StarR1ser

In Nyxterra, strength is law, and the weak are nothing but stepping stones for the strong. Dante Varros learned this truth the hard way.

Born an orphan, he clawed his way into Arcadia Academy, the world’s strongest institution, only to be crushed beneath the heels of noble heirs who saw him as nothing more than entertainment. Beaten, humiliated, and left to rot.

Fifteen years of suffering. Fifteen years of helplessness.

Then came his fifteenth birthday—and with it, his awakening.

Hunter. A power that feeds on death. Anything he kills, he can plunder—abilities, talents, skills, even lifespan.

His first prey? The noble heir who had spent years making his life hell.

He struck without mercy. No hesitation. No regret. He watched the light fade from their eyes and took what was rightfully his.

Now, Dante moves in the shadows and the light, hunting the strong, stealing their power, and carving his name into a world ruled by monsters in human skin.

War looms. Factions rise and fall. The gods of this world feast on the weak.

But Dante is no one’s prey.

He is the predator.

And he will slaughter his way to the top.

Dominion of the Slain

The academy gates loomed ahead, an imposing structure of blacksteel and engraved runes, standing as a reminder of the power Arcadia Academy wielded. Dawn was just beginning to break, casting a dull glow over the towering spires. Dante walked through the entrance, his posture relaxed, his face impassive. The weight of his kills, his victories, was buried deep beneath an unshakable mask.

Jared and Meren trailed behind him, obedient and silent, just as they should be. They had no other choice. Fear was a more reliable chain than trust, and Dante had tightened it around their throats.

The academy's instructors were already waiting in the main hall, their eyes sharp as they took in the sight of the three survivors. A dozen other students who had gone on different dungeon assignments were present, whispering among themselves. Some had returned wounded, others missing a member or two. But no one had lost four members like Dante's group.

A man with steel-gray hair and cold blue eyes stepped forward—Instructor Soren, the overseer of the academy's expeditions.

Dante met his gaze without hesitation. "The dungeon was more dangerous than the initial assessment. We were ambushed by Crawlers almost immediately. Gareth was the first to fall. Lucien panicked and was caught soon after. Elaine was lost in the chaos. We barely escaped with our lives."

Soren studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "And how did you, an underperformer, manage to survive when the others did not?"

Dante's lips barely twitched in amusement. The same question I expected.

"Luck. Fear. Desperation." He gestured towards Jared and Meren. "We ran. We didn't look back. That's the only reason we made it out."

The other instructors exchanged glances. Some seemed skeptical, but nothing Dante said was unbelievable. Students died all the time in dungeon expeditions—Arcadia Academy wasn't known for mercy.

Soren finally nodded. "Unfortunate, but expected. The academy acknowledges your survival. You are dismissed."

As Dante turned away, he caught the look in Jared's eyes—relief. Meren was the same, visibly sagging as tension drained from his shoulders.

They thought they had truly escaped. That their silence had bought them freedom.

Dante walked ahead, his mind already orchestrating their fates.

Graduation is in two weeks. They would not live past it.

Later that night, Dante sat in his dorm, his back against the cold stone wall. The room was small, barely furnished—just a bed, a desk, and a single candle flickering against the darkness.

He flexed his fingers, calling forth Phantom Blade. The ethereal weapon formed instantly, its sharp edge gleaming before fading into nothingness. Then he activated Mirage Veil, watching his form shimmer and vanish before releasing the skill.

The pieces were falling into place.

He was no longer the boy who had cowered under the heel of noble heirs. He was a predator, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

And when the time came, he would not hesitate.

Reckoning