The forest no longer felt like a prison. It was his territory.
Time had ceased to matter. Days bled into weeks, weeks into years, until the boy who once stumbled through the undergrowth had been carved away. What remained was something else entirely.
He had grown—his frame stretched tall, his limbs corded with lean muscle. His face had lost its boyish softness, replaced by sharp, feral lines. His eyes gleamed like those of a beast, golden and unblinking, reflecting the light with a predatory glimmer. When he moved, it was not with the hesitance of a man but with the fluid certainty of a hunter who had forgotten what it meant to be prey.
Caelum no longer thought as humans did. The fine threads of doubt, morality, hesitation—they had long since unraveled. His instincts were pure, animalistic, sharpened by endless nights of blood and flesh.
And he had grown accustomed to the taste.
A boar-like beast squealed in his grasp, its tusks thrashing against the earth. With little effort, Caelum tore into its throat, crimson spraying hot across his face. His lips parted, fangs piercing flesh, and he drank deeply. The beast shuddered, whimpered, then fell silent, its life extinguished as its body slackened.
He exhaled, crimson dripping from his chin.
Some creatures he slaughtered out of necessity—strength demanded sustenance. Others he killed simply for the taste. He had begun to distinguish between them: the sweet tang of deer, the thick bitterness of wolves, the rich iron of great cats. Some were exquisite, worth hunting to the last of their kind. Others… were disappointing, and disappointment never ended well. When something tasted foul, it was not spared. He would wipe out the entire den, erasing its existence as if punishing it for daring to offend his tongue.
He was not invincible—not yet. But within this forest, Caelum had become something far worse than a beast. He was a predator that no creature could understand, one that killed not only to survive but because he craved the act itself.
Over time, Caelum's arsenal had grown terrifying. His bloodline granted him Bloodline Frenzy, a state where his strength, speed, and senses surged by half again, turning him into an unstoppable beast. The price, however, was hunger—when the frenzy faded, the scent of blood could drive him to madness.
From the forest itself, three more powers had awakened:
Verdant Sight: the ability to see through every plant around him, granting perfect awareness of his surroundings. Needs focus and only 15-20 meters from user.
Regeneration: a monstrous healing ability that let his flesh knit together and even lost limbs grow back, so long as he had the energy.
Forest's Call: a predatory skill that dragged enemies into an illusion of the endless forest, leaving them disoriented and vulnerable.
With these, Caelum no longer resembled a boy but a true creature of the wild—one step closer to the monster his bloodline demanded he become.
Far away, in a chamber untouched by the chaos of the woods, the world moved at a different pace.
A grand study stretched wide, its walls lined with tomes bound in leather and parchment stacked with the weight of centuries. The air smelled faintly of ink, wax, and old blood. At the center, behind an ornate oak desk, sat a man.
He was striking—too perfect, too symmetrical. His face was sculpted with stern elegance, his bearing calm yet heavy with authority. And when his lips curled, a sharp fang glinted from the firelight, betraying what he was.
A goblin stood before him. Short, green-skinned, dressed in a robe that did little to disguise his trembling posture, the creature bowed deeply.
"My lord," the goblin began, voice strained, "there has been a disturbance in the eastern depths of the great forest. Entire swathes of beasts have vanished. Not merely slain—their remains are missing. No carcasses, no bones, nothing. It is as though they were devoured whole."
The man's gaze lifted from the parchment in his hand, eyes narrowing slightly. "Devoured, you say?"
The goblin swallowed hard. "Yes, my lord. It is unnatural. Our scouts suspect either a rogue cultivator hiding in the forest… or a beast from the deeper region."
The silence stretched. The fire crackled.
Then, slowly, the man's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "How curious."
The goblin dared to continue. "That region was marked off. No clan claimed it. For something to sweep it clean so… completely, it must not be ordinary. Perhaps it is worth investigating—"
"I was already planning to pass that way," the man interrupted, standing with an ease that made the world feel smaller around him. His presence seemed to fill the chamber, pressing down on the goblin until his knees threatened to buckle. "I'll take a look."
He began to walk toward the door.
"My lord," the goblin stammered quickly, "the academy begins its opening ceremonies next week. You are expected to attend—"
"I will be there," the man replied without pause, his tone carrying no weight of obligation.
The goblin hesitated, then finally looked up. "…And what if the predator proves… troublesome?"
The man's smile deepened, exposing both fangs now, his voice a velvet whisper. "Then it will be entertaining."
Before the goblin could speak again, the space before him rippled—and the man was gone, leaving only the empty chair and the faint lingering of cold air.
The goblin's shoulders slumped in relief. He wiped the sweat from his brow, muttering bitterly beneath his breath.
"Damn vampires…"
His words were drowned by the fire's hiss, but the sentiment lingered in the silence of the chamber.