The wind whispered through the gnarled branches, carrying the scent of damp earth and impending carnage. Xenos stood alone in the heart of the Cursed Fang Forest, his breath ragged, his body pushed beyond its limits. His mission was simple in theory yet brutal in execution: survive by hunting the Grade-2 Shadowfang Wolves, creatures bred for relentless slaughter, their fangs laced with venom, their movements honed to perfection by centuries of ruthless evolution.
Hunger gnawed at him, exhaustion weighed down his limbs, but his mind remained sharp.
Then, the howls came.
Low and guttural, they echoed through the forest, announcing the arrival of his predators.
Twenty wolves emerged from the shadows, their glowing amber eyes locked onto him with primal hunger. They stalked forward in perfect synchronization, their sleek black fur blending into the darkness like living specters.
Xenos exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening into fists.
"No room for fear. Only survival."
A wolf lunged.
Xenos did not move. Instead, he reached inward—into the wellspring of mana that pulsed within him like a second heart.
The moment the beast's claws slashed toward him, the air shifted.
Water coalesced around Xenos' arm, twisting like a living serpent before hardening into an ice-forged gauntlet. His fist slammed into the wolf's skull, sending the creature crashing into the dirt with a sickening crunch.
The pack reacted instantly, rushing toward him in a deadly blur.
Xenos did not hesitate.
He swept his arm outward, a wave of ice spikes erupting from the ground, impaling three wolves mid-leap. A fourth beast leaped from his blind spot, but Xenos twisted his fingers—tendrils of water snapped toward its throat, wrapping tight and crushing its windpipe before hurling it aside.
But his control wavered.
Mana exhaustion crept upon him like a vice, his body screaming in protest. He wasn't a diviner—his powers were borrowed, not innate.
And now, his mana reserve was running dangerously low.
"Damn it—if I push further, my body might shut down."
But the wolves did not care.
They lunged once more, and Xenos had no choice but to fight with every last ounce of strength he had left.
The battlefield became a storm of ice, blood, and primal fury.
By the time it ended—twelve wolves lay dead.
Xenos stood among their corpses, blood dripping from his wounds, steam rising from his overheated body. His breathing was ragged, his mana nearly depleted, but he had survived.
For now.
Then, the air shifted again.
And this time, it was not wolves that approached.
---
From the undergrowth, a group of robed figures emerged, their presence heavier than the night itself.
A scarred man stepped forward, lips curling into a mocking smirk. "Not bad… for a guinea pig."
Xenos' gaze sharpened. His instincts screamed—these men were no ordinary hunters.
Another figure, a man with a silver headband adorned with arcane symbols, barked an order. "Restrain him. The ritual must proceed."
Xenos' fingers twitched, but his mana had run dry. He was in no condition to fight.
But surrender?
Never.
Without a word, he moved.
Despite his battered body, he slashed through the remaining wolves, using their corpses as cover as he dashed toward the treeline.
He made it only ten steps before his body betrayed him.
His vision flickered.
His knees buckled.
Blood erupted from his lips as his mana circuits collapsed under strain.
He fell.
And as the darkness swallowed him, he heard the scarred man's cold laughter.
"Welcome to hell, boy."
---
The Apex Region
Far beyond the cursed forest, atop the floating Spire of Divinity, a woman with black-feathered wings gazed into the celestial expanse. Her silver eyes shimmered, reflecting the unseen tides of fate.
"The fated one approaches," she whispered, her voice carrying through the astral winds.
A shadowed figure behind her stepped forward. "The Supreme Divine Power… He truly possesses it?"
She smiled. "Fate is not so generous. One has the power. The other has the will."
Her wings unfurled.
"And when they collide, the world shall tremble."
---
The Underground Chamber
Xenos awoke to the scent of burning incense and damp stone. The flickering light of enchanted braziers cast eerie shadows across the cavern walls.
He was bound, his wrists chained with arcane restraints.
Pain throbbed through his limbs, but his mind remained sharp.
His gaze swept across the room, taking in the robed figures surrounding him.
Then, he spoke.
"You're summoning someone from another world, aren't you?"
A stunned silence filled the chamber.
A bald man near the altar turned, his expression frozen in disbelief. "How do you know that?"
The bearded elder, clearly the one in charge, studied Xenos with newfound interest.
"He survived a wolf onslaught through raw combat and mana manipulation. His instincts are unlike any we've seen," the elder murmured. "Perhaps… we should reconsider his role."
Before another word could be spoken, the air crackled with dark energy.
A vortex of black flames erupted at the chamber's center.
The temperature plummeted.
Reality itself distorted.
And then—a man appeared.
The newcomer stumbled forward, eyes wide with disoriented fury. His clothes were modern, torn and singed at the edges. His breathing was erratic, his fists clenched.
"Where the hell am I?!" he roared, his voice thick with panic.
The bearded elder stepped forward, his voice steady and filled with reverence.
"You are the fated one… the chosen inheritor of Supreme Divine Power."
The transmigrator's gaze locked onto Xenos, who still lay bloodied and bound.
A flicker of understanding passed between them.
A moment of fate.
A clash inevitable.
And in that instant—the prophecy truly began.
---