Prologue - The Curse of the Predator
The night wind howled from the north, carrying the scent of blood and ash that clung to the dry plains. The earth trembled softly, as if suppressing its own screams. Amidst the ruins of an ancient temple forgotten by time, torchlight danced wildly, casting shadows that resembled claws and fangs. They, the demon worshippers, donned black robes smeared with forbidden symbols, standing in a circle around a young girl who knelt in silence.
Her name was Cassandra Von Mallearch. She was only fourteen at the time. Too young to die. But also too precious to those who believed that the blood of a sacred maiden could open the gates to eternal power.
Her hands were bound with rough rope, her knees grinding against the sharp stones beneath. Her body was covered in wounds, not from resistance, but from the days before, when she had been their plaything, their offering. Her eyes stared blankly ahead, but behind those fading irises, a small ember still refused to die. She no longer cried. She knew that tears would only make them laugh.
An old man stepped into the center of the circle. The high priest among them, wielding a dagger smeared with cursed poison, a relic from a long-dead demon. Chants began to rise. Ancient words from a tongue even the gods were loath to remember.
And just as the blade lifted, as the air split with murderous intent, the sky fell.
A silent thunderbolt tore through the dark sky, and all flames died in an instant. The cultists froze, their eyes wide as a figure emerged from the shadows. The wind grew heavy, the heavens roared, and the night bowed in fear.
From the mist and swirling dust emerged Persephone, the Goddess of Darkness, Queen of the Underworld. Her gown flowed like liquid night, and her eyes were empty and deep, as if staring into souls yet unborn. She did not speak with a voice. She spoke with will.
One by one, the cultists' bodies exploded into black dust before they could even scream. All that remained was the girl, collapsed on the ground, trembling, her face unable to comprehend what had just occurred.
Persephone approached her. There was no mercy in her presence. But neither was there hatred. Only understanding… the kind that terrifies.
"This world wants you dead. So I offer you a life that will make them regret it."
The voice echoed in Cassandra's head, cold and cutting.
"Power shall be yours. But nothing comes without a price. I give you the Predator's Curse, a curse that will grant you the strength to tear, devour, and destroy. But every time you use it, years of your life will become its feast. You will burn your own time."
Cassandra looked up at the goddess with a broken body. But her tongue, for the first time that night, dared to move.
"...What if I want that power... without losing my time?"
Persephone smiled, a thin smile more terrifying than hell itself.
"Then give me your body. One part, one permanent power. An arm, an eye, your skin... your heart. Sacrifice flesh for absolute might."
And with that, the goddess of darkness vanished, leaving Cassandra in the heart of the Red Wastes, a lifeless land where the day burned and the night froze the soul. She was alone. Her body broken. But the curse slowly fused with her blood and bones.
Years passed.
She learned to live. To survive. To kill.
Every power she used devoured her time, she knew that. But she learned to choose. To restrain. And when she no longer could, she dared to sacrifice... parts of herself. Her once-fragile right hand no longer belonged to her. Her left eye had been traded for the vision of a nocturnal predator. She did not weep for what she lost. Because each wound gave her strength to keep standing.
Now, at twenty-one, Cassandra Von Mallearch was no longer the little girl on the altar.
She was the shadow that haunted the night. Her ash-grey dress mirrored the ashes of those she had slain. Her black cloak flowed like darkness. Her short white hair no longer clung to childhood. And her eyes those glowing golden eyes, were the eyes of one who had given everything, just so she would never be a victim again.
This is not a tale of a hero.
This is the tale of a predator.