stronger—smoke, sulfur, heat—coiling around him like warning signs.

A low growl rumbled ahead.

Anthony froze behind a jagged outcrop, peering cautiously around the edge.

It stalked the path ahead, hunched low—muscles rippling beneath scorched, leathery skin. Its fur burned faintly at the tips, embers dancing off its shoulders. The same glowing eyes as before—wild, feral, locked onto something unseen.

Second Pyre Dog. Bigger than the last one, Anthony realized grimly.

His grip tightened on the sword, palms slick with sweat. Alright… no panicking. You've already fought one. You lived. Barely, but it counts.

The growl deepened, low and guttural. The Pyre Dog sniffed the air, hackles flaring, molten eyes narrowing like twin coals. Its ears flicked sharply.

It caught his scent.

"Crap…"

The creature lunged—muscles coiling like a spring, embers trailing off its back as it bounded toward him with terrifying speed.

Anthony reacted on instinct, feet skidding across the red sand. His sword came up, steel clashing against the Pyre Dog's snapping jaws with a sharp, metallic clang. The impact rattled his arms to the shoulders, driving him backward.

Boots scraped the jagged ground as he stumbled—his heel catching on a cracked stone outcrop behind him. His balance wavered, but he used the stumble to pivot, pushing off the ledge to reset his footing.

The Pyre Dog circled, low to the ground, teeth bared, a snarl rumbling in its throat. Flames flared along its spine, tiny embers spiraling into the smoky, crimson air.

Anthony's pulse hammered, breath ragged. His eyes darted across the terrain—broken ridges, jutting boulders, loose sand everywhere. His grip on the sword tightened.

Use the ground. Stay mobile. Don't just stand there and trade blows. The beast lunged again, jaws aimed for his throat.

Anthony ducked low, swinging his leg out, kicking a spray of coarse red sand directly into its eyes.

The creature snarled, momentarily blinded—its leap veering wide as Anthony threw himself sideways, rolling behind a jagged rock. His shoulder scraped rough stone, but it gave him cover.

The Dog whipped around, vision clearing, fire crackling along its back.

Anthony popped up behind the outcrop, launching himself off it for momentum. The blade caught the Pyre Dog's flank as he charged, slicing shallow—embers bursting from the wound, hissing against the sand.

The beast recoiled with a snarl, landing hard, claws gouging into the brittle ground.

Anthony didn't wait.

His boots struck uneven stone as he vaulted onto a low ridge nearby, gaining higher ground. The Pyre Dog's glowing eyes tracked him, molten and furious, circling again.

Adrenaline flooded his veins, heart pounding, mind sharp with desperate clarity.

The beast lunged—powerful, reckless.

Anthony leapt down from the ridge, using gravity and angle to meet it head-on. His blade dragged along its shoulder mid-pounce, the metal biting deeper this time. Flames sputtered, and dark, smoky blood sprayed across the rocks.

The Pyre Dog yelped, staggering as its paws skidded across the sand—but it wasn't done.

Neither was Anthony.

With a guttural exhale, he pressed the advantage. He darted left, then right—keeping uneven terrain between them. A quick sidestep put him near another jagged boulder. He planted a foot on it, pushing off for extra reach as he swung wide.

The blade connected—hard, burying deep into the Pyre Dog's neck.

The creature collapsed, crumpling with a final snarl, embers snuffing out along its spine, molten eyes fading to lifeless black.

Anthony staggered back, chest heaving, arms trembling as the sword's tip dragged along the ground. Sand stuck to his sweat-slicked face, the coppery tang of adrenaline sharp in his mouth.

The screen flickered to life again, bright text cold and indifferent:

[ You have slain a {Pyre Dog}! Experience gained. Minor Strength increased. ]

Anthony exhaled, wiping grime from his forehead, eyes sweeping the wasteland ahead.

"Just defeating one takes nearly everything out of me..." Anthony murmured as he wiped the sweat off his forehead and looked up at the dark red sky above him.

"I need something to eat… I can't fight these things off on an empty stomach…" Anthony muttered, voice dry as the wasteland around him.

He looked down at the Pyre Dog's mangled body, steam still curling faintly from its charred flesh, when the screen reappeared with mechanical precision:

[ The {Chosen One} is capable of metabolizing {Pyre Dog} tissue. Its flesh provides vital fats and amino acids but requires thermal preparation to neutralize harmful agents. The creature's blood, dense with moisture, sugars, roughage, and mineral compounds, is potable in its raw state and serves as an efficient source of hydration. ]

Anthony stared blankly at the message.

The words weren't even cruel. They weren't kind. They were cold, clear, and entirely detached from his personal horror.

His eyes drifted back to the corpse—the gnarled, blackened fur, the faint wisp of smoke rising from its back, the dark, viscous blood leaking into the red sand like oil.

His stomach clenched.

"You've gotta be kidding me…" Anthony muttered, the bitterness in his voice cutting through the static of exhaustion. His nose wrinkled at the thought—the blood, the meat, all of it.

It wasn't just the kill. It was how close that thing came to ripping him apart, to ending him. And now? Now survival demanded he use it like rations off a grocery shelf.

His throat burned, dry as ash, and his muscles still screamed from the fight. His stomach growled low, sharp and painful.

The memory flickered, unwelcome—the kitchen at home, Rose spilling cereal all over the table, his mom laughing, the hum of normal life—

Anthony's jaw clenched hard enough his teeth ached, forcing the thought down. That life? Not here. Not now.

He dragged a hand over his face, smearing grime and sweat across his skin as his eyes snapped back to the hovering text:

Essential minerals. Carbohydrates. Moisture.

It wasn't a suggestion. It was fact. Plain, emotionless, absolute.

Starvation wasn't an option.

"God, I'm gonna regret this…"

He knelt beside the corpse, turning the body with the flat of his sword. The fur still pulsed with residual heat—coals beneath blackened patches. It smelled like burnt hair and sulfur.

His fingers hovered near the gaping wound along the creature's throat—thick, dark blood still pooling, faintly steaming.

The soldier in him—trained to survive, to adapt—overrode the urge to retch. There was no room for hesitation, not anymore.

Survive. Adapt. Get home.

One last grimace, then Anthony scooped a handful of the blood onto his palm.

It was thicker than water, slick and faintly greasy, the burnt metallic smell curling in his nostrils.

"Better than nothing…" he muttered, jaw tight, bringing it to his lips.

The taste hit instantly—bitter, coppery, smoky, faintly chemical. It wasn't unbearable, but every part of him recoiled on instinct.

His stomach lurched, nausea clawing up his throat, but his body welcomed it—desperate for hydration, for something to push back the ache in his limbs.

A faint warmth pulsed through him, his vision sharpening, the headache dulling.

The screen flickered coldly:

[ {Chosen One} has consumed {Pyre Dog} blood. Hydration is partially restored. Minor stamina increased. ]

Anthony wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, jaw working in frustration as the bitter aftertaste clung to his tongue.

Anthony wiped his mouth, exhaling slowly, forcing down the rising disgust.

His eyes trailed back to the Pyre Dog's body.

And to the screen.

"Minor stamina increased..." Anthony muttered under his breath, brows furrowed, still tasting the faint copper tang on his tongue. His gaze drifted to his trembling hands, then back to the mangled body.

Still thirsty. Still weak.

His jaw clenched. The blood worked—but barely. And his limbs still felt heavy, muscles sore from the last fight. His stomach twisted, but survival barked louder than disgust now.

Grimacing, Anthony knelt again, scooping another handful of the dark, steaming blood and forcing it down.

[ {Chosen One} has consumed {Pyre Dog} blood. Hydration is partially restored. Minor stamina increased. ]

He coughed as it hit his throat, gag reflex threatening to revolt, but he swallowed it, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"God, this is vile…"

But his body… it eased. The ache dulled slightly. His head cleared a fraction. He hesitated, then reached for more.

[ {Chosen One} has consumed {Pyre Dog} blood. Hydration is partially restored. Minor stamina increased. ]

Another gulp, another wave of nausea. But his throat no longer burned from dryness. His chest rose easier, and the fog in his mind thinned.

Still weak… not enough. Anthony thought as his hand hovered, shaking slightly, but clenched into a fist before grabbing another handful.

[ {Chosen One} has consumed {Pyre Dog} blood. Hydration is partially restored. Minor stamina increased. ]

He exhaled through his nose, steadying his breath. His pulse slowed, limbs less heavy, though soreness still gnawed at the edges.

But the messages kept coming, cold and clinical, as if taunting him:

[ {Chosen One} has consumed {Pyre Dog} blood. Hydration is partially restored. Minor stamina increased. ]

[ {Chosen One} has consumed {Pyre Dog} blood. Hydration is partially restored. Minor stamina increased. ]

[ {Chosen One} has consumed {Pyre Dog} blood. Hydration is fully restored. Stamina is at 50%. ]

Anthony wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve again, finally able to breathe without his throat scratching raw. His tongue still tasted like smoke and rust, but… it worked. It worked.

His eyes trailed back to the Pyre Dog's corpse—burnt flesh, charred muscle—still edible, apparently. The thought made his stomach turn again.

But his chest ached with a different hunger now—the ache for home. His family. Their faces burned in his mind—the teasing glint in Rose's eyes, his dad's quiet smile, his mom fussing over breakfast.

I have to get back… somehow… I have to survive. Anthony stood, swaying slightly, gripping the sword tightly as the yellow screen pulsed again:

[ To fully restore stamina, consuming cooked {Pyre Dog} meat is recommended. Fire source required. ]

He sighed, rolling his shoulders as soreness settled back into his frame. His grip tightened around the sword's hilt.

"Cooked meat it is, then…"

The crimson wasteland stretched ahead—bleak, endless, merciless. But his body no longer screamed for water, and his legs, while heavy, could carry him further.

With one last glance at the Pyre Dog's corpse, Anthony moved forward, each step gritty with determination.

Survive. Adapt. Get home.

"I remember… back at the military, they taught me how to survive if I was stranded… how to make fire without tech, how to improvise…" Anthony muttered as he moved, eyes scanning the desolate wasteland for anything remotely useful.

Crimson sand crunched underfoot, broken stone jutting out like jagged scars across the ground. No trees. No brush. Not even scraps of debris—just barren rock and drifting, floating platforms overhead.

"But I can't use trees if there aren't any," he muttered, brow furrowing. His gaze flicked back toward the Pyre Dog's corpse shrinking in the distance—the faint glow of embers still dancing off its pelt.

He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "Although…"

The image clicked in his head—training drills, survival courses, improvised heat sources. The Pyre Dog's pelt looks like it gives off embers…

Anthony's lip curled, part disgust, part reluctant amusement. "Guess man's best friend really does provide for everything, huh?" He exhaled through his nose, turning back.

The thought of cooking and eating something that tried to rip him apart wasn't exactly appetizing—but starving wasn't an option. And those clinical, uncaring system messages made it clear: he wouldn't last long on blood alone.

He made his way back to the corpse, crouching beside it, blade still in hand. The fur along its shoulders still radiated faint heat—embers flickering beneath the blackened patches, pulsing like a low-burning fire.

Anthony reached out cautiously, testing it with the flat of his blade.

Warmth kissed the steel, enough to draw faint smoke curls as the heat built beneath the fur.

"Alright… not ideal… but it works."

Working fast, he peeled strips of flesh from the Pyre Dog's side with the sword—messy, uneven cuts, but passable. His grip tightened, jaw clenching as he laid the meat across the smoldering patches of the creature's own pelt, watching as the surface sizzled faintly.

The air filled with a charred, greasy scent—burned hair, overcooked meat, something faintly chemical from the creature's unnatural biology.

Anthony's stomach churned, but his body growled louder than his brain.

"You know…" he muttered, flipping the meat awkwardly with his blade, "this is the part where I'd usually be complaining about MREs… but those bland little meal packets are looking real good right now."

The meat cooked unevenly, edges blackening, juices hissing as they hit the embers beneath. He gave it another minute, then cautiously tore off a piece, the heat still clinging to it.

It smelled… questionable.

It tasted worse.

But it was food. And more importantly, it worked.

The screen flickered again, system text unfurling in that cold, mechanical voice:

[ {Chosen One} has consumed cooked {Pyre Dog} meat. Stamina fully restored. Minor strength and vitality temporarily boosted. ]

Anthony exhaled, forcing the last bite down, grimacing as the gritty texture scraped his tongue. His face twisted faintly at the lingering, bitter aftertaste clinging to his teeth.

"Better than a rock…" he muttered, dry, humorless.

The ache in his limbs faded—the weight behind his eyes easing. His heartbeat steadied, though the knot in his chest stayed tight, unmoving.

He wiped his hands clean on the sand, smearing dark streaks across his pants, and rose slowly, sword dragging behind him.

The crimson wasteland stretched ahead—barren, jagged, infinite—but his legs no longer threatened to buckle beneath him.

His eyes drifted to the horizon. Clouds hung low, the red sky rippling faintly like oil on water.

The foul taste clung to his mouth.

A quiet breath escaped him, steady but flat.

"Alright… next."

The words fell like a stone into the silence, and with one small, heavy step forward, Anthony pressed on.