"This... might be it."
I coughed, tasting blood. My claws scraped the stone floor of the labyrinth as I knelt, muscles trembling. A massive shadow loomed above me.
Gavrlok.
The Bone-Crowned Terror. A beast with thick crimson fur, jagged obsidian horns, and burning eyes that saw through lies, weakness... fear.
It snarled.
[Unique Monster: Gavrlok – The Spine Tyrant | Level 24]
[Warning: Vital signs unstable. Physical damage critical. Devour not available while combat-active.]
My vision swam, blood dripping into my eye.
"Heh... not how I imagined my end."
Not again.
The creature lunged.
I rolled — barely — and gasped as Gavrlok's claws grazed my ribs, slamming me into the wall. Bones cracked. Pain shot through me like wildfire.
I slid to the floor, body broken. Breathing was hard.
And yet...
"Why the hell am I even here?" I thought. "I wasn't born in this world. I wasn't even meant to be part of this cursed cycle."
---
One month ago
Rain fell. My breathing was shallow. I pressed my back against the cold brick wall, hands pressed to my side where crimson leaked out of me.
I was dying.
No doubt about it.
I glanced at the wound. Deep. Clean. Precise. The blade that did this didn't tremble.
Footsteps echoed.
I turned the corner of the alley, slipping into shadow. I moved like a ghost, but my body betrayed me — sluggish, weak, poisoned.
I kept moving.
Through the alleyways of the eastern slums. Past rotting crates and forgotten corpses.
Behind me... silence.
Too silent.
Then I saw him.
A silhouette in the rain. Calm. Still.
Him.
The man who raised me. Trained me. Used me.
The King of Assassins.
"I taught you better than this, Kael."
I gritted my teeth. "I'm not your pawn anymore."
He didn't answer. Just stepped forward, a blur in the rain.
I drew my blade with my good hand. Not perfect — but it would do.
We clashed.
Steel met steel. Sparks flew. Rain hissed off our blades.
His movements were flawless. Mine were instinctual. My body remembered what my mind couldn't focus on. We danced the same death waltz we had drilled for years — but this time, I was on the wrong end of it.
A feint. A pivot. My arm was nicked.
Another. My leg.
A final step... and his blade went through my chest.
I gasped.
The rain tasted metallic now.
His face was calm. "You were never meant to live free."
I fell to my knees.
Everything slowed.
"So this is how I die..."
Not a warrior's end. Not even a betrayal.
Just a correction of control.
I thought of the life I lived — silent kills, cold eyes, endless blood on my hands. A debt I was born into. A cage I tried to run from.
And now?
Nothing.
No redemption.
No second chance.
Just—
Then
My eyes snapped open—blurry, light-sensitive, weak.
Everything felt wrong.
The world was distorted, muffled. My limbs were short, my muscles feeble. But I forced myself to breathe. To look.
The air was cold. Damp. Heavy with a scent that stirred something primal in my newly-formed instincts—wet stone, blood, and moss.
I blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the darkness. There was light—barely. Thin shafts of it bled through jagged cracks high above, where the stone ceiling broke apart. Pale, dust-laced beams that pierced the gloom like dying stars.
The cave stretched deep, far beyond where my weakened vision could reach. Its walls were jagged, natural—not carved, but worn by time, by claw, by something ancient and powerful. The rock here was a dull grey, but splotched with patches of green lichen and fungal growth. Pools of water shimmered in crevices, reflecting the faint light like fractured glass.
The air was still. Silent.
Yet... not lifeless.
Bones littered the edges of the cave—old kills. Hollowed carcasses of things once fierce and living, now nothing but reminders. Skulls of monsters, beasts, perhaps even men. Scorch marks along the far wall. Scratches—claw marks—deep enough to make the stone weep.
This was no sanctuary.
It was a den. A grave. A final refuge at the edge of survival.
And I was at the heart of it.
I shifted, just slightly, and realized I was resting on a bed of moss and thick animal pelts. Someone had made this space livable—if only barely. Around me, the remnants of hunted prey were tucked neatly away in corners, drying or left to rot. There was purpose here. Routine. A life of hardship and instinct.
A soft sound caught my attention.
A deep, slow breathing.
I turned—my neck ached even from that small movement.
And I saw her.
A massive figure, curled protectively around me. Silver fur matted with dried blood. Her flank rose and fell with each breath. Her paw was half-draped over me, as if shielding me from whatever nightmare this world held.
My mother.
Not by choice. Not by blood as I knew it.
But by survival.
This cave... it wasn't just a home.
It was a battlefield.
A cradle in a war-torn world.
And I had been born—or reborn—into it.
"Kael…?"
A warm voice drifted into my ears—low, feminine, and laced with concern. I turned toward the sound.
My mother.
Her eyes—pale silver like the moonlight—locked onto mine. Worry shimmered in them like a tide that refused to settle. She stretched her long, furred body and approached me, tail gently swaying. Even wounded, she moved with grace.
"You're awake…" she exhaled deeply, as though she'd been holding her breath for two days straight. "How do you feel, little one?"
I blinked. My throat ached, but the words came in a rasp. "I… I'm fine."
"Fine?" She narrowed her eyes and touched her snout to mine. "You nearly died. I was told the eastern tunnel collapsed… and when I found you buried under stone and blood…" She paused, biting back a growl. "You've been unconscious for almost two days."
"…Two days?" My voice cracked.
She nuzzled my fur, brushing away dried dirt. "When I heard what happened, I ran through half the Labyrinth. You have no idea how scared I was."
Her warmth… it was real. Steady. Nothing like the cold life I had before. No lies. No manipulation. No hidden blades.
Just… worry.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, lowering my head.
She snorted softly, licking my forehead. "You don't need to apologize. You're alive. That's all that matters."
I didn't respond. I couldn't. My chest ached—not from injury, but from something deeper.
I never had this before.
"Rest now. I'll hunt. We need food." She turned, casting one last glance before disappearing into the twisting paths beyond the cave.
The silence returned, but it didn't stay long.
Voices.
Multiple… outside.
I crept forward, crouching near the entrance, hidden by shadow and moss.
Two wolves walked past—young adults, bearing tribal scars and teeth sharpened from battle. Their voices carried easily.
"…That runt still alive?"
"Barely. Heard he got crushed under a collapsing tunnel."
"Hah. What kind of Ferawyn pup doesn't sense a cave-in? No bloodline, no power, no instincts. Not like his father."
"Don't even say that. The old Alpha was a true beast. Strength, speed, presence. One roar could make the stone shiver. But his son…? Tch."
"Even his cousins have awakened their bloodlines. He's what, two moons old now? Still nothing. Not even a flicker."
They stopped, lowering their voices to mocking whispers.
"Maybe the bloodline skipped him. Maybe he's just… broken."
They laughed.
A sharp, guttural kind of laughter that dug into me deeper than any blade ever had.
So this is what they think of me…
A runt.
A disappointment.
A shadow of a dead Alpha.
I clenched my tiny claws into the dirt.
They didn't know who I was.
They didn't know what I had been.
Not yet.
But they would.
I stared at the fading silhouettes of the tribe wolves as they vanished into the labyrinth, leaving only their scorn behind.
Then, without a word, I returned deeper into the cave.
And began to plan.
As I curled back into the shadows of the cave, a sudden pulse ran through my mind.
Sharp. Cold. Familiar.
—Ding!
> [System Rebooting…] [Synchronization with host: 94%… 100%] [Welcome back, Kael. You have successfully bonded with the Integrated Predator System.]
I froze.
What the hell…?
Another pulse—like static across the edges of my mind—then clear, neutral text began to scroll before my eyes, only visible to me.
> [Profile] Name: Kael
Race: Ferawyn Pup
Bloodline: ??? (Locked)
Age: 2 Moons
Health: 65/100
Energy: 42/100
Status: Recovering
Evolution Trait: Dormant
Bloodline Awakening: Not yet triggered
Titles: —
Skills:
Predator's Instinct (Passive)
Shadow Footwork (Basic)
Killer's Focus (Basic)
Devour (Level 1 | Sealed)
> Description:
You are a Ferawyn, a rare beast race born from the now-extinct Bloodmoon Alpha. Though you appear as a runt, your genes carry dormant power yet to awaken. Through evolution and the Devour system, you may become the Apex Hunter. Your potential is unique. However, this world holds no mercy for the weak.
My pupils narrowed.
So it's true. I wasn't reborn empty-handed.
I scanned each line again. Cold, efficient. Like I was analyzing a kill order.
Ferawyn… that must be the name of this wolf-like species. My mother's scent and energy match mine, so she must be one too. And Bloodmoon Alpha?
My father?
Tch. Doesn't matter. I'm not him.
I opened the skill tab again.
> [Devour — Level 1]
Status: Sealed (Partial Sync Complete)
Description: Grants the ability to consume monster cores and gain their traits. At level 1, you may absorb 2 cores instantly. Others require time and meditation. Stats gained depend on monster's specialization (Strength, Agility, Magic, etc.)
A faint smirk touched my lips.
Now we're talking.
So I gain strength by consuming monsters. This body might be weak now, but this… this is the edge I need.
---
I leaned my back against the cold cave wall, folding my forepaws together like clasped fingers from my past life.
First objective: survive.
I'm surrounded by creatures stronger than me. The tribe sees me as dead weight. Even my own bloodline is dormant. One wrong step and I'm corpse food.
Second objective: grow stronger, fast.
I need to train. Hunt. Devour. Learn how this body works. I need to turn every breath into a weapon.
Third… evolve.
Not just physically. I need to awaken whatever bloodline my father had. And from the way the system calls it "unique," I bet it's the key to climbing out of this hellhole.
---
I exhaled slowly, letting the plan burn itself into my mind.
One step at a time.
Just like back then, as an assassin.
Patience.
Precision.
No wasted motion.
Every strike must kill.
Every second must count.
---
And now… I wait.
For my mother to return.
For my wounds to fully heal.
For the moment I can step outside this cave—not as a runt—but as a hunter.