Chapter 1: The Devil Beneath the Island
Deep beneath the surface of an uncharted island, four figures descended into the cavernous unknown. The narrow path twisted into darkness, the silence broken only by the crunch of their boots and the flickering flame of a single torch.
"This place… it's unsettling," murmured the man holding the torch, his voice echoing off damp stone walls.
"Yeah," replied another, brushing his fingers along ancient carvings on the cave wall. "These markings are everywhere… I think they might be telling a story."
They stepped deeper into the shadows, the torchlight casting eerie shapes on carvings too worn to fully decipher. One caught their attention—a towering figure surrounded by swirling lines and crowned with radiance.
"Is this... the King of Gods?" someone asked.
Another squinted, pointing. "Look here—it says something about seven trumpets. What does that mean?"
"Who knows? Could've been etched by a god. Or maybe just some ancient cult," said the torchbearer, half-joking but uneasy.
"Gods… you think they really existed?"
"Maybe. Or maybe the myths were warnings we chose to forget."
As they stepped into a larger chamber filled with even older markings, the temperature dropped. The torch sputtered. From behind them, something moved.
A black figure emerged from the shadows—tall, horned, and silent.
"…Just as I expected," it whispered.
In an instant, the cave echoed with screams. Claws tore through flesh. Blood splattered the sacred walls. The devil grinned, sinking its fangs into one of the corpses.
"Delicious."
---
Morning – City of Suez
Sunlight spilled over the terraced rooftops of Suez, a small city surrounded by untamed wilderness. The breeze carried the scent of the sea, and the cries of birds echoed through cobbled streets.
Inside a humble home, a boy with a worn axe strapped to his back was tying his boots.
"Hey Dad, I'm heading out!" the boy called out.
From the kitchen, a tired voice replied, "Again, Dagda? Where are you even going this time?"
"The forest. I've got to keep hunting if I'm ever going to become a Predator! Make fish for dinner, okay? Byeeee!"
Nico sighed, not looking up from the pan. "That boy…"
---
Dagda walked alone into the dense forest, sunlight filtering through thick branches. He was only fifteen, yet he treaded paths others feared at night. His dark hair fluttered in the breeze, and the worn handle of his axe felt like an extension of his arm.
"Haaah... so boring," he muttered. "One day, I'll be the greatest Predator this world's ever seen. I'll join a guild, explore lost lands, fight real monsters…"
A low growl broke the silence.
Dagda turned. A group of lions emerged from the brush—six of them, eyes burning with hunger.
He grinned.
"Now we're talking."
The first lion lunged. Dagda swung his axe, deflecting it mid-air, then drove the blade into its flank. Blood sprayed the grass. Another pounced, but Dagda ducked, rolled, and came up slicing through its neck in a single motion.
By the time the last beast fell, he stood panting, scarlet streaking his cheek. "Still boring…"
---
Elsewhere – Predator Association Headquarters
In a grand chamber filled with stained glass and stone columns, the leaders of the world's guilds gathered around a polished obsidian table.
At the head sat Edward Augustus—the founder and director of the Predator Association. His silver eyes scanned the room as he addressed the guild masters.
"How is training progressing for the next generation of Predators?" he asked.
Leo, a burly man with a lion's mane of golden hair, stood. "The Lionhearts Guild is making solid progress. The recruits are shaping up well."
"Good," Edward said. "Keep them sharp. Watch them closely. We have… troubling signs lately. And the next Predator Exams may bring more than just competition."
The room fell silent.
Something was coming.