Tom had always found joy in escaping through stories. He often imagined himself as the characters he read about—vampires with tragic pasts, werewolves with unstoppable power, and humans gifted with systems that let them rise against all odds. In reality, he was a thirty-year-old man lying on a hospital bed, dying from an unknown condition that the doctors had no name for. They had already told him his days were numbered. He hated this world and chose instead to live in one built inside his mind—a world where he mattered. Trapped in a cage of misery, all he ever wanted was to be free. He had spent his entire twenties working in an unregistered chemical lab, and deep down, he knew that place had given him the illness eating away at his body. But there was no justice. No compensation. His savings had run dry, and he had fallen deep into debt just to survive. Then, on a cold and quiet morning, his suffering came to an end—when death finally claimed him.
But this was not the end of Tom's miserable existence—it was only the beginning of something new. Something different. Something far more dangerous. He had spent his entire life like a prey, running from pain, from people, from the world itself. Always cornered, always beneath someone else's boot. But now, for the first time, he felt the weight of that life slipping away. The fear, the weakness, the helplessness—it was all fading. This time, things would be different. This time, he would not run. This time, he would become the one others feared. The predator.
Tom found himself drifting in a vast, star-filled void—floating weightlessly as if suspended in the middle of the universe. There was no pain, no body, just an overwhelming silence and a sky painted with endless galaxies. Confusion set in.
Where am I?
Who… am I?
Then it clicked. He remembered. His name. His pain. His death.
Before he could make sense of anything else, a voice echoed through the void, sharp and oddly casual.
"Ahem! Ahem! Hellooo?"
Tom turned toward the sound, and his eyes widened. A glowing finger—bright like a falling star—was waving at him. The finger belonged to a man who shimmered like stardust, his features almost too surreal to describe.
Still disoriented, Tom asked, "Who… are you?"
The glowing man grinned. "I'm you."
"What?" Tom blinked. "No, I'm me. How can you be me?"
"No, dummy. I'm you from the distant past."
"That makes no sense. If you're in the past, how are you here now?"
The man sighed, brushing a glowing hand through his radiant hair. "Just shut up and listen."
Tom stayed quiet.
"I gambled our existence. Took a shot to get something powerful—something insane. And guess what? We won," the figure said, eyes gleaming with cosmic fire. "We're about to reincarnate into a very peculiar world. A place where anything and everything is possible. We'll have a powerful tool with us—something that can change everything."
Tom stared, still lost.
"So," the man added, voice firm, "try not to die. Again."
Before Tom could ask another question, the glowing man drifted closer. His body shimmered like collapsing stars, radiant and unstable. There was no warning, no time to react.
In the blink of an eye, the figure reached out—and touched him.
A blinding explosion of light swallowed everything.
Galaxies bent, time twisted, and reality cracked. In that moment, Tom felt something ancient and powerful surge through him, like thousands of locked doors inside his soul bursting open at once.
They were becoming one.
Then—
Silence.
Darkness.
And the sound of something new beginning.
Tom's eyes snapped open, his breath ragged and panicked as if he'd just broken the surface of deep water. He gasped, blinking rapidly while trying to make sense of his surroundings.
Then it hit him—the voice, the void, that blinding explosion. He remembered everything, though it still felt unreal.
He looked down at himself, hands trembling. This wasn't his frail, dying body from the hospital bed. The cold white sheets, the scent of antiseptic—gone.
Instead, he lay on a soft bed in a lavish room, richly decorated with dark wood and velvet drapes. It was nothing like the place he'd died in.
I… really reincarnated.
At first, he couldn't believe it. But the pieces began to settle in his mind. Slowly, reluctantly, reality started to take shape.
He stood on unsteady legs and walked toward a mirror across the room. What he saw left him stunned.
Gone was the sickly, worn-out man he once was. The face staring back at him was pale as snow, sharp, and strikingly handsome—almost ethereal. His eyes, once sunken and tired, now gleamed with strange intensity.
"This... is me?"
Just as Tom reached out to touch the reflection in disbelief, something unexpected happened.
Ding!
A crisp, mechanical chime echoed directly in his mind.
"System initializing..."
"Assessing host's condition..."
Tom froze.
Another sound followed.
Ding!
"Predator System activated."
His eyes widened. The voice didn't come from the room. It echoed from somewhere deeper—inside his own head. Smooth, cold, emotionless… and terrifyingly clear.
"Scanning environment. Syncing memory pathways. Establishing neural interface..."
"What the hell...?" Tom muttered, a mix of fear and fascination washing over him.
Tom burst out laughing, tears welling in his eyes—not from sadness, but sheer disbelief and joy.
"Vuhooo!" he shouted, throwing his arms up like a madman. "A system! I actually have a system!"
The thrill in his voice echoed off the marble walls. All those years of reading stories, dreaming, imagining… and now it was real.
"Yes, host," the voice replied calmly, interrupting his celebration. "You have me—the Predator System. But now is not the time for celebration."
Tom blinked. "Huh?"
"The important topic right now is not me... but your survival."
The smile slowly faded from his face.
"This world is not kind. You were prey once. You still are… unless you evolve."
"This world?" Tom asked.
"I have you now, like all those other MCs. I'm going to rule this world like a king."
He grinned.
"Incorrect," the System replied.
"You are weak. Unknown. You have no power here"
The System spoke again.
"In this world, humans are treated with disdain. You are still a human."
Tom's smile faded slightly.
"This world is filled with uncountable and rare species—powerful, ancient, and dangerous. Vampires, werewolves, witches, demons… and more."
"Your identity in this world is the son of a vampire lord. Your mother was human."
Tom's eyes widened.
"But in the eyes of this world… you inherited none of your father's powers."
"You are seen as nothing more than a weak, rejected half-blood. Just a mere human."
The System continued:
"Humans are considered a food source by many species in this world."
"The only reason you're still living comfortably is because of your father's status."
"But even with that, you've made many enemies."
"Weak, human, and privileged. That combination breeds resentment."
Tom clenched his fists, the weight of his new life settling in.
The System spoke again, its voice steady and clear.
"From this moment on, your name is Sylarion Drekkh (age 20)."
Tom stared blankly for a moment.
"Tom is dead. That life is over."
"You are Sylarion now. Born of vampire blood. Shaped by human pain. And bound to the Predator System."
A chill ran through him as the name echoed in his mind.
"Sylarion Drekkh…" he whispered. "I'm... him now."
Tom asked, "So… what can you do for me, System?"
The System responded:
"Anything."
"From the powers of the rarest species in this world to forbidden bold powers long lost—I can grant you all of it."
"But you must earn it."
"Now, access to the Predator System interface is unlocked."
"Say: 'Open System.'"
Tom took a breath. "Open System."
A transparent screen appeared before his eyes.
[Race: Human (Weak)]
[Attributes: Not worthy to be recorded]
He stared at the screen in silence.
There were several options:
Shop, Inventory, Missions, Status, and more…
But what caught his eye was the most shiny, glowing tab—
[Lottery]
His eyes lit up.
"Now we're talking…" he muttered.
Just as Sylarion was about to touch the glowing Lottery tab—
BANG!
The door was kicked open with force, crashing against the wall.
A figure stormed in. He looked like Sylarion—but older, sharper, and more intimidating.
He shouted without hesitation, "What the hell are you doing?!"
Sylarion, startled, stumbled backward and fell to the ground. His heart pounded as he tried to gather himself.
"W-Wait a minute—" he stammered.
"That is your older brother," the System informed flatly.
The man didn't care. He marched forward, raised his fist, and swung it toward Sylarion's face.
Sylarion lifted his hands in defense—
But the fist stopped just short.
Instead, the man lightly slapped him across the cheek.
"Why do you always do such stupid acts?" he snapped. "You're giving everyone a headache."
He narrowed his eyes. "Stop playing around with fights that could get you killed. We won't always be there to protect you, dumbwit. You could've died that day."
Then, without warning, he gave Sylarion a head pat—firm, almost like a warning.
His face turned to disappointment as he stared for a moment longer… then turned around and walked out.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Sylarion sat there, stunned—still processing what just happened.
Sylarion sat frozen.
Just moments ago, he had been alone, peaceful, about to explore the system.
And now—his door broken, his cheek stung, his heart racing.
"What just happened…?" he muttered, still in disbelief.
He blinked and turned to the air, speaking to the only thing that made sense right now.
"System… what was that?"
"Your own problem," the System replied bluntly. "Handle your personal messes yourself."
Sylarion stared blankly at the glowing system interface, unsure whether to laugh or scream.
Sylarion sat on the edge of the bed, heart still racing from the sudden encounter. Just moments ago, he was alone, adjusting to the shock of reincarnation, the awakening of the system, and his new identity.
And then that happened.
A stranger who looked like him — older, colder — had burst in, yelled at him, slapped him, then left like it was normal. No answers. No comfort.
"What the hell is going on…" he whispered, gripping his head with both hands.
The Predator System didn't offer much sympathy.
[System: Emotional stability is recommended. Do not malfunction, Host.]
Sylarion laughed bitterly. "Too late for that."
Sylarion sighed. Rather than beating his head over useless things like his annoying brother, he turned his focus to something that actually mattered—his system.
He opened the interface and tapped on the glowing Lottery Panel.
"System, what is this?" he asked.
[This is the Lottery Function,] the system responded. [Here, if your luck is good, you can receive anything—from powerful races, bloodline abilities, special eyes, unique skills… or even complete trash. To spin the lottery, you need a Lottery Pass. You can obtain them by completing missions or receive one free each month. But be warned… there's more junk in here than treasure.]
As Sylarion stared at the spinning wheel on the system interface, the ticking sound grew louder, building tension in his chest. His eyes were glued to the flashing lights darting around rare and unknown icons.
DING!
The system wheel spun like a storm, icons flashing past in a blur of races, powers, and impossibilities. Sylarion's breath hitched with every turn, each tick like a drumbeat against his ribcage.
DING!
"Eyes Acquired: [Nightborn Eye] — Origin: Noctari Lineage."
The air stilled. A dark, elegant symbol bloomed before his eyes—an intricate black iris etched with crimson veins, floating in the void like it was watching him.
The system's voice echoed, softer this time… almost reverent.
"Nightborn Eye — Origin: Noctari Lineage. 'The Eyes That End Fights Before They Begin.'"
Sylarion blinked—and the pain began.
A sharp snap cracked through his skull like lightning. He dropped to his knees, screaming, clutching his face. It felt like something inside him had shattered. Blood surged from his tear ducts, warm and blinding. The pressure grew—like someone was reaching into his sockets with invisible fingers.
He howled as his vision went dark.
Then—light.
His world returned in brutal clarity. Walls shimmered with pulsing crimson veins. Objects glowed faintly with threads of energy. A maid passing the hallway outside cast no shadow—but around her? Fissures in the air. Invisible fault lines in reality itself.
Not physical. Deeper.
Weakness.
"Description: A forbidden set of eyes once possessed by the Noctari, a forgotten vampire bloodline known for their terrifying elegance in battle.
Effect: For 5 seconds, the user may perceive critical flaws—be it in flesh, armor… or will.
Cooldown: 10 hours.
Warning: Repeated use may strain the mortal mind."
Sylarion sat there, panting—vision flickering between normal and otherworldly. The Eye's hunger lingered, whispering for blood, for combat, for purpose.
He wiped the blood from his face, trembling… and grinned.
Sylarion gritted his teeth, blood still dripping from his eyes as the pain slowly faded. He leaned against the wall, chest heaving, heart thundering in his ears.
"I almost thought I was a goner..." he growled, a grin breaking through the agony. "F*ck yeah."