> "You smell like fear. That's good. It means you're still alive."
That was the first thing Raven heard as he crouched low in the blood-soaked grass. Not from someone alive—but from a beast's corpse. Or maybe his own exhausted mind.
The battlefield had fallen quiet.
The screams, the clash of cursed steel, the howls of Eclipsed Beasts—it was all over now. The Spectral Hunters had won. Again. And as always, the cleanup crew—the scavengers—came in last.
Raven tightened his gloves and adjusted the torn cloth that masked the lower half of his face. His jacket, once olive green, was now so stained with dried blood and monster bile that it crunched when he moved. He looked like a survivor, but not a warrior. Not even close.
He was seventeen. And in this world, that meant he'd already outlived most other "non-Hunters" in the outer districts.
"Sector Five is clear," crackled a radio in the distance. "Send in the crows."
That was them. The Crows. Slang for the unofficial looters like him. Their job? Collect whatever wasn't claimed. Cores, fangs, bones, or anything the big dogs left behind.
"Time to eat, huh?" Raven muttered. His voice was hoarse. His hands ached.
He stepped over the massive husk of a beast. The Eclipsed were always strange to look at—part animal, part nightmare, always shaped by the human fears that birthed them. This one looked like a lion made of glass, its mane a swirl of fog. A mid-tier D-class, maybe. But the glow in its chest…
...was still there.
Raven blinked.
"Did they forget to harvest it?" he whispered.
That never happened. Hunters always took the core. It was worth more than gold. Even dead, the thing pulsed like a heartbeat.
He hesitated, then pulled out his carving knife.
"I'm not stealing. I'm surviving."
As he plunged the blade into the beast's chest, it shuddered. Just once. Just enough to freeze his blood.
Then it spoke.
> "You. Hunger… like me."
Raven staggered back, tripping over a root. His hands shook. That wasn't possible. Beasts didn't talk after death. Or even before. They howled, screamed, gurgled—but never spoke.
The core cracked open by itself. Not inwards—outwards—like something was breaking free.
A rush of black mist hit him in the face.
Everything tilted.
He was no longer standing in the forest, but in a space filled with mirrors—cracked, floating, all reflecting versions of himself. Some looked older. Some... weren't even human.
At the center stood a figure cloaked in ash and stars. Eyes like black suns peered through the void beneath the hood.
"I've waited long, little scavenger," it said, voice like a cold wind wrapped in silk. "You picked my corpse. So I pick you."
"I didn't mean to—!"
"Does it matter? Your soul is cracked. That means you can hold me. Or I hold you. Doesn't matter. The hunger is shared now."
Raven opened his mouth to scream, but all that came out was light—blinding, searing—
—And then he was back.
The forest. The blood. The silence.
His hands glowed faintly with a strange sigil burned into his palm. Like a curse. No—like a brand.
His vision blurred. His heartbeat sounded like thunder. His head hurt, but his body felt…
Stronger. Hungrier.
And then he heard footsteps. Real ones.
"Hey! Someone's still here!"
A group of junior Hunters rounded the corner. One saw the glow in Raven's hand and pointed, face pale.
"Is that a cursed mark?!"
Raven turned to run.
And the forest screamed with him.