Prologue: Hunter
What is a Hunter and what is a Prey?
CRACK!
"Aghk!"
A hunter is, at its core, someone who seeks, tracks, and pursues a target, but the meaning shifts depending on context. A prey is one who evades, a being oriented inward, its existence defined by vigilance and the imperative to persist. They are not merely biological categories but fundamental modes of being, locked in a dialogue of pressure and response, action and reaction.
CRACK! POP!
"Aaaarggh!"
Who decided the dynamic between Hunter and Prey?
The dynamic between hunter and prey is not decided by a fixed rule or identity but by circumstance, power, awareness, and opportunity in a given moment. Environment, numbers, skill, tools, and timing all influence who holds control, and a shift in any of these can instantly reverse roles. The wolf is a hunter to the elk, but prey to the drought. The great shark is an apex predator until it becomes the target of human curiosity or commerce.
"S-spare me—Aghk!"
"Did you ever spare grandpa from pain when you asked us for protection fees?"
CRACK!
Thud!
Why does the dynamic of Hunter and Prey exist?
This dynamic exists because life is built around survival, scarcity, and competition for resources, whether in nature or human systems. Energy must come from somewhere, goals must be pursued, and not everyone can occupy the position of control at the same time, so roles naturally form around who seeks and who is sought. As such, life consumes life to sustain life.
"It was the Boss! We're only following—"
CRACK!
"What a coincidence, I'm following something too, my emotions."
Can the cycle between the two ever end?
CLICK!
"I've heard rumours, but who would have thought supernatural powers actually exist." Feeling the cold muzzle of the gun press firmly against the back of his head, Jean didn't panic. "Boy, tell me how you got your powers, and I might forgive you for killing my men. I might even make you my right-hand man."
"T-The term you're looking for is 'Beyonder'," Jean didn't let his calmness show, letting his voice stutter and crack.
"Continue," The Boss of Les Vautours (The Vultures) Gang, Joseph Pollet, pushed the muzzle harder against the raven-haired boy's skull. "I won't repeat myself. Tell me how you got your powers." His voice was low, carrying an unconcealed threat.
"M-My Lord! I got my powers from My Lord!" The blue-eyed young man answered hurriedly, as if cowed by the threat of having his head blown off.
"Lord?" Joseph frowned, a faint, perceptible unease entering his voice. "Who is this 'Lord' you speak of? You'd better not be lying to me to save your skin, boy."
At the question, Jean's face, which had been a mask of panic, suddenly changed. His lips curled into a vicious, anticipatory smile as he uttered, "Calamity of Destruction; Origins of Disaster, Ruler of the City of Calamity, one of the Nine Sefirot—"
A sudden, pained scream interrupted Jean.
"Aaaaaaghhh!"
The hand holding the gun to his head jerked away, the weapon clattering to the ground. The Hunter instantly seized the chance, driving his elbow into Joseph's chest.
CRACK!
The gangster's chest instantly caved in, his body lurching several metres backward from the force of the blow.
No longer in danger of having his brain matter kiss the floor—Not that he had been in the first place, having long heard the man's footsteps—Jean picked up the revolver, checking it by habit. His thumb found the release, his other hand catching the cylinder as it swung out. His eyes scanned the chambers for rounds, and then with practiced ease, he clicked it back into place.
His blue eyes finally moved to the Mob Boss, who had been screaming nonstop. He was set aflame, black flames of Destruction engulfing his body as numerous cracks spread across his skin, seeping dark smoke. Joseph's face even seemed slightly different than before; one half grew more masculine, while the other softened, becoming feminine.
Feeling his mind begin to buzz the more he stared at the man, Jean knew that if he let the corruption fester further, the situation would quickly spiral out of control. He quickly raised the revolver, aiming at Joseph's head.
Bang!
Joseph Pollet's thrashing instantly ceased. His body, which had been transitioning to replicate the Yin and Yang of the Original Creator, collapsed, Returning to Chaos.
Giving one last look at the ash that remained where the body had been, Jean vanished into the alleyways with a final thought.
The cycle between Hunter and Prey is like a revolving wheel; it can slow and pause, but it doesn't truly end. As long as there is desire, there will always be a Hunter, and there will always be Prey. Even Gods are no exception to this law of life…
….
3rd November 1352
Intis Republic, Aulay Province, Canardière
Region, Auvèran City, The Golden Goose Restaurant
Auvèran City is the provincial capital of Aulay, in the Canardière region of Intis. It's a city of sun-baked stone and quiet pride, built on the banks of the Ryan River. The capital held about twenty-eight thousand people, a number that had been slowly falling.
The Ryan river splits Auvèran in two. The Upper Town, Haute-Ville, sat on a high north bank. Its tight cobblestone streets were lined with aging stone buildings. Here stood the city's heart: the mayor's mansion and the Cathedral of Saint François, the seat of the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun for the entire province.
Down in the Basse-Ville (Lower Town), on the flat southern bank, was the city's commercial engine. The main market bustled here, alongside the soot-stained railway station. Near the station was the Église de l'Engrenage Parfait (Church of Perfect Cog), the church for followers of the God of Steam and Machinery.
The two towns were linked by a massive stone staircase, the Escalier Monumental, and the old Pont du Soleil Couchant bridge(Sunset Bridge).
The city feels old. You notice it in the pace, and in the faces. Many of its young people leave, taking the steam train north to the Capital of Joy, Trier, for opportunity. Those who stay run the farms, the distilleries, and the shops. The air of the city was set by this divide. The Upper Town was quiet and administrative. The Lower Town was loud and functional, where the scents of the river and baking bread mixed.
Beyond the city limits, vineyards rolled over the hills, supplying grapes for the local Armagnac distilleries.
…
-Lumian Lee (Formerly Jean)-
"Have you decided what you would like to have, Monsieur?"
"For my Hors d'Oeuvre, I would like the Salade Aulayenne aux Gésiers et Noix de Sanglier, and I'll pair it with the Apéritif: Le Pousse-Rapière. For my main course, the Magret de Canard-soleil Flambé à l'Armagnac with Poêlée de Cèpes et Pommes Sarladaises. For dessert, I'll have the Aulay Pastis."
The waiter, a middle-aged man with neatly groomed graying hair and pale blue eyes, finished transcribing the order and glanced back up. "That will be 17 Verl d'or and 98 Coppets."
Clink.
Lumian placed a gold coin on the table—a 20 Verl d'or piece—and slid it toward the waiter with a faint smile.
"Keep the change."
The waiter inclined his head with a practised, polished smile. "Thank you, sir. I hope you enjoy your meal." After collecting the payment, he took his leave.
"So the World War even affected provinces this far from Trier, huh?" Propping his chin on his hand, Lumian turned toward the street beyond the window and sank into thought.
Having resolved his affairs in Boisclair Town with Les Vautours three days ago, he had since adopted the name he would have been given had he not chosen to take matters into his own hands.
Perhaps I should add 'Fragile Balance' as a middle name as well? Lumian entertained the amusing thought for a moment before letting it pass.
"Your Apéritif: Le Pousse-Rapière, Monsieur." The same waiter returned, setting the flute of wine before him.
"Merci." The Hunter acknowledged him, lifting the bubbling, pale straw-yellow wine to his lips.
Oh? Crisp, dry, and effervescent—that was his first impression, swiftly followed by notes of green apple, lemon, and a subtle floral minerality. He took another sip, slower this time, savouring it. On the second taste, he detected faint hints of vanilla.
Gazing toward the window as he nursed his drink, Lumian returned to his thoughts.
To his plans moving forward.
If you don't decide when to act, someone else will decide for you, and they won't concern themselves with whether you're ready.
Lumian had come to learn this through blood, sweat , tears and a hefty dosage of despair. Living in Venezuela had taught him this truth early. Stoicism was his bread and butter, and so he had no intention of simply waiting for his fate to be scripted like his canon self.
No. He would grasp his fate with his own two hands because he decided to do. It would be his choice. His actions that'd lead him to change his gender later on. It'd be his choice to make first contact with Aurore in Cordu Village. It was his own actions and thoughts which led to him becoming a Hunter and making a connection to the City of Calamity after drinking the Essence of Beyonder.
"Your Salade Aulayenne aux Gésiers et Noix de Sanglier, Monsieur." The grey-haired waiter set the plate before him.
"Merci." Lumian surveyed the Intisian dish—the verdant salad, the mahogany duck gizzards edged in gold, the ivory shavings of sheep's cheese, the dark walnuts. His enhanced sense of smell, even in its weakened state, caught the woody smoke of the walnuts, the fruity depth of red wine, the floral sweetness of honey.
He took a bite.
And paused, as flavour detonated across his palate.
Bitterness arrived first, sharp and verdant from the dandelion, then softened as the frisée contributed a lighter, subtly peppery crunch. The duck gizzards were deeply savoury, their exteriors crisped to perfection. Shavings of aged sheep's-milk cheese lent a salty, nutty tang, while candied walnuts offered caramel sweetness, gentle bitterness, and a wisp of smoke. The warm duck-fat vinaigrette wrapped everything in silken richness, lifted by bright red-wine vinegar and tempered with a whisper of honey—creating a bold, harmonious play of bitter, savoury, sweet, smoky, and acidic notes.
Being Hunter has its perks, it seems, Lumian mused thoughtfully, now anticipating his main course.
….
Auvèran Woods
The trees here were scrub oak and pine, thin and stubborn, fighting for grip in rocky soil. Late autumn had stripped most of the canopy, leaving a floor of crackling brown leaves and exposed roots. Light came through in long, dusty columns.
To be a Hunter means to observe. Observe the environment. Be familiar with the environment. Use the environment.
Lumian moved between the trunks without sound. His boots found the gaps between dry leaves; his weight shifted before twigs could betray him. The slums of Venezuela had taught him the value of silence, but he had never been this adept before taking the potion.
Thirty metres ahead, a boar rooted around a fallen log. From research he had conducted in a library in the Upper Town, Lumian could tell the boar was old; the way the bristles greyed along its spine, the yellowed, chipped curve of its tusks. From its size, he estimated it exceeded five hundred pounds, nearing six.
Even the weakest hunter is a hunter. It's possible for them to harm stronger prey.
Lumian crouched behind a limestone outcrop. The wind carried his scent away from the animal as he made sure to move with it.
His fingers found the ground, feeling the slight give of soil packed over limestone. To his left, a patch of brittle ferns covered a shallow depression. An old sinkhole, partially collapsed. He memorised its dimensions without consciously measuring. The distance to the boar. The angle of the light. Where the shadows would shift in the next hour.
Staying calm is crucial. When faced with unexpected prey and no time to prepare, calmness is even more vital.
The boar's head suddenly snapped up.
The Hunter didn't make any abrupt movements. His heartbeat remained steady as he observed his quarry calmly.
The animal sniffed the air, head swinging in a slow arc. Its ears twitched forward, then relaxed. It lowered its snout and resumed rooting.
Lumian's hand drifted to his belt—not to the revolver, too loud for these woods—but to the haft of the hunting knife he had commissioned from a smith in Basse-Ville. He adjusted his grip accordingly.
Everyone has two identities. One, the prey, and the other, the hunter.
The raven haired teen breathed slowly, and then—
Moved.
Not too fast, yet not too slow. He flowed between the columns of light, each step placed in the boar's blind spots relative to its current head position. The animal's eyesight was poor, but its hearing and sense of smell were excellent. Lumian tracked the air currents by the way dry leaves stirred at his feet, by the subtle shift in temperature against his cheek.
Twenty metres.
The boar's tail twitched abruptly. Lumian paused. His ears pricked, catching the faint buzz of a fly. The beast shook its head once in irritation, ridding itself of the insect.
Fifteen metres.
Lumian's left hand closed around a fist-sized stone; his right hand tightened on the knife. His heightened senses automatically registered the stone's weight, the distance to the sinkhole, the boar's centre of gravity.
And then he threw.
The stone struck the exposed root of the fallen log, the sound landing to the boar's left flank. The animal wheeled toward it, muscles bunching, tusks slicing air.
Lumian was already moving in the opposite direction. His boots drove off the outcrop. The boar registered the noise behind it and began to turn.
Too slow.
Compared to the feline agility he now possessed, the boar's manoeuvring speed was woefully lacking.
The knife sank in behind the shoulder, angled forward. Lumian's full weight—bolstered by the strength of a bear—drove the blade through hide and muscle.
The boar squealed, bucking and twisting in agony. The Hunter kept his grip on the knife, letting the animal's own motion carve the wound wider. His feet found purchase against its flank, and he dragged deeper; a spurt of blood splattered across his hands.
The boar tried to turn, to bring its tusks to bear, but the angle was wrong and the hind leg on that side had already begun to buckle.
Lumian retreated, putting distance between himself and the staggering beast as it fought to reorient on him. Its breath escaped in wet, whistling bursts—the lung punctured—and it stared at him with fury kindling in its small, dark eyes.
Indeed. Even the weakest hunter is a hunter.
The wild pig charged despite its mortal state, its legs already uncoordinated, blood slicking its flank.
Lumian sidestepped the desperate lunge with calmly, and just as the creature nearly passed him, his hand shot out to the knife still embedded in its side. With a flex of his muscles, he dragged the hunting knife clean across its flank.
A final, piercing squeal tore from the boar's throat. Then it folded, legs tucking beneath its body, shuddered once, and fell still.
"Nothing like a good workout after a big meal." Lumian's lips curved upward, feeling the Hunter potion within him nearing full digestion.
It seems the suffering of my previous life was good for something after all, more than merely opening my eyes to the world.
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A/N: I swear, this time I'll try to get past chapter 3 of this snippet.
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I'm pretty sure there might be mistakes or might have contradicted myself in some parts of the essence, just give me some slack, it's the first ones I've made and there's bound to be errors, which I'll probably stick to with this snippet.
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Essence of Beyonder
By drinking this indescribable liquid, which seems to shift between all colors and none, tasting of ancient knowledge and the void between stars, you become a true Beyonder—a wielder of mystical abilities who walks the dangerous, glorious, and maddening Paths toward divinity. Your very existence now bends the foundational rules of a universe built upon Convergence, Divinity, and inevitable Madness.
---
Upon consumption, your body, mind, and soul undergo a fundamental transformation. You are no longer merely human.
· Your body, mind, and soul are perfectly reconfigured to be the ideal vessel for Beyonder Characteristics. You gain a physique at the absolute peak of mundane human potential, honed and resilient. You can resist injuries that would cripple or kill an ordinary person and possess an innate, growing resistance to mental influences, corruption, and spiritual erosion.
· Your non-physical self is now clearly defined and fortified. You possess a Soul Body (Spirit Body) of robust spirituality, an Astral Projection capable of communing with the Spirit World, a Body of Heart and Mind representing your intellect and consciousness, and an Ether Body reflecting your vitality. Your spirituality is potent and finely controlled from the start.
· The necessary main ingredients (Beyonder Characteristics) for the Sequence 9 potion you want manifest before you, safely sealed. Supplementary ingredients of common mystical symbolism appear alongside them. Note, this is only for the first potion you take, subsequent sequences are up to you to find ingredients.
· Sefirah's Touch (Optional): You may choose to have your awakening tied to one of the nine Sefirot on Earth. This grants you an early, faint connection to that Sefirah (e.g., occasional visions, intuitive tugs toward relevant events or items) and subtly influences your starting Pathway options toward its group. However, it also makes you marginally more noticeable to the corresponding Great Old One if the Sefirah previously belonged to one.
· You possess an innate, intuitive mastery of the Acting Method. You understand its core principle: to "digest" a potion's Beyonder Characteristics, you must act according to the essence of its Sequence name, deceiving the godhood and mental imprints within. You grasp the dangers of over-immersion and know to "remember you are only acting."
· Imprinted upon your mind is a perfect, mental replica of the Second Blasphemy Slate. You do not possess the physical Slate, but you have access to its knowledge.
· This includes:
· The complete Sequence names (9 through 0) for all 22 Standard Pathways.
· The potion formulas for Sequences 9 through 0 for every Pathway.
. The advancement rituals for Sequence 5 and above, where recorded.
. The foundational secrets of Above the Sequence, and the Nine Sefirot.
· This knowledge is protected. Attempts to scry, steal, or forcibly extract it will fail or be met with corrosive, madness-inducing spiritual backlash against the attacker.
· The required main ingredients (Beyonder Characteristics) will, through the Law of Convergence, eventually be drawn into your orbit or become findable. You are not guaranteed safe acquisition, you must still seek, trade, or take them.
· You have an uncanny talent for fulfilling advancement rituals in spirit, often finding unorthodox but valid methods to satisfy their symbolic requirements.
· The Law of Beyonder Characteristics Convergence affects you, but you have a unique degree of control over its manifestation. You can sense the "pull" of compatible, higher-level Characteristics, Uniquenesses, Sefirot, and Beyonders, and can choose to either lean into this attraction or subtly dampen it to avoid premature, dangerous encounters. This control improves with your Sequence.
· From the moment you become a Beyonder, you begin developing a stable, multifaceted Anchor for your sense of self. This isn't just faith from followers (though that works), but a profound reinforcement from your core identity, cherished relationships, and significant life principles. This provides you early protection against the erosion of humanity and godhood's madness, a benefit normally only crucial at high Sequences. You will always have this internal anchor, making you more resilient than others on the same Path.
· Your Spirit Vision is exceptionally sharp from the start, allowing you to clearly see auras, Spirit Body Threads, and the spiritual imprints of Pathways. With repeated use you can learn to perceive all four layers of the Soul in yourself and others. You also possess a Mystic Sense, an intuition for supernatural phenomena, ritual suitability, the presence of Sealed Artifacts, corruption, and the gaze of higher-sequence entities.
· You are a natural at Ritualistic Magic. Your spirituality is potent and easily directed. You can perform established rituals with high success rates, adapt them creatively, and even design new, stable rituals for purposes like communication, summoning, or minor blessings. The mystical languages (Hermes, Jotun, etc.) come to you as if native tongues.
· Your connection to the Spirit World and River of Fate is clearer and less hazardous. Divination Arts (tarot, pendulums, dream divination) yield more accurate and less ambiguous revelations for you. You are also partially shielded from the "third-party" dangers of methods like mirror divination; while not immune, corrupting influences find it harder to latch onto you through such rites.
. You naturally leak less spiritual signature than other Beyonders of your level. To casual observation or low-level detection, you seem almost mundane. In addition, your very presence subtly interferes with precise divination, scrying, and fate-based abilities targeted at you or your immediate plans. Attempts to predict you yield probabilities that are slightly "off," and direct observation often catches glimpses of your chosen persona or mundane facades, not your underlying truth.
· Your soul is uniquely fortified against external corruption, be it from Outer Deities, evil gods, Sealed Artifacts, or forbidden knowledge. While not absolute—overwhelming force or direct bargains can still affect you—you are highly resilient. Learning "things man was not meant to know" carries a far lower risk of madness or mutation for you.
· Should you ever accept a Boon from a deity or Outer Deity, your body and spirit adapt with minimal conflict. The Boon's power integrates more cleanly, and its corrupting influence on your mind and identity is significantly reduced, though not eliminated. You can also, with great effort, learn to partially "digest" a Boon as if it were a potion, reducing the giver's hold over you and making the Boon your own.
· The door to switching Pathways is more open for you. The accumulated madness from switching to a compatible Pathway is less, and the hidden ritual requirements for advancing in a newly switched Pathway become intuitively clearer to you. You could, with great care, even attempt a switch at a lower Sequence than normally advised, with a higher (though still perilous) chance of survival.
· You cannot become a Rampager by accident. Losing control for you would require conscious, sustained self-sabotage, profound external corruption, or the direct intervention of a True God or Great Old One.
· You carry within you a spark that resonates differently with the Original Creator's will and the encroaching Outer Deities. Your very existence is a slight anomaly in their grand designs. This doesn't make you their enemy or ally, but a wild card—a variable they did not fully account for. Your actions could have disproportionate effects on their plans, for good or ill, and what would usually be impossible for a native doesn't mean is impossible for you.
---
Remember, O Beyonder: Power comes with a price. Potions bring madness. Advancement requires rituals. Knowledge invites corruption. Divinity demands Anchors. The higher you climb, the closer you draw to the sleeping Creator and the hungry gaze of the Outer Gods. You have been given a map, a sturdy vessel, and a favorable wind. But the sea is stormy, the currents are treacherous, and the destination is a cliff edge overlooking infinity. Walk your Path with care.
"There are some things that make it easier to be 'infected' the more you know."
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Essence of The Chariot
By drinking this essence of liquid mercury and iron, tasting of victory and the open road, you gain the will to conquer all that stands before you and the power to carry your ambitions to the ends of any world.
· You gain an indomitable will and relentless determination. Your spirit is armored against doubt, fear, and despair. No conflict, whether internal or external, can halt your advance once you have set your course.
. Your mind and body operate in perfect harmony. You can push yourself to—and through—your absolute limits without suffering burnout, backlash, or lasting harm. What would break others only tempers you. Your stamina and endurance become functionally limitless for any task you are committed to.
· You gain an innate, masterful proficiency with any vehicle or mount. From chariots and horses to starships and mythical beasts, you can command them with instinctive, preternatural skill. Any conveyance under your control performs far beyond its normal limits, never breaking down from strain and responding to your will as an extension of your own body.
· With a thought, you can summon a Chariot of your own design. This Chariot manifests from your will alone, appearing in any form you desire—from an ancient war chariot to a modern vehicle. It is is indestructible, requires no fuel or maintenance, and can traverse any terrain— land, sea, air, dimensions, or the void between stars—and its speed scales with your own will, and within it you (anyone else riding along) are protected from all harm.
· You possess an unerring sense of direction toward your chosen goals. An inner compass, visible only to you as a subtle golden radiance or a feeling of pull, guides you to the people, places, and opportunities most critical for your advancement and success.
· You draw strength from conflict and challenge. In overcoming opposition, whether in battle, a race, or a contest of wills, you are revitalized. Fatigue washes away, minor injuries heal, and your spirit is fortified. A major victory can flood you with energy, temporarily elevating all your capabilities.
. You excel at synthesizing opposing forces or conflicting natures within yourself or others. Dichotomies such as aggression and defense, speed and stability, or passion and discipline cease to be contradictions and instead become complementary strengths under your command.
· Your presence commands attention and respect. When you move with purpose, others naturally clear a path or fall into step behind you. This is not mind control but a natural aura of authority that makes people instinctively recognize you as someone worth following.
· You may bestow a lesser version of your directional sense and willpower upon those who genuinely commit to following your lead. These followers will always know how to find you and will never lose their way when acting on your behalf.
· You are a being of decisive action. Your execution is flawlessly efficient, with no hesitation or wasted motion. Your reflexes are not just fast, but correct, always choosing the optimal movement to advance your position, defend your space, or press an advantage. Mistakes are lessons immediately integrated, not setbacks.
You possess absolute control over your own direction and destiny. No force can pull you from your chosen path, no temptation can sway you from your course, and no power can turn you against your will. You alone determine where you go and what you pursue.