Darkness.
It pressed against him like a thick blanket, warm yet suffocating. He remembered… something else. A life full of light, technology, and voices shouting across a city of steel. The year—2025. His death—sharp and sudden, lost to chaos he barely had time to comprehend.
And then… silence.
Until now.
The crack of an eggshell split the void. His body twitched, muscles he didn't recognize straining as his head pushed forward. A sharp snout, fangs too small to pierce flesh, and a tongue that flickered out of instinct. His vision was blurry, but colors danced across his scales—iridescent, shifting like oil over water.
What… am I?
The thought startled him. His mind was clear, too clear for a newborn beast. He wriggled, tearing the egg open with stubborn force, until his body slid free into the damp moss of a cavernous nest. Dozens of other eggs surrounded him, some cracked, some silent.
A shadow fell over him.
Her.
Massive coils, scales black and green like the forest canopy. Slitted golden eyes glowed down at him with a quiet intensity. Fangs like ivory daggers glinted as she hissed softly, lowering her head.
"The first one hatches…" Her voice was not words, but a presence, a pressure that filled the air. Yet he understood her, somehow.
The Demonic Forest Snake, his mother. High C-Rank, a predator feared in this corner of the world. To others, she was a monster. To him—she was safety.
Instinct told him to cower. His mind told him to analyze. And then—
[Ding.]
A clear tone echoed inside his skull, not from the world but from within.
System Awakening…
Identity: Reincarnated Soul Detected.
Species: Rainbow Python Restrictor (Variant).
Rank: Pre-F.
Status: Weak. Fragile. Hungry.
Unique Skill: [Devour & Evolve] – Consume life to gain strength.
His tongue flickered, body coiling. A system… no one must know.
The mother snake lowered her head, brushing his tiny body with the tip of her snout. For a moment, warmth filled him. But beyond her shelter, he could sense the world—distant roars, the wingbeats of giant birds, the rumble of boars clashing in the forest. This was not Earth. This world was… bigger, wilder, ten times more dangerous.
One egg cracked nearby. A sibling emerged, plain brown-scaled, smaller than him. The newborn wriggled weakly, chirping a hiss.
His stomach growled. The system pulsed.
[Hunger Detected. First Kill Quest Generated.]
Objective: Devour or perish.
His tongue flicked again. His body trembled with hunger. He turned toward his sibling.
And in that moment, he realized—this new life would not be about survival alone. It would be about power.
For in this world, the weak were food.
And he had no intention of being food
The nest writhed with life.
Eggs cracked, one after another, until the mossy cavern filled with the sound of hissing and snapping. Hatchlings spilled out—brown, green, black, some dull, some faintly shimmering. A swarm of serpents, each only a meter long at best, yet already hungry enough to bite anything that moved.
He slithered free from his eggshell and felt the weight of a hundred siblings pressing in around him.
It was chaos.
One weak hatchling hadn't even fully emerged before another sibling coiled around it and swallowed it whole. The mother did nothing—her golden eyes glowed faintly as she watched from the shadows, impassive. To her, this was nature. Only the strong were worthy of her protection.
The system pulsed in his mind.
[Survival Protocol Activated.]
Rule of the Nest: Devour or be devoured.
Growth Path: Every kill strengthens your evolution.
His stomach twisted. Hunger gnawed at him like fire.
Beside him, a smaller sibling—barely the size of a garden snake—slithered close, chirping weakly. Its scales were pale, its movements clumsy. An easy kill. His fangs itched. Instinct screamed at him: Eat. Grow. Survive.
He hesitated. The human in him whispered: It's just a baby… like me.
The system responded coldly.
[Warning: Compassion reduces survival rate.]
His tongue flicked. He turned, but before he could decide, a shadow fell over them.
A massive green hatchling, already twice his size, slammed into him. Fangs snapped, scales scraped. The brute hissed, tail lashing, eyes glowing with primal hunger.
Rival.
The smaller sibling squealed and darted away. The big one didn't even notice—it only wanted him.
He coiled defensively, instincts taking over. His rainbow scales shimmered faintly in the dim light, a mutation that drew the brute's attention.
The first strike came fast—fangs aiming for his neck. He twisted, barely dodging, and snapped back. His fangs sank into the brute's flesh. Weak venom, but enough to sting. The bigger hatchling roared, writhing, and he seized the moment—wrapping tight, squeezing with all his strength.
Muscles burned. His body trembled. But the system chimed—
[Constriction successful.]
[Prey subdued. Devour?]
Yes.
His jaw stretched, unnatural, and he swallowed. The brute's struggles grew weaker, then silent. Warmth flooded his body.
[You have consumed: Forest Python Hatchling.]
[+ Vitality. + Strength. Mutation Energy absorbed.]
[Rank Progress: Pre-F → F (Low).]
Power. Real, tangible power coursed through him. His body felt heavier, stronger.
The mother's gaze lingered on him for a moment. She saw what he had done… and approved.
A soft hiss drew his attention. The pale sibling, the weak one from earlier, had returned. It pressed against him cautiously, its tongue flicking. Not prey—submission.
He blinked. Why hadn't it run?
The system pulsed.
[Bond Detected.]
Option: Ally with sibling. Cooperative growth possible.
"…Heh." He hissed low, almost amused. So even snakes can choose loyalty.
He didn't strike. Instead, he coiled loosely beside the smaller sibling, allowing it to stay close.
One rival devoured. One ally gained.
In this nest of blood and fangs, he had taken his first step toward something greater.
Not just a survivor.
A leader.
Not just a survivor. A leader.
The words rattled in his skull, but already the nest reminded him what that meant. Hundreds of coils slid across stone and moss, each hatchling clawing for scraps of meat, each bite echoing with venom and hunger.
The pale sibling lingered by his side, tongue flicking anxiously. He didn't chase it away. Some part of him—instinct or calculation—knew keeping it close mattered.
A tremor rippled through the nest.
From the far side, something large stirred. An emerald-scaled hatchling slid into the open, its body thicker, longer than most of the others. Its movements carried weight, confidence. Several smaller siblings slithered with it, snapping at weaker prey but keeping close, like an entourage.
The name came to him unbidden.
Seraka.
The moment their eyes met, the nest seemed to hush. Not because Seraka spoke, but because every snake nearby recognized it—the clash of predators who would not share space.
Seraka lunged first.
A blur of emerald muscle and glinting fangs. Instinct screamed. He twisted, but not fast enough—fangs grazed his scales, hot pain searing his side. He hissed, lashing his tail, and snapped back. Seraka recoiled, tongue flicking with satisfaction.
The circle of followers closed in, snapping and striking to test him. He lashed out, catching one across the neck, but another darted in, its teeth scraping against his tail. He coiled, struck, and for a heartbeat was lost in a frenzy of snapping jaws and sliding bodies.
Too many. Too strong.
The pale sibling darted forward. Its fangs sank into the tail of one of Seraka's followers, weak but distracting. Another hatchling—brown, scarred—joined the fight uninvited, slamming its body against Seraka's flank, forcing the brute to shift his coils.
Opportunity. He surged, wrapping around Seraka's midsection. Muscles strained as he squeezed, but Seraka slammed against the ground, battering him, forcing the air from his own lungs.
He hissed, tightening anyway. Seraka roared, his coils pressing back, stronger, heavier. Each squeeze felt like crushing stone.
He couldn't win by strength alone.
The pale sibling struck again, this time at Seraka's eye. Seraka shrieked, thrashing. The scarred brown hatchling darted in with a vicious bite to Seraka's throat, shallow but bleeding.
Together, the three of them forced Seraka to release.
The brute tore free, scales scraped raw, blood trickling from his neck. He hissed, glaring at each of them in turn, before retreating with his remaining followers. The fight was not won, but for now—it was survived.
Silence lingered where Seraka had been.
[Survival Bonus: + Minor Strength.]
[New Trait Recorded: Tactical Cooperation.]
No grand leap in power. No sudden evolution. Just pain, exhaustion, and the knowledge that he had faced something stronger—and lived.
The pale sibling slithered close again, trembling, yet refusing to leave his side. The scarred brown one lingered too, tongue flicking with something between challenge and respect.
Not friends. Not yet. But allies, maybe.
And in a nest where every scale meant danger, that was enough.