The Predator Returns
Dawn, back in Onyx Dormitory
Carsel stepped through the Onyx Dormitory corridor with a gait completely different from when he left. No longer the fearful and traumatized stride of a child, but the movement of someone who knew exactly how much power flowed within his body.
When he opened his room door, his three half-asleep roommates immediately fell silent. There was something different in the aura emanating from Carsel—something that made their primitive instincts scream danger.
"You... where were you last night?" Korgan asked in an unusually nervous voice. The half-orc, usually aggressive, now looked at Carsel with unconcealed discomfort.
"Hunting," Carsel replied with a thin smile as he placed his still blood-stained sword on his desk. "And I found exactly what I was looking for."
Vex, the most sensitive to dark energy, suddenly sat up with wide eyes. "Your aura... it's different. Stronger. And there's something else..." He paused, trying to identify what he was sensing. "You smell like death."
"Do I?" Carsel tilted his head with an amused expression. "Maybe because I finally understand what death really means."
Timmy, who was already naturally nervous, shrunk further into his bed. Whatever had happened to Carsel during his absence, it had changed him into something that made every survival instinct scream.
As Carsel sat on his bed to rest, he felt something disturbing. The lingering essence of the three dire wolves still coursed through his system, but it was fading. And as it faded, there was an emptiness growing—a hunger for more.
This is interesting, he thought, observing his internal sensations with detached curiosity. Soul Devourer isn't just an ability—it's an addiction. I can feel a craving for more essence, more power, more... feeding.
He glanced at his roommates, and for a terrifying moment, he found himself assessing them not as fellow students, but as potential sources of sustenance.
Korgan has robust life force. Probably strong essence due to his orc heritage. Vex's soul would be interesting—all that necromantic knowledge could be useful. Even Timmy might have something valuable hidden in his frightened exterior.
The thoughts should have horrified him. Months ago, they would have sent him running for confession or penance. Now, they felt... practical. Strategic, even.
Not yet, he decided with cold calculation. Too risky to hunt within the dormitory. Need to be smarter about feeding these urges.
But knowing that feeding was inevitable, not optional, was a revelation that was both thrilling and terrifying.
At 4 AM, the alarm for morning cleaning duties sounded as usual. But when Carsel arrived at the maintenance wing, Chief Morrison immediately noticed something different.
"You're... taller?" Morrison said with confusion, looking up at Carsel with a puzzled expression. "And broader. Did you have a growth spurt overnight?"
Carsel smiled with an expression that didn't quite reach his eyes. The physical enhancement from the absorbed wolf essence had indeed changed his physique noticeably. *My height, which was previously 125 cm, is now 140 cm*. "Something like that."
"Well, whatever. Your duties remain the same. Ruby Dormitory needs—"
"No."
A single word, spoken with quiet authority that stopped Morrison mid-sentence.
"Excuse me?"
Carsel stepped closer, and suddenly Morrison found himself taking an involuntary step backward. Something primal in the older man's hindbrain was screaming warnings about the apex predator in his presence.
"I said no," Carsel repeated in the same quiet tone. "I think... my duties need to be renegotiated."
"Boy, you signed a contract—"
"The contract was signed by someone who no longer exists," interrupted Carsel. "I've evolved since then. And evolved beings don't scrub toilets for the entertainment of lesser creatures."
Morrison's hand moved toward an alarm button that would summon academy security, but froze when Carsel's eyes met his. For a moment, the older man saw something that looked back from depths that were absolutely merciless.
"Of course," Morrison heard himself saying in a voice that sounded far away, "maybe we can... adjust responsibilities. Focus on more... appropriate tasks."
Carsel's smile widened. "I thought you might see reason."
Carsel entered the dining hall with a confidence that immediately drew attention. Students who had grown accustomed to seeing him skulk in shadows and avoid eye contact now found themselves staring at someone who moved with predatory grace.
He didn't go to the usual Onyx table in the back corner. Instead, he walked directly to the center of the hall and sat at an empty table that normally no one dared to occupy—neutral ground between dormitory sections.
Conversations gradually died as students realized what they were witnessing. Carsel Nightshade, the academy's punching bag and designated victim, was claiming territory.
Marcus and several Ruby students approached with expressions that mixed curiosity with their usual contempt.
"Nightshade," Marcus said in a tone that attempted authority but carried an undertone of uncertainty. "You're out of place. Onyx scum sit in the back."
Carsel looked up from his breakfast with an expression that was politely interested. "Do they? How fascinating. Tell me, Marcus—what gives you the authority to make such declarations?"
"What gives me—?" Marcus sputtered. "I'm Ruby elite! You're a condemned criminal!"
"Elite," Carsel repeated thoughtfully. "Interesting word. Do you know what makes someone truly elite, Marcus?"
"Superior breeding, wealth, education—"
"Power," Carsel interrupted in a voice that cut through Marcus's bluster like a blade. "Real, personal, undeniable power. Everything else is just... decoration."
He stood slowly, and suddenly the dining hall felt smaller. Students who had been watching with amusement now felt something cold settle in their stomachs.
"Would you like to test your 'elite status' against my power, Marcus? I'm curious to see how superior breeding performs against actual capability."
Marcus opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. Something in Carsel's eyes promised violence that would be swift, brutal, and probably fatal.
"I... we..." Marcus backed away with steps that tried to look casual but clearly weren't. "This isn't over, Nightshade."
"No," agreed Carsel with a smile that was all teeth. "It isn't."
From their elevated table, four royal students watched the interaction with expressions that ranged from surprised to genuinely concerned.
"Did that just happen?" asked Princess Lyanna with the tone of someone who couldn't quite believe what they'd witnessed.
"Our favorite toy just grew fangs," observed Prince Lucian with a mixture of admiration and wariness.
Princess Seraphina was studying Carsel with a calculating gaze. "His magical signature is different. Stronger, but also... darker. Much darker."
Prince Aldric, who had spent months enjoying the systematic destruction of Carsel's spirit, was experiencing something he rarely felt: genuine uncertainty.
"This could be a problem," he murmured. "Or an opportunity. The question is—is he still controllable?"
"Only one way to find out," said Princess Lyanna with a grin that promised violence.
That afternoon, Prince Aldric approached Carsel with careful confidence. This was a test—either his authority was still absolute, or the dynamic had fundamentally shifted.
"Nightshade," he called in a tone that demanded attention.
Carsel turned with unhurried movement, taking his time to acknowledge the royal presence. A subtle dominance display that would have been unthinkable weeks ago.
"Your Highness," he said in a tone that was polite but notably lacked deference.
"I hear you've been... assertive today. Making demands, claiming territory." Prince Aldric's smile was sharp. "Forgetting your place."
"My place," Carsel repeated thoughtfully. "And where exactly do you believe my place to be?"
"Beneath my boot, as always."
Silence stretched between them, heavy with the unspoken challenge. Other students had stopped to watch, sensing a potential confrontation that could reshape the academy's power structure.
Carsel smiled with an expression that held no warmth whatsoever.
"How interesting. And what, exactly, gives you the impression that I belong beneath anything?"
Prince Aldric's confidence flickered for just a moment. "I am royal blood. You are a condemned criminal."
"Titles," Carsel dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Words on paper. Tell me, Your Highness—if we were alone in the forest tonight, with no witnesses and no consequences, how confident would you be in your superiority?"
The threat was subtle but unmistakable. Prince Aldric found himself evaluating Carsel with new eyes, seeing someone who no longer feared consequences or authority.
"Careful, Nightshade. You're walking a dangerous line."
"Am I?" Carsel's eyes glittered with something predatory. "Or am I finally walking on solid ground for the first time in my life?"
That evening, as Carsel practiced in a secluded training ground, a figure emerged from the shadows with movements that spoke of professional stealth and long experience in remaining unseen.
"Impressive display today," a voice said from the darkness. "You've grown... substantially."
Carsel didn't turn around, but his grip on his sword tightened. Somehow, he wasn't surprised. Power attracted attention, and his recent demonstration had been impossible to ignore.
"Have I? How would you know?"
"We've been watching you for quite some time. Your development has been... educational."
"We?"
The figure stepped into the moonlight, revealing a person in dark robes with a face that was carefully nondescript. Someone specifically trained to be forgettable.
"An organization with an interest in individuals of exceptional potential. We believe you qualify."
"Do you now." Carsel finally turned, assessing the visitor with eyes that had learned to evaluate threats and opportunities. "And what exactly would this organization want with me?"
"Your talents. Your anger. Your understanding that the current world order is fundamentally flawed and deserves to be... reformed."
"Reformed," Carsel repeated with amusement. "Interesting euphemism."
"We offer training, resources, allies. A community of individuals who understand that power should belong to those strong enough to seize it."
"Tempting," Carsel said in a tone that suggested it actually wasn't. "But I have a question."
"Yes?"
"If I were to join your organization, what position would I hold?"
The figure seemed surprised by the question. "Position? You would be a valuable member, trained in—"
"A member," Carsel interrupted with a laugh that held no humor. "A subordinate, you mean. Someone to take orders and follow directions from superiors."
"All organizations require structure—"
"Here's my counter-offer," Carsel said in a voice that suddenly carried the weight of absolute authority. "I'll join your organization... as its leader. You, your friends, and whoever currently runs things will answer to me. I'll make the decisions, set the priorities, and determine how this 'reformation' proceeds."
Silence stretched between them, heavy with implications.
"That's... not how recruitment works," the figure said carefully.
"Then we have nothing to discuss," Carsel replied with finality. "I'm not interested in trading one master for another. If I'm to reshape the world, I'll do it on my terms, or not at all."
The figure studied him with new respect and growing wariness. This was not the response they had anticipated.
"You're... not ready yet," the figure said finally. "But someday, perhaps. When your understanding of the larger picture has developed."
"Perhaps," agreed Carsel. "But next time you approach me, remember—I don't follow. I lead. Or I walk away."
The figure melted back into the shadows, leaving Carsel alone with his thoughts and a growing certainty that he was destined for something far greater than anyone currently imagined.
That night, lying in his bed, Carsel reflected on the day's events with a satisfaction that was tinged with something darker.
Today proved several things. Fear is more effective than respect. Power commands attention. And I'm no longer content to be anyone's victim—or anyone's subordinate.
But most importantly, it proved that the Soul Devourer has awakened something in me that can't be ignored or suppressed.
I need more essence. More power. More feeding.
The question is—where to find suitable prey without drawing unwanted attention.
As he drifted toward sleep, his mind filled with predatory thoughts and plans for future hunts, Carsel was unaware that his transformation had attracted interest from more than just mysterious organizations.
Eyes watched from multiple sources now. Some with fear, some with admiration, some with calculation.
Carsel Nightshade was no longer the invisible victim fading into the background.
He had become a force that demanded attention, commanded respect, and promised violence for those foolish enough to underestimate what he had become.
The predator had returned to civilization.
And civilization would never be the same.
To be continued...