A Hunter's Odyssey: Transmigration to Arcantherion

Ridgeway Air Terminal. A sleepy highland airport. Quiet. Almost peaceful. But beneath the surface, something stirs. Chaos. Unseen. Waiting. Near the terminal entrance, a lanky teen paces, agitation carved into his sharp features. Alexander Cotilla—reckless, impatient, and always on edge. His glare locks onto the sliding glass doors. “Where the hell have you guys been?” he hisses. Two figures stroll up, casual as ever. Kevin Fonseca—leather-jacketed, smirking, always looking for trouble. Pablo Espinoza—draped in a tuxedo that screams Daddy’s money. Kevin pulls something from inside his jacket—a plastic bottle. Yellow liquid sloshes inside. A smirk. “Look what I got.” Alex squints. “Wait… is that…?” Pablo grins like a fox. “Gold Rum. The good stuff. Straight from my dad’s collection.” Alex’s mouth waters. He snatches the bottle. “No way! Can I—” Kevin and Pablo exchange glances. “Go ahead,” Kevin says smoothly. With all the arrogance of a teenager trying to impress his cool friends, Alex takes a swig. One gulp. And immediately regrets it. “PFFFT…!!” He bends over, coughing, spitting the liquid onto the pavement. “What the hell is this?!” Pablo wheezes with laughter. “Hope you liked it. Our Gold Rum.” “Gold Rum, my ass!” Alex gags. “That’s straight-up piss, you bastards!” Kevin and Pablo burst into hysterics. Alex, red-faced with humiliation, hurls the bottle at them. The bottle spins through the air. It’s supposed to hit Pablo. Maybe Kevin. But instead… SPLAT!!! Fate has a cruel sense of humor. The bottle collides with someone nearby. Someone very dangerous. Standing near a taxi, a sharp-featured young man, broad-shouldered, cold-eyed, is drenched in whatever the hell Alex just threw. It’s Maximiliano Rodrigues. The last person you’d ever want to piss off. “Oh… no…” Alex whispers. His stomach drops to his feet. Kevin leans in. “Run.” Without hesitation, all three bolt back into the lobby, weaving through the crowd. *** Inside the Terminal… Max steps into the bustling airport, water—or whatever the hell that was—dripping from his jaw. He doesn’t shout. Doesn’t curse. He simply walks. A silent storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. Around him, whispers spread like wildfire. “That’s Max…” “Yeah, him… the Devil’s Son.” The nickname clings to him like a curse. Not because of anything he did, but because of his father—a ghost of a man, feared in the underworld. His disappearance left behind nothing but rumors and an unwanted legacy. Max never asked for it. Yet every whisper, every wary glance, keeps him shackled to it. His sharp gaze scans the terminal, locking onto three idiots trying to disappear into the crowd. Without a word, he strides forward. In an instant, Alex is yanked by the collar. “GAAAH…!!!” Alex flails. Max c***s his fist back. But then— “Everyone, line up for check-in!” Mrs. Emanuella’s voice slices through the tension. Their homeroom teacher, blissfully unaware of the powder keg about to explode. Max hesitates. His knuckles tremble in the air. “Don’t you want to hit me?” Alex tries to act tough, despite the quiver in his lips. Kevin smirks. “Calm down, Alex! I know he won’t do it. He’s all bark, no bite.” Max barely reacts. But then… Pablo steps closer, his voice dripping with venom. “Didn’t have this much hesitation when you stood there doing nothing in your mom’s room… four nights ago.” Max’s world stops. His grip on Alex’s collar loosens. His brain scrambles. “What… what did you just say?” Pablo leans in, eyes gleaming. “Oh yeah. Four nights ago.” He pats Kevin on the shoulder. “I was there. Kevin, too.” A little sad story four nights ago, Max came home to find a stranger in his mother’s bedroom. He never got the chance to see the man’s face before the man bolted through the window. Max never told anyone. Not even the police. Not wanting more shame heaped upon the mother, he buried it deep. But now… “It was a sick bet I made for some cash.” Pablo grins. “And our dear Kevin won the prize.” Kevin tilts his head. “Your mom… not bad, honestly. Tightest one I’ve had.” The words hit like a freight train. Max stares, his mind scrambling to process the implications. No. No, this has to be a joke. A cruel prank. “You’re lying.” His voice is hoarse. “Am I?” Pablo pulls out his phone. Hits play. A woman’s desperate cries emerge from the speaker. [Don’t… please… Max will come home… You’re going to hurt him…] Max’s breath hitches. The airport around him vanishes. The crowd, the PA announcements… all fade into nothing. These two aren’t just classmates. They were people he called friends when they were kids. And now, they’ve destroyed what little peace he had left. “She sure knows how to beg,” Kevin says, leaning closer. “You should watch the video. Who knows? You might end up liking it.” Something inside Max snaps. Like stepping on a landmine— BOOM. CRACK! Kevin’s head jerks back. He crumples down, clutching his nose as blood gushes in a crimson waterfall. “AAARRGH! f**k! MY NOSE!!!” Alex leaps onto Max, trying to restrain him. But Max thrashes like a wild animal, dragging Alex along as he lunges at Kevin again. But then, Daniella, a girl with sharp features and a calm presence suddenly steps in between them. “That’s enough, Max!” she shouts. “Don’t stoop to their level! You’re better than this!” “Don’t interfere, Daniella!” Max roars. “They deserve to die for what they’ve done!” “Like you really can kill me!” Kevin groans, his voice dripping with defiance. “You’re just as useless as your old man.” The words ignite something deeper. Max raises his fist again. But Daniella, desperate, does something unexpected. PLAK!!! She slaps Max hard across the face. “Look at yourself!” She yells. “You’re letting them win! And soon, you will bring more trouble to your mom, just like what your father did!” Max’s fist lowers, yet his breathing still ragged. But before the situation can escalate further… BANG! BANG!!! Gunshots rip through the terminal. Screams fill the air as a man in a clown mask bursts into the lobby, brandishing a Glock. Behind him, another masked figure enters—this one wearing a vest lined with explosives. “Everyone calm down! Anyone tries anything stupid, and my buddy here blows us all sky-high.” The airport falls silent. And yet… Max’s rage remains unbroken. He brushes Daniella aside— And lunges at Kevin once more. Whm! Bg, bg! Dsh!!! Blood paints the floor. Panic turns into a stunned, suffocating stillness. And the terrorists… “Uh… boss? Were those two part of the plan?” “No. But I kinda like their energy.” “…Think we should recruit them?” A fat man—a walking bomb—claps a hand on Max’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy! You’ve impressed me already! Wanna join us after this?” Max turns, staring him dead in the eye. Then— Dsh! He punches the guy square in the face. The fat man stumbles back, stunned. The hit is so fast, so brutal, that the entire terminal instinctively flinches. Someone even ducks, expecting the bomb to go off. But that’s not the real surprise. Max stands still, fingers wrapped tight around the bomb’s detonator. He holds it up, eyes burning. “Enough with the bluffing.” His grip tightens. “Why don’t we see God together and give Him our report?” He has all reasons to gone nuts. Humiliation, desperation, and just when he got the chance for revenge, this fat suicide bomber interfered. And so— Click! He jabs the detonator, but— Click, click!! The bomb stays silent. And the smirk on the terrorist leader’s face tells Max everything he needs to know. “Fffuck!” The terrorist leader, unbothered, gestures to his associate, the Glock-wielding clown. And then… Bang! Bang!!! Two shots tear through the terminal. The crowd freezes. Horror-struck. Max chokes—a sharp, ragged inhale—as twin bullets slam into his gut. The impact rips through him. His knees hit the ground. His fingers press desperately against the wounds, warm blood spilling between them. The world tilts. Sounds stretch and warp, the steady drip of Max’s own life pooling on the cold tile. His breath comes ragged, shallow. “God… damn it…” What truly shreds him apart is the pathetic, humiliating end he’s been dealt. Not in some blaze of vengeance. Not bringing justice to the bastards who ruined his life. With what little strength he has left, he fumbles for the amulet around his neck, a useless trinket, yet the only thing tethering him to something real. “Forgive me, Mom…” His voice is barely a whisper. His grip tightens. His vision darkens, but a bitter chuckle rasps from his throat. “And Dad… I hope you’re dead… so I can beat the s**t out of you when I see you up there.” Then… something stirs. A faint, eerie glow. Max’s fingers tighten around the amulet, unaware of the soft pulse of blue light flickering beneath his grip. It seeps through the cracks between his fingers—weak, subtle. But alive. No one notices. Not the terrorists. Not even Max himself. The air is thick. Tension coils around them like an unseen noose. And yet… The amulet pulses again.