The forest village was silent.
Its vibrant soul, once a melody of drums, laughter, and wind whispering through lush canopy, now lay crushed beneath smoking ruin. Blackened tree trunks jutted out of the scorched ground like twisted fingers clawing at the heavens. Their leaves had turned to ash, their roots torn and exposed like open wounds bleeding into the earth. The scent of burning sap mixed with the acrid stench of scorched fur and charred flesh, painting the air with the reek of tragedy. Smoke rose in long sorrowful tendrils, spiraling toward the bruised pink and gray of early morning, as if trying to plead with the gods.
Beneath the fractured bones of her home, beneath a collapsed timber soaked in soot and shadow, a girl lay still.
Her name was Nyota, meaning star in the tongue of her ancestors.
Her breathing was shallow, barely stirring the ash-dusted soil beneath her lips. Dirt and blood smeared on her face, and her slender frame trembled from more than just cold. She had pressed herself deep into the earth's embrace, curled tight like a wounded animal, her heartbeat thudding in her ears like a distant drum of war. Her dark skin shimmered faintly in the dim light, the hue of oiled mahogany, and her eyes, brilliant amber, wild and sharp, cut through the gloom like twin blades of molten gold.
At first glance, she might have passed for human.
But only for a moment.
Two panther-like ears crowned her head, sleek and furred, twitching at every distant footfall and every crackle of lightning in the distance. Long black hair, thick with smoke and debris, hung past her shoulders, half hiding the low, wary crouch of her posture. A slender, sinuous tail lay curled around her leg, its fur bristled and dirty, twitching occasionally in fear or fury. Her fingers, though small, ended in sharpened claws once meant for play and tree climbing, now clinging to survival.
She was beast kin. A child of the jungle. A daughter of both ancient humans and beast. A lineage old as myth, feared and despised for being different.
Just hours ago, she had been alive in a way only the wild could allow. She had been chasing fireflies with her little brother beneath a canopy of stars, their feet dancing across moss and root, their laughter weaving through the symphony of frogs and birds. Her mother had been stirring stew over an open fire. Her father had been humming, sharpening a blade. That world was all she knew.
Then they came.
Priests of the God of Lightning searching for new slaves.
They fell from the sky like judgment. White robed figures crackling with divine fury, their garments stitched with golden thread that shimmered like lightning trapped in silk. The very fabric of their robes pulsed with arrogant radiance, embroidered with divine symbols jagged and sharp, shaped to mimic bolts of wrath. Their hoods were up, masking faces that held no warmth, only cold fanaticism. When they walked, thunder rumbled. When they raised their staffs, arcs of pale lightning leapt from their fingertips, illuminating the dark jungle with cruel flashes of white.
They spoke in a tongue of condemnation, voices like thunderclaps echoing through the trees. They called themselves missionaries, saviors bringing light to the unclean. But their hymns were hollow. Their god was a weapon. Their light was a fire that consumed.
She had seen one of them lift his hands, lightning dancing between his palms, and hurling it into her neighbor's hut. It exploded in a flash of blinding light and heat, and the laughter inside turned to screaming.
Her parents had fought. Proud, fierce, and unafraid. Her father's body grew, muscles bulging, skin rippling into dark fur as his panther form emerged. Her mother, faster than the eye could follow, became a streak of claws and fangs. But for every blow they landed, the priests answered with divine lightning that struck like judgment from the sky. One by one, they fell. Warriors and farmers alike, caught between raw instinct and sanctified murder.
Nyota had heard her mother scream. A raw animal cry of pain and defiance that split her world in two. Her father had roared, not in fear, but in a voice that said he would protect them all. And then there was silence.
The smell of blood. The heat of fire. The hymns.
False promises echoed through the burning night as the priests walked through the ruin, praising their god with every life they took. Her people were dragged from the rubble in chains. Old and young. Bound like animals, faces smeared with soot, blood, and tears.
Nyota had not cried.
Not when her brother's scream was cut short behind her.
Not when her tail caught fire and she beat it against the dirt.
Not even now.
But she was found.
A priest had spotted the faint glimmer of her eyes under the floorboards. She had clawed and bitten, screamed, and thrashed, but they laughed as they struck her. Her body was small and light, easy to drag. The chains they bound her in were heavy, they used magic to sap the strength of beast kin. They called her savage, filth, animal. They spat near her face and told her she was lucky to be spared. For a life of slavery was a mercy compared to what her demon parents had earned for defying the will of Joule.
She was made to walk through mud and ash, her arms bound so tight her claws dug into her own palms. Her tail was pulled, tugged, mocked. Her ears rang with cruel laughter. But none of it broke her.
Nyota did not pray for salvation.
She knew better.
She prayed for silence so she could listen. She prayed for stillness so she could watch. And above all, she prayed for one fleeting thing.
A moment.
One single, perfect moment.
To strike back.
To bury her claws into the heart of their holiness and show them what a beast could do.
Their faces were burned into her mind. The smug curl of lips that quoted scripture while cutting down children. The calm eyes of men who believed they were right. The gold thread on their robes, glinting with every death they delivered. The smell of death and blood they carried with them like perfume.
They had taken everything from her.
But they would never take her will.
And one day, whether by claw, fire, or fang, they would remember her name.
Nyota.
The last star from a dead village.
An ember waiting to become an inferno.
Back in the current time.
The eighth floor was unnaturally quiet, the air thick with tension.
The stone doors hissed open with a gust of warm, damp air. Unlike the seven floors before, the eighth was not laced with danger. No snarling beasts, no traps. Just silence. A winding path opened into a lush underground grove lit by glowing moss and floating lanternflies. It was beautiful, serene but it felt wrong.
Lefu's voice whispered in his mind, a thread of warning woven into her usual cheerful tone.
"This floor is a resting zone known as The Dark Dragons Core. Every monster below is C rank or higher. So, people set up base camps, hold meetings and conduct business. Kintu slavery is outlawed on the surface, but no one controls the dungeons. Here, the worst of humanity can indulge their darkest yearnings." Her voice was tight with anger.
He turned a corner and stopped dead.
A wide chamber stretched out before him, bathed in an artificial sunlight that poured in from glowing orbs embedded in the walls, casting long, distorted shadows. The scene that unfolded was sickening. Dozens of chained beast folk knelt in the center, heads bowed in submission, their bodies bruised and scarred, their eyes filled with despair. At the center of the chamber stood four robed figures, adorned in pristine white robes stitched with gold thread, forming a triangle around a black iron cage. The air thrummed with dark magic.
Inside the cage, a girl sat curled up, her tail flicking nervously. Her ears were flattened against her head, but her panther eyes burned with a fierce, untamed hate.
Kintu saw the priest raising a searing brand, the iron glowing red-hot in the artificial light. The stench of burning flesh and desperation hung in the air. He pulled the cat girl out next.
Flames danced along Kintu's spine, a primal rage bubbling up within him.
"Lefu." His voice was a low, dangerous growl.
"I know. He is one of Joule's men from the other day. These zealots think beast folk are failed reincarnations. They run a beast folk slave bazaar they only sell the kids though; they use the elderly to mine magic stones but everyone else they kill. Do not intervene Kintu we need to avoid a confrontation at all cost." Her voice was filled with sorrow.
Kintu moved.
He did not blink. Did not hesitate. One moment he was in the shadows then he burst forward like a cannon shot, a blur of motion and lethal intent. Flame Charge ignited beneath his feet, the force of it cracking the marble floor, launching him through the golden ritual circle. One of the priests turned, his hand glowing with holy energy.
"By the holy light…."
The scythe tore through his ribcage before he could finish the brand. The obsidian blade sliced through flesh and bone as if they were butter, leaving a gaping, ragged laceration.
Blood sprayed in a high, crimson arc, painting the pristine white robes in grotesque patterns. The priest's torso folded like paper, his eyes wide with shock and pain. The other priests screamed, their faces contorted with horror. One cast a blinding flare, flooding the room in searing white light.
Kintu's concealment stone shattered from the surge of magic, the sudden release of energy sending shards flying. His pressure, the raw force of his power, surged into the room like a tidal wave, a tangible wave of death that sent the beast folk flinching back in terror. Nyota, however, raised her head, her eyes locking onto Kintu's. He had blood on his face, flames licking at his feet, and the scythe humming low with a hungry, malevolent energy.
"Nonbeliever!" one of the priests shouted, his voice trembling. "Smite him!"
Light spears rained from the sky, bolts of pure energy that sizzled and cracked as they pierced the air. Kintu leapt, weaving through them like smoke, a phantom of motion, fire wrapping around his limbs like a protective shroud. He landed silently behind the second priest, driving his scythe into the man's spine with brutal force. The priest gurgled, blood bubbling from his mouth.
Two more priests raised shields of light, shimmering barriers that flickered with holy power. One summoned a giant sword made of radiance, the blade humming with divine energy. The other chanted in an ancient, guttural tongue strengthening the light shield.
Kintu raised his hand, his eyes burning with cold fury.
"Flame Control: Blaze Resistance."
A new skill he recently picked up, it caused a wall of purple fire to burst outward, slamming into the shield priest with the force of a battering ram. The holy barrier shattered like glass, and the priest went flying into the marble wall with a sickening crunch. His body exploded on impact, leaving a smear of gore and shattered bone.
The last priest, his face pale with terror, pointed the glowing sword at Kintu, his hand shaking.
"You serve death. Then embrace it"
He swung the holy blade, but Kintu caught it on the shaft of his scythe, sparks flying as metal screamed against stone. Then, with a snarl that was more animal than human, he twisted, breaking the priest's wrist with a sickening snap. The glowing sword clattered to the floor, its light flickering and dying.
"Wrong," Kintu growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "I serve my friend."
The final slash was not clean. It was savage. Messy. The scythe caught the priest's neck and tore through flesh and bone, ripping out in a bloody, horrifying arc. The man collapsed, gurgling, his lifeblood spilling onto the marble floor.
Kintu stood panting as silence fell again, broken only by the whimpering of the beast folk and the crackling of the dying flames. The air was thick with the stench of blood and burnt flesh.
The beast folk stared in awe and terror. Nyota, still inside the shattered cage, looked up at him blood on his face, flames dancing around his feet, and the scythe humming low with hunger. He was a terrifying figure, a force of nature unleashed.
Then Lefu's voice broke the silence, her tone a bizarre mix of excitement and awe.
"Ooooooh, that was so metal. Ten out of ten. I mean, you were like whoosh, and they were like 'Holy light' and you were like 'Naw, son, FLAMES.'"
Kintu wiped the blood from his cheek, his expression grim. "Not the time, Lefu."
"Right, right. Sorry."
He stepped to the cage and gripped the lock, the cold iron biting into his skin. With one twist of flame-empowered strength, the metal shattered. The door creaked open, revealing the captive girl.
The girl inside rose to her feet, her eyes narrowed, her tail lashing with defiance.
"I'm not weak," she said, her voice a low growl. "I didn't need saving."
Kintu smiled, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. "Good. Then help me get these chains off everyone else."
He stepped forward, brushing ash from his shoulder as the last of the smoke curled behind him. His voice was calm, steady, but carried the weight of someone who had seen too much too soon.
"My name's Kintu," he said, offering a hand.
The girl tilted her head, eyes sharp like moonlight on steel. For a moment, she said nothing, then let a half-smile curl at the corner of her lips.
"Nyota," she replied, simple and sure, as if the stars had whispered it first. "My name is Nyota."