The world was a haze of muffled sounds and blurred shapes. Rynn’s head lolled to the side, his sapphire eyes half-lidded as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The sharp scent of leather and metal filled his nostrils, mingling with the faint, acrid tang of something far more sinister. His wrists and ankles were bound in heavy chains, the cold steel biting into his skin as the vehicle he was in jolted over uneven terrain.
A voice broke through the fog, soft and coaxing. “There, there. Just a little more, and you’ll feel better.”
Rynn’s gaze flickered toward the source—a Catkin, her fur sleek and dark, her eyes gleaming with a predatory glint. She held a vial of Ember Veil, the crimson liquid swirling hypnotically as she tilted it toward his lips. He tried to turn his head away, but the chains held him fast, and the Catkin’s grip was firm.
“Don’t fight it,” she purred, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You’ll only make it worse.”
The liquid burned as it slid down his throat, its effects immediate. The fog in his mind thickened, his thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm. He clenched his teeth, trying to focus, to fight the pull of the drug, but it was like trying to hold back a tidal wave.
And then it hit him—the hunger.
It started as a dull ache in his stomach, but it quickly grew, spreading through his body like wildfire. His muscles tensed, his breathing quickened, and his vision blurred further. The hunger was all-consuming, a primal, ravenous need that drowned out everything else.
The last thing he remembered was the sound of tires screeching, the Catkin’s panicked voice, and the world tilting violently as the vehicle careened out of control.
---
When Rynn opened his eyes again, the world was stark and cold. He was lying on a stone slab, his wrists and ankles bound in glowing restraints that pulsed faintly with magical energy. The room around him was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of incense and herbs.
Figures in white and gold robes moved around him, their faces etched with exhaustion. The clerics of the Guidance Guild looked utterly drained, their movements sluggish as they channeled the last remnants of their mana into the glowing runes that surrounded Rynn.
One of the priests, a grizzled Wolfkin with streaks of silver in his fur, stepped forward, his expression grim. “He’s stable now,” the priest said, his voice hoarse. “But the damage... it’s unlike anything we’ve seen before.”
Rynn’s head throbbed as he tried to piece together what had happened. His body felt heavy, his limbs unresponsive, and his mind was a fractured mess of images and sensations. Blood. Screams. The Catkin’s face twisted in terror.
Before he could dwell on it further, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the chamber. The clerics parted, and Swayg Yogini entered the room.
---
Swayg’s usual elegance was nowhere to be seen. Her fur was disheveled, her silk dress wrinkled, and her emerald eyes were bloodshot and swollen from crying. She stopped a few feet from Rynn, her hands trembling as she clutched the edges of her robe.
“Rynn,” she said softly, her voice breaking.
Rynn turned his head away, his jaw tightening. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Swayg demanded, her voice rising. “Don’t care? Don’t worry? Don’t cry over the fact that my son was found feasting on a corpse like some... some feral beast?”
Rynn flinched at her words, his sapphire eyes narrowing as he glared at her. “I didn’t ask for this,” he snapped. “I didn’t ask to be drugged, chained, and turned into... whatever the hell that was.”
Swayg’s composure cracked further, tears streaming down her face as she stepped closer. “Do you even understand what you’ve done? They found you in the wreckage, surrounded by bodies. The driver, the Catkin... they were dead. And the corpse you were... consuming...” She choked on the words, her voice trembling. “It was unrecognizable.”
Rynn’s stomach churned, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral. “So what? They were kidnappers. They got what they deserved.”
“That’s not the point!” Swayg shouted, her voice echoing through the chamber. “You were in a Gnaw Kin Craze, Rynn. Do you know what that means? It means you overdosed on Ember Veil. It means you lost control. It means you became a monster.”
The room fell silent, the weight of her words pressing down on both of them.
---
The grizzled Wolfkin priest stepped forward again, his expression grave. “The Guidance Guild has done everything in its power to heal you, both physically and mentally. The damage caused by the Ember Veil overdose was extensive, but we’ve stabilized you—for now.”
“For now?” Rynn repeated, his voice cold.
The priest nodded. “Your body has undergone significant changes. Your class has shifted from Brawler to Berserker. The mana pathways in your body have been altered, and your psionics are now intertwined with the rage and chaos that fueled your frenzy.”
Rynn’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenching as he processed the information. “So I’m broken. Is that what you’re saying?”
“No,” the priest replied firmly. “You’re alive. And that’s more than most who fall into the Gnaw Kin Craze can say.”
Swayg stepped closer, her voice softer now, almost pleading. “Rynn, please. Let us help you. Let me help you.”
Rynn turned his head away again, his expression unreadable. “I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help.”
Swayg’s shoulders sagged, her tears falling silently as she stepped back. The clerics exchanged uneasy glances, their exhaustion evident as they began to clean up the remnants of their ritual.
Rynn lay still, his mind a storm of anger, shame, and confusion. The hunger, the rage, the blood—it all felt like a distant nightmare, yet the weight of it lingered, a constant reminder of what he had become.
---
The underground chamber beneath the Twilight Conclave's citadel was a masterpiece. The walls, carved from dark stone and inscribed with faintly glowing runes, pulsed with an ominous energy that seemed to drink in the light from the torches lining the perimeter. The air was thick, heavy with the metallic tang of dried blood and the faint echoes of past fights. The circular arena at the center of the chamber bore countless scars—cracks in the stone and smears of crimson that refused to fade.
Rynn stood at the edge of the arena, his sapphire eyes scanning the dimly lit space as he clenched and unclenched his fists. His muscles still ached faintly from the clerics’ healing, but the discomfort was fleeting, overridden by the unsettling solidity of his new body. He felt... heavier. Stronger. Almost too strong. Every movement carried an edge of unfamiliarity, as if his body were a foreign weapon he had yet to master.
Across from him stood two of his father’s Blood Monks, their hulking figures exuding a disciplined brutality that made even Rynn pause. The first, a massive Bearkin, cracked his knuckles, the sound reverberating through the chamber like distant thunder. His companion, a Horsekin, rolled his shoulders, his muscular frame taut with coiled energy. Both were clad in minimal combat attire, their exposed fur streaked with ritualistic blood markings that glowed faintly under the torchlight.
From the shadows above, Baelor Yogini watched in silence, his black fleece blending into the darkness. His molten-gold eyes glinted faintly as he surveyed his son. “Rynn,” he called out, his deep voice cutting through the oppressive quiet, “this is your trial. If you wish to return to the academy, you must prove yourself. These monks are among my most disciplined. Defeat them, and I will know you can control the storm inside you. Fail, and you remain here until I decide otherwise.”
Rynn’s smirk returned, though it lacked its usual arrogance. “You don’t make this easy, do you, Father?”
“No,” Baelor replied, his voice cold. “I don’t.”
The Bearkin stepped forward, his massive fists glowing with a faint red light as he activated his Blood Monk abilities. “Come on, cub,” he growled, his voice low and gravelly. “Let’s see if you can handle the big leagues.”
Rynn exhaled sharply, stepping into the arena. The hunger and rage simmering beneath his skin stirred faintly, and he clenched his fists tighter to push it down. “Let’s get this over with.”
---
The Bearkin moved first, his massive form deceptively fast as he closed the distance between them. His fist came down like a hammer, and Rynn barely dodged to the side, the blow shattering the stone floor where he had just stood. The Horsekin followed immediately, using the Bearkin’s attack as a distraction to launch a swift kick aimed at Rynn’s ribs. The kick connected, sending Rynn skidding backward, his boots scraping against the stone.
Pain bloomed briefly in his side, but it was muted—barely more than an annoyance. Instead, it fed something deeper, something darker. Rynn surged forward, his movements fueled by the unfamiliar strength coursing through his veins. He struck the Bearkin square in the chest with enough force to send the massive monk staggering, but the recoil was jarring. His knuckles screamed from the impact, though the sensation was fleeting, replaced almost instantly by an unsettling numbness.
The Horsekin was on him again, his blood-infused strikes fast and relentless. Rynn dodged and countered, but each movement felt heavier, more unrefined than he was used to. When his fist collided with the Horsekin’s arm, the sheer force of the impact damaged his own hand.
Pain should have followed, but instead, there was only the rush of adrenaline and the strange, insidious pull of the Berserker bloodlust that now defined him. The edges of his vision blurred, his focus narrowing to the two figures before him as his muscles tensed, ready to strike again.
---
The fight devolved into a savage cycle. The Blood Monks, disciplined and strategic, worked in tandem to push Rynn to his limits. Their strikes were calculated, exploiting his lack of control and forcing him into positions where his reckless power became as much a liability as an asset. Yet every time they landed a blow, every time Rynn felt pain, it only seemed to fuel the storm within him.
He struck the Bearkin again, this time with a wild uppercut that connected with the monk’s jaw. The sound was sickening, a mix of shattering bone and rupturing flesh as the Bearkin’s head snapped back. Rynn stumbled from the force of the blow, but his opponent crumpled, blood pooling beneath him.
The Horsekin hesitated, his disciplined facade cracking as he glanced at his fallen comrade. It was all the opening Rynn needed. He lunged forward, his movements uncoordinated but devastating, and drove his shoulder into the Horsekin’s chest. The impact sent the monk sprawling, gasping for air as the sheer force of the attack overwhelmed him.
But it wasn’t enough. The storm inside Rynn demanded more.
His breaths came in ragged gasps, his vision tinged with red as the hunger clawed at his mind. He raised his fist, ready to finish the Horsekin, when a voice cut through the haze.
“That’s enough,” Baelor commanded, his voice sharp and unyielding.
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Rynn froze mid-strike, his chest heaving as he fought to pull himself back from the edge. The hunger snarled in protest, but he forced it down, his sapphire eyes flickering back to their usual sharpness.
---
Baelor descended from the shadows, his presence a cold, commanding force that filled the arena. He approached Rynn slowly, his molten-gold eyes scanning the carnage around them—the broken Bearkin, the gasping Horsekin, and the shattered stone beneath their feet.
“You stayed in control,” Baelor said finally, his tone measured. “Barely. But it was enough.”
Rynn exhaled sharply, his smirk returning, though it was tinged with exhaustion. “So, does this mean I pass your little test?”
Baelor’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve proven you can function. You can return to the academy—but hear me, Rynn. You are forbidden from engaging in any further duels. The next time you lose control, there may not be anyone left to stop you.”
Rynn’s smirk faltered slightly, the weight of his father’s words settling on his shoulders. “Understood.”
As Baelor turned to leave, Rynn glanced down at his trembling hands. The power coursing through him was intoxicating, thrilling even, but it came at a cost. For the first time, he felt a flicker of fear—not of his enemies, but of himself.
---
Rynn swaggered through the front gates of Ebonvale Academy with his usual air of effortless confidence. The early morning sun cast long shadows across the manicured grounds, and the bustling students froze mid-step as they caught sight of him. Whispers spread like wildfire, carrying fragments of the latest rumors and news feeds from the Messenger Guild.
A Foxkin/Wolfkin hybrid near the entrance practically leapt out of his way, his eyes wide with shock. Rynn didn’t break his stride, his smirk growing as he relished the effect his presence had on the crowd.
Ahead, he spotted Eva handing out colorful pamphlets, each one adorned with intricate designs advertising the upcoming masquerade party the student council was hosting at the end of the week. Her mischievous cerulean eyes twinkled as she chatted animatedly with a group of students, her charismatic charm drawing them in effortlessly.
Rynn made his way toward her, but was intercepted by Gabby Tanner, a Deerkin/Horsekin hybrid with an air of aristocratic grace. She approached boldly, her entourage of herbivore and carnivore girls trailing behind her like a royal procession.
“Rynn,” Gabby said, her voice carrying the confident lilt of high society, though a flicker of worry clouded her eyes. “Is it true what they’re saying? The news feed mentioned you suffered from the Gnaw Kin Craze.”
Rynn’s smirk widened, his sapphire eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, it’s true,” he replied, his voice dripping with dark humor. “You should be very worried. I might just eat you all up.” He laughed flamboyantly, waving them goodbye with a flourish as he continued toward the main building.
Gabby and her friends exchanged nervous glances, a mix of admiration and fear in their eyes as they watched him walk away.
---
Near the grand staircase of the academy’s main hall, Teris was deep in conversation with Aelor, the Deerkin’s antlers catching the light in a way that made them look almost ethereal. They were surrounded by a group of high family males, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity. The atmosphere was tense, as if they were discussing something of great importance.
As Rynn approached, the group’s demeanor shifted noticeably. They looked like they had seen a ghost—an apparition returned from the dead. One of the males, a Ratkin named Zack, pointed at Rynn, his eyes narrowing.
“Is it true?” Zack demanded, his voice accusatory. “Are the rumors true, Rynn? Did you really go berserk?”
Rynn’s smirk never wavered. He spread his arms wide in a gesture of mock grandeur, his voice dripping with outrageous charisma. “Fear not, my dear friends,” he said theatrically. “If anything happens, I’ll come save you all, like the princesses you truly are.” He winked, and a ripple of uneasy laughter spread through the group.
As the high family males dispersed, Aelor and Teris approached him, their expressions a mix of relief and confusion.
“Rynn,” Teris began cautiously, “where have you been?”
Rynn waved a hand dismissively. “Long story. More importantly, have you seen Aria?”
“Aria?” Aelor repeated, his brow furrowing. “Who’s that?”
Rynn’s smirk faltered for the first time. “Aria Velshade. Wolfkin/Bunnykin hybrid. New student council member.”
Teris and Aelor exchanged puzzled glances before shaking their heads. “Never heard of her,” Teris said. “Are you sure you’re not imagining things?”
Rynn’s eyes narrowed as he pulled out his cellphone and dialed Aria’s number. The line rang twice before a mechanical voice informed him that the number was out of service. He stared at the phone, a creeping sense of unease settling in.
Something was very, very wrong.
---
Rynn first spotted a group of Herbivore girls near the courtyard, led by Lily Rainwood, a graceful Deerkin known for her impeccable manners and sharp intellect.
"Lily," Rynn began, his voice deceptively light, "have you seen Aria Velshade around? Wolfkin/Bunnykin hybrid?"
Lily exchanged puzzled glances with her friends, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern.
"Aria Velshade?" Lily repeated, frowning. "I've never heard of her, Rynn. Are you sure you're not mistaken?"
Rynn's jaw tightened, but he forced a smile. "Thanks, Lily. Let me know if you hear anything."
Next, he approached a trio of Carnivore boys near the training grounds, led by Jaxon Thorn, a brash Tigerkin with a reputation for being fiercely competitive.
"Jaxon," Rynn called out, his tone steady, "I'm looking for Aria Velshade. Wolfkin/Bunnykin hybrid. Seen her?"
Jaxon cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. "Never heard of her, Yogini. Is she new or something?"
Rynn's frustration grew, but he kept it in check. "Thanks, Jaxon. Keep an ear out."
After several more similar encounters, each ending with blank stares and confused shrugs, Rynn's patience began to fray. It was as if Aria had never existed.
---
Determined to find answers, Rynn made his way to Dean Alaric Tamsin’s office. The heavy oak doors groaned as he pushed them open, stepping into the dimly lit room where shelves sagged under the weight of aging tomes and brass instruments gleamed in the light.
Behind a cluttered desk, Dean Alaric Tamsin peered up from his scrolls, adjusting his wire-rimmed spectacles with a slow, deliberate motion. The Ratkin’s fur was dusted with streaks of silver, his sharp gaze as unreadable as ever.
“Dean Tamsin,” Rynn said without preamble, stepping forward with the quiet confidence of someone accustomed to getting what he wanted. “I need information.”
The Dean folded his hands. “You always do. What is it this time?”
“Aria Velshade.”
A pause.
Rynn’s sapphire gaze locked onto the Dean’s. “Wolfkin/Bunnykin hybrid. She’s a member of the student council.”
Dean Tamsin blinked once, then twice. “I’m afraid there is no record of such a student at Ebonvale.”
Rynn’s jaw tightened. “That’s not possible.”
“I assure you, Rynn, we have no documentation of a student by that name or description.”
“She was here.” His voice, still controlled, carried an unmistakable edge. “She was on the council. You must have seen her.”
Tamsin only shook his head, his expression firm, unmoving. “I have not.”
A slow, creeping unease coiled around Rynn’s spine, cold and unfamiliar.
He turned sharply, pushing out of the office without another word.
Something was wrong.
---
Ebonvale’s towering spires faded behind him as he stepped into the city. The streets pulsed with life, the hum of merchants, the distant clang of blacksmith hammers, the scent of rain-soaked stone. He moved swiftly, ignoring the way passersby shrank from his presence.
Cain’s workshop sat at the edge of the industrial district—or at least, it had.
Rynn halted, staring at the smoldering wreckage. The air was thick with the acrid bite of charred wood and melted metal. The structure, once alive with the hum of machinery, was nothing but a blackened husk.
The flames had long since died, but the ruin remained, skeletal and hollow.
His last lead—gone.
Rynn exhaled slowly, his breath curling in the cold night air.
He needed to think.
After a long moment, he turned back toward Ebonvale Academy.
---
By the time Rynn returned, the sky had darkened, a bruised violet clouds stretching over the academy’s towering spires.
He navigated the hallways with ease, his mind whirling, but his steps unfaltering. As he neared the student council chamber, voices slipped through the door—familiar ones.
He paused, listening.
“We need to find a way to make the students less afraid of Rynn,” Teris was saying, his voice as steady as ever. “A campaign of goodwill, perhaps.”
A scoff. Aelor’s. “After everything that’s happened, it’s crucial. We can’t have the student president being seen as a threat.”
Rynn felt an odd flicker of amusement beneath the frustration curling in his chest.
He turned to leave.
“Rynn.”
Teris’s voice was calm, but there was something unreadable beneath it.
Rynn sighed, stepping into the room. He was met with three pairs of expectant eyes—Teris, Aelor, and Eva. The lamplight cast long shadows across the council chamber, illuminating their wary expressions.
“How’s the new attention treating you?” Teris asked, careful neutrality in his tone.
Rynn tilted his head, his smirk slow, deliberate. “Define ‘berserk,’” he mused, flicking imaginary dust from his sleeve.
Aelor’s jaw tightened. The tension in his frame was palpable.
“This isn’t a joke, Rynn,” he bit out. “People died.”
“And yet, here I am.” Rynn’s voice was smooth, almost mocking. He took a single step closer, enough to make Aelor tense. “Tragic, isn’t it?”
Aelor’s ears flicked back. “Worried? Hardly. If anything, I’m concerned for the academy. For the students who might get caught up in your... condition.”
Rynn exhaled a quiet chuckle. “Condition.” He let the word settle, rolling it over his tongue. “How delicate.”
Teris, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. “Rynn.” His voice was quieter. Not softer, but heavier. “You should at least acknowledge what happened.”
Rynn’s smirk faltered. Briefly. But Teris saw it.
“What happened,” Rynn said, slow and deliberate, “is that some very unfortunate people played a game they were never going to win. And now they’re gone.”
His sapphire gaze flicked between them.
“What more do you want me to say?”
Silence stretched between them, thick as storm clouds.
Eva exhaled through her nose. “You’re deflecting.”
Rynn’s smirk returned, sharper now. “And you’re assuming I care.”
---
