The forest was silent.
Not the silence of peace, but the silence of teeth and claws waiting in the shadows.
Ernest Aldery stood among the trees, his small hands resting calmly at his sides. The moon hung above him like a blade of silver, its pale light dripping between twisted branches. Most children his age would have been home, tucked in bed, dreaming of knights and dragons.
But Ernest was not most children.
His gaze swept the underbrush, sharp and calculating. He could feel the pull of mana in the air, faint trails of life that brushed against his senses like threads tugging at his mind. The world here was raw, untamed, unshaped by human order.
It was the perfect crucible.
A low growl broke the silence.
Golden eyes gleamed in the dark, followed by another pair, and another. Shadows shifted. Shapes padded forward on silent paws.
Wolves.
Six of them. Their coats ragged, their ribs sharp under fur, hunger burning in their eyes.
The pack fanned out, circling him. Their growls rose like a chorus of drums, deep and guttural, promising blood.
Ernest's lips curved slightly.
Good. Let's begin.
The first wolf lunged, jaws snapping. Ernest didn't flinch.
"Kneel."
His words carried, a ripple of mana twisting outward. The wolf's body froze mid-leap. Its legs buckled, slamming its chest into the dirt with a whine. The other wolves skidded to a halt, confused for a heartbeat.
Then they snarled louder, enraged.
The second wolf darted forward. The third flanked.
"Stop."
One froze, mid-stride. The other kept coming, saliva dripping from its fangs.
Ernest's eyes narrowed. His voice was calm, clipped, absolute.
"Sleep."
Mana surged, draining from him into the word. The wolf's eyes rolled back, its body collapsing like a puppet with cut strings.
But his chest tightened. Already, his mana flow was ragged. He had infinite power, yes, but his control was crude. He was pouring buckets of water where a stream was needed.
Two wolves remained, circling him with hesitation. The one that had fallen to its knees growled, struggling to rise.
Ernest clicked his tongue. Sloppy. Too slow. Too imprecise.
The beasts lunged together, two streaks of muscle and teeth. Ernest twisted his small body aside, barely avoiding the snap of jaws. A claw scraped his sleeve, tearing fabric, slicing a shallow cut across his arm.
Pain bloomed hot. His body—still a child's—stumbled, nearly falling.
The wolves circled again, smelling blood.
For the first time, Ernest's heart pounded. This body is weak. A single mistake and I die. I cannot afford mistakes.
He steadied his breathing, cold clarity hardening in his gaze.
"Kill each other."
His words cracked through the air like thunder. Mana surged outward, chains unseen lashing around the beasts. The wolves convulsed, snarling, then turned—fangs tearing into one another's throats. Blood sprayed the ground, dark under the moonlight.
The last wolf, the one that had been forced to kneel, finally rose, trembling but furious. It howled and charged.
Ernest's gaze cut into it like a knife.
"Die."
The wolf froze mid-leap. Its body seized. Its eyes glazed over. It collapsed lifeless at his feet.
Silence returned to the forest.
Ernest stood among the corpses, chest rising and falling. His sleeve was torn, his arm bleeding, but his expression was cold, composed. Inside, though, a fire burned.
Not fear. Not regret.
Exhilaration.
On Earth, he had lived like a ghost—adrift, unseen, unfulfilled. Here, in this world of monsters and gods, every breath carried weight. Every choice carved a path.
He looked down at the blood pooling at his feet and whispered, "I am no prey. I am the predator."
The words were not a declaration. They were truth.
But even as his heartbeat slowed, Ernest frowned.
The fight had been messy. Too costly. He had wasted mana like a fool, commanding without precision. Infinite mana meant nothing if he drowned himself with every command.
I must learn restraint. Control. The gods will not bow to sloppy words.
He wiped the blood from his cut, ignoring the sting. It was shallow. Pain meant nothing.
Then—
He froze.
A sound rumbled through the trees. Deep. Heavy. Not the growl of a wolf, but something larger, heavier.
The ground itself seemed to vibrate with its steps.
Ernest turned his gaze toward the shadows. Between the trees, he saw claw marks gouged deep into bark. Bones lay scattered, some human, some animal, all gnawed clean.
His lips curved into a sharper smile.
"Something stronger…"
The growl came again, closer now. The forest seemed to hold its breath.
Ernest clenched his small fists, excitement sparking in his veins. He had bled tonight. He had killed. But this… this promised more.
"If this world dares to test me," he whispered, voice low, "then let it send me a worthy opponent."
Two red eyes opened in the dark.
The forest erupted with the sound of a howl, long and thunderous, shaking the branches overhead.