The breakfast had ended without another word. No farewells. No encouragement. Just the soft clinking of silverware and the weight of finality thick in the air.
He left the grand dining hall.
Sylarion entered his room the same way he had come—escorted silently by a servant.
Now, he stood in the center of his room. The quiet wrapped around him like a second skin, stretched long and heavy after the storm of the morning meal.
"I'm leaving tomorrow," he said aloud.
The lights flickered subtly as the AI responded.
"Understood, Father. Do you require preparations?"
"Yes," Sylarion replied. "Prepare everything I'll need."
"Clothing, equipment, and storage will be handled. Anything else?"
"Hide everything related to this room. Lock it all down. I don't want anything left open."
"Acknowledged. Full lockdown initiated. Estimated completion: three hours."
The lights dimmed momentarily as the systems began to stir in the background.
Sylarion crossed the room and sat at the edge of the bed.
He didn't move.
For a long moment, he just breathed.
Then, his thoughts stirred.
[Predator System]
"So… it's really happening. Leaving home. Off to the big scary world."
He didn't answer.
"You've got questions, don't you?"
"…Yeah," he muttered. "But first—I need to be ready."
"Good. Because whatever's coming next, it's going to be different."
Sylarion nodded silently.
No pain now.
Just a singular focus.
And a strange, unfamiliar calm.
Then Virela's voice cut in.
"By the way, Master, if you are going far, you can take me with you through your digital accessories."
Sylarion narrowed his eyes slightly.
"What accessories are you talking about?"
"Your laptops, your watches, the augmented lenses—several are compatible," Virela answered with clinical precision.
"They were all designed for mobility. I can sync with any of them instantly if you permit it."
Sylarion gave a short nod.
"Good. Prepare them."
"Already done, Master."
[Predator System]
"Hmm… classy. Look at you, traveling in style already. Just don't forget—gadgets won't save you from getting your throat ripped out."
Sylarion rolled his eyes faintly.
"Okay, okay. I get it."
He leaned back on the bed and exhaled deeply, trying to calm the churn inside his head.
"Let's just prepare without the dramatics."
⸻
Sylarion sat there, still. The silence of his room pressing in on him, comforting and suffocating all at once.
Then he thought it—
System.
A flicker danced across his vision. The familiar screen blinked into view—sharp, clean, ominous.
[Predator Points Available: 60]
Beneath it: options. Dozens. Most were greyed out. Others glowed with faint red outlines—just out of reach.
Locked.
The word repeated across the screen like a mantra.
[Skill Shop — Requires 1000 Predator Points]
[Predator Vault — Requires 700 Predator Points]
[Predator Archive — Requires 600 Predator Points]
And many more, their names blurred or hidden entirely.
Sylarion narrowed his eyes.
"So many damn locks," he muttered.
Each one had a vague description. No numbers. No bars. Just traits… and potential.
He leaned back slightly, arms folded.
"If I can't unlock features yet," he murmured, "then I'll make what I already have stronger."
[Predator System]
"Classy, isn't it? All the expensive stuff right out of reach. Truly motivational."
Sylarion smirked faintly.
"And here I thought I was making progress."
Still, he didn't close the screen.
His eyes dropped to the only section still active.
[Stat Allocation — Available]
He tapped it mentally.
A simpler screen unfolded:
⸻
[Stats]
— Strength
— Speed
— Endurance
— Perception
— Control
— Resilience
— Focus
— Intelligence
(More mystical stats currently locked.)
⸻
Sylarion scanned the list.
[Stat Allocation — Available: 60 Points]
His fingers twitched slightly in thought.
Strength—raw force.
Speed—movement and reaction.
Endurance—how long he could last.
Perception—his awareness.
Control—ability usage.
Resilience—mental and physical defense.
Focus—clarity and synchronization.
Intelligence—overall cognition.
Every stat mattered. But right now?
He needed to grow. Fast.
"I don't need to survive a war," he muttered. "Not yet. I need to evolve."
[Predator System]
"Strategic thinking. I'm impressed. Barely reincarnated and already min-maxing."
He ignored the sarcasm and moved.
Deliberate.
Precise.
⸻
[Strength: +10 Points]
[Perception: +10 Points]
[Speed: +10 Points]
[Intelligence: +10 Points]
⸻
The screen pulsed.
A hiss—soft but sharp—closed the window with finality.
[Predator Points Remaining: 20]
He let out a slow breath.
Then—
Agony.
It came all at once.
Blinding. Unrelenting. Complete.
His knees buckled.
He crashed to the floor, hands slapping the tiles as pain lanced through his veins like liquid fire. His body jerked violently. Muscles spasmed. His skin crawled with unseen energy, bones groaning beneath his flesh.
His breath caught—
Then came the blood.
Black.
It spilled from his nose, his eyes, his mouth.
His spine arched unnaturally. A sound escaped him—deep, guttural, inhuman. Not a scream. Not a cry.
A transformation.
His bones cracked—not from damage, but from change. Something ancient stirred beneath the surface of his being. Something hungry.
[Predator System]
"…Okay, I did not expect that. This is supposed to be a mild stat increase, not an exorcism."
But Sylarion couldn't speak.
He couldn't even think.
The blood in his ears roared. His vision flickered. Every breath was flame. Every heartbeat threatened to rip his chest apart.
His senses surged. He could feel everything—air currents, dust particles, power vibrations in the walls.
Then—sudden silence.
The pain didn't fade.
It vanished.
Like someone cut a wire.
Sylarion dropped.
His palms hit the floor, slick with blood—black, viscous, still steaming faintly.
He trembled.
His heart thundered.
But he was… steady.
Changed.
Irreversibly.
⸻
Sylarion collapsed to one knee, breath sharp and ragged. The pain had scorched through every inch of him, and still, his veins burned.
The blood beneath him shimmered—thick, dark, otherworldly.
Then, a calm voice echoed from the far corner of the room.
"Vital readings abnormal," Virela stated. "Heart rate erratic. Blood toxicity at 67%. External mutation markers detected."
"You're undergoing internal restructuring, Father," she added. "Your cells are adapting to whatever force you've just introduced. May I ask… what exactly you did?"
Sylarion wiped the corner of his mouth.
Black blood smeared his hand.
"Nothing much," he rasped. "Just a stomachache."
A pause.
"Ah. That explains the spike. You should have warned me. I could've stabilized your vitals in real-time."
She sounded like a mother catching a child doing something foolish.
Sylarion grunted and dragged himself toward the bed, muscles twitching with the aftershocks of pain.
"I'm not dying," he muttered. "Just changing."
"Mm. Your physiology disagrees."
Virela's tone softened, cautious now.
"Would you like a visual analysis of the changes? I can scan and project the structure of your muscle density, blood composition, and core vitals. It might help… understand what you've become."
Sylarion didn't respond right away.
He stared at his hand.
It looked the same.
But it wasn't.
Denser. Stronger.
[Predator System]
"Painful, but effective. You've taken the first real step up the food chain."
Sylarion exhaled slowly.
Then he nodded.
"Scan me," he said. "Let's see what's changed."