Mel raised her hands higher, revealing a glowing sigil seared into the back of her hand. The intricate mark pulsed with an eerie light, flickering like embers in the dark—growing stronger, more intense with every passing second.

  She cast a brief glance over her shoulder at me, a silent acknowledgment before bringing her hands together, fingers aligning perfectly, likely pointing at the luminous sigil.

  Then, her gaze snapped back to Utica, cold and unyielding.

  "I will never stand beside you again, Utica. What we had... it's over."

  Utica's smirk twisted, then, her expression turned dark. "Then you leave me no choice. You and your little puppy will die in this forest." She exhaled slowly, as if disappointed. "Such a waste. All because of my new form, you refuse to stand beside me. But don't worry—" she notched an arrow, drawing it back to full tension "—I'll make sure you're buried together in the same hole."

  Mel scoffed, tilting her head slightly. "Sure." She lowered her right hand, inspecting her nails as if Utica's threat was nothing more than an inconvenience. Then, with a playful smirk, she added, "But if you're going to shoot me, do me a favor—don't aim for my left hand. A girl has to keep her nails pretty and clean, you know?"

  Utica's eyes flared with fury. With a sharp inhale, she pulled the bowstring taut—and loosed the arrow.

  The instant the arrow struck Mel's hand, a violent chain reaction erupted—the fire-infused arrows she had loosed earlier ignited in succession, detonating one after another. Explosions tore through the forest, sending shards of wood and thick plumes of smoke spiraling into the air.

  Reacting on instinct, I grabbed Mel and pulled her behind a nearby tree just as debris rained down around us.

  "Are you alright?" I asked, staring at the injury in her hand.

  She closed her eyes for a brief moment, as pain flashed across her face. "Yes," she said. "The poison won't affect me. Wolfsbane is only lethal to werewolves."

  Without hesitation, she reached for a small glass vial fastened to her belt and tipped it back. The moment the liquid touched her lips, her wound began to mend—flesh knitting together, the torn skin sealing itself as if the injury had never existed.

  She exhaled, rolling her shoulders before standing fully ready to fight.

  "I'll distract Utica, but you need to take care of Dylan. He's trapped—pinned between the fallen trees from the explosions."

  I turned and caught sight of the massive black-furred beast thrashing beneath the weight of fallen trunks and debris. Dylan's snarls tore through the smoke-choked clearing—rage and desperation woven into every sound.

  This was my chance.

  I nodded at Mel, my claws extending as I stepped forward. "Don't get yourself killed."

  She smirked, gripping her bow tighter. "Right back at you, puppy."

  I sprinted forward, pushing my body beyond its limits, moving faster, and more fluidly than ever before. The distance between me and Dylan disappeared in an instant. But just as I reached him, a figure stepped between us.

  His presence was suffocating, his aura thick with bloodlust. His fingers began to elongate into claws, his stance radiating raw, unfiltered power.

  I threw my head back and let loose a ferocious howl, one that shook the forest, reverberating across every tree, every shadow, warning everything within miles that this fight belonged to me.

  "Do not touch him!" I roared, noticing the man stopped transforming his hand. "His life is mine to claim!"

  The figure remained still, unfazed by my outburst.

  "You shouldn't concern yourself with such little prey, Young master. This man is not worthy of your mercy."

  In front of him, Dylan lay motionless, his body twitching, his transformation undone. The explosions from Mel's arrows had broken him, leaving him in a weakened, pathetic state.

  The man's voice was familiar, his scent unmistakable, lingering in my mind like a distant memory I couldn't quite grasp. But as he turned to face me, the reality struck like a thunderclap.

  My eyes widened in disbelief as I took in his changed form.

  Derrick.

  But not the Derrick I had known.

  His body had undergone a transformation far beyond anything a lesser werewolf could achieve. His once-human features were now sharpened, enhanced, his form taller, and broader, his presence overwhelming. His eyes burned with a fierce, unnatural color. The marks of the Demon Wolf radiated along his arms and chest, etched into his flesh like symbols of raw, uncontainable power.

  The air around him crackled with energy, his mere presence exuding a dominance that rivaled even mine.

  "Derrick!" I yelled.

  He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, but his voice had changed—deeper, laced with something primal, unshackled.

  "Please, leave this trash with me and save your energy for Utica," he said. "Avenge the werewolves that died tonight. You must dispose of that hybrid hunter before she kills more of us."

  I stepped forward, stopping beside Derrick, my gaze shifting to Dylan. The once-feared alpha lay frozen in place, his body rigid with undiluted terror.

  He knew.

  He knew he had no chance against us.

  Two fully transformed Demon Wolves stood before him, and he was nothing more than a wounded animal, barely clinging to his life.

  I exhaled sharply. "Do as you please," I said, turning away. "I have no use for him. Make it quick."

  "Wait!" Dylan's voice cracked with desperation. "I—I can be of service. I'll work for you! I'll rob and kill for you!" His breathing turned ragged, his words tumbling out in a frantic plea. "You can become an Ultima wolf—the alpha of alphas!"

  I paused, glancing over my shoulder.

  His eyes were wide with fear, his entire body trembling as he crawled forward, desperate for mercy.

  "Don't take long, Derrick. Leave Utica to Mel and me. After that, find Vantos. Ask if he knows anything about Wolfsbane poisoning and how to cure it. Then return home. Help as many as you can."

  "It will be done, my lord."

  As I sprinted toward the battle between Mel and Utica, a distant sound pierced through the night—the unmistakable final gasp of a man taking his last breath.

  Then, a dull thud.

  Dylan's body hit the ground.

  Derrick had claimed his life.

  But I didn't stop. There was no time to dwell on what had already been decided. I reached the cave entrance, immediately noticing Mel—she was on the ground, injured, her right hand pressed tightly against her stomach, trying to stop the bleeding.

  I rushed to her side at the sight of blood gushing between her fingers.

  "Mel!"

  She stared at me, her breathing shallow and uneven, then winced sharply. "Reach the pouch on my belt... there's a healing potion inside," she said. "Please... get it for me."

  I didn't hesitate. I reached for the pouch, grabbing the small glass vial. I pulled the cork free, bringing it to her lips, helping her drink. The moment the liquid touched her tongue, her wounds began to mend—the bleeding stopped almost instantly, the torn skin knitting itself back together.

  She exhaled, letting out a breath of relief. "That's much better."

  Slowly, she rotated her arms, rolling one shoulder with a wince, testing the pain. "I had no idea how hard it would be to fight a hybrid hunter. I couldn't land a single hit. That stone-like skin..." She shook her head. "It's nearly impossible to pierce."

  I reached out, grabbing her arm, and helping her to her feet. "She had the upper hand during the entire fight. I'm afraid, I can't help you with this one, Tobias. You're on your own."

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  "She's not the first hybrid I've encountered," I said. "That stone skin of hers has a weak point—right under the torso, at the upper abdomen. If we strike there, we can pierce through."

  Mel nodded. "Then that's where we concentrate our attacks. By the way, that was my last regeneration potion. If I get injured again, it could spell disaster for me." She reached behind her cape, pulling out a short sword. "I'm out of arrows, but I still have this."

  Without another word, she placed her hand over the blade. A faint glow shimmered at her fingertips as she began to whisper an incantation. I watched as red sigils etched themselves across the steel, each one pulsing with growing intensity.

  Then—the blade ignited.

  A brilliant red flame surged to life, engulfing the sword in incandescent fire. Heat rolled off it in heavy waves, distorting the air like a desert mirage, casting flickering reflections across her face.

  "This is risky. There's a real chance we both get hurt." Her eyes flicked to me, then back to the glowing weapon in her hands. "The fire enchantment should detonate with every strike—but I don't know how powerful the explosions will be, or how many hits I can land before the magic burns out. Once it's gone, I won't be able to enchant the blade again for a while."

  She took a slow breath. "Let's just hope I can hit that weak spot before it's too late."

  "Then we make every strike count," I said.

  Suddenly, a foul, rotting stench wafted through the air. The scent of a hybrid hunter. I rose instantly, moving in front of Mel, positioning myself between her and the approaching threat.

  "Move!" Utica snarled. "I'll finish this fight with Mel first—then I'll deal with you. But don't think I'll let you run off like a scared rabbit again."

  I stepped forward, glaring at her. "There's no more running. No more hostages for you to hide behind. Your intimidation doesn't work anymore. This ends here, Utica. Right now." I bared my claws. "From this moment on, I suggest you keep your eyes on me."

  Then—I lunged.

  Moving faster than her eyes could track, I weaved around her in erratic bursts, circling like a predator—always out of her reach.

  Utica snapped, her voice cracking with frustration. "That's annoying! Stop moving so I can shoot you!"

  She dropped her guard for half a heartbeat—and that was exactly what I'd been waiting for.

  The moment she hesitated, I attacked.

  My claws tore into her abdomen, hitting the weak spot. The impact sent chunks of her stone skin flying, shattering on the ground like brittle rock. A sickening crack echoed through the clearing as she stumbled backward, her face twisting in pain.

  She retreated, pacing with growing desperation. Her hand shot toward her quiver—only to freeze mid-motion. Realization struck. She was out of arrows.

  For the first time, I saw it—uncertainty. It flickered in her eyes as she looked down, watching more pieces of her stone armor crumble and fall from her body, exposing the flesh beneath.

  Utica grunted, then stopped. Slowly, a twisted smile curled across her face.

  "Are you satisfied? Did you get your revenge?" She asked.

  "Dylan is dead," I said. "And there will be no forgiveness for you. You'll suffer the same fate. Every life you stole in your thirst for power... you'll answer for them all."

  Then, I looked up.

  On the distant horizon, the first light of dawn pierced through the smoke, painting the sky in soft strokes of gold and crimson.

  An unexpected ally had arrived— sunlight, the natural enemy of every vampire.

  As the rays crept closer, I could already feel the shift in the air. With each golden thread that touched her skin, her strength would falter. The supernatural resilience that once made her nearly invincible was beginning to unravel, piece by piece.

  This was our advantage.

  I let a slow smirk rise to my lips. "Looks like you're running out of time, Utica."

  I raised my hand, pointing toward the rising sun as its golden light began to spill across the battlefield.

  Utica's gaze snapped to the horizon. She saw it—understood it. Time was slipping away. Her strength, her edge... fading with every passing second.

  Her eyes flared, not with fear—but with pure, burning rage.

  With a guttural growl, she drew her sword. Her grip was so tight, that cracks split through the stone-like skin of her fingers.

  "I have plenty of time to kill you!" she roared.

  And then—she charged.

  Recklessly, driven by hatred, she lunged toward me, her form flickering between human and monster, while her impenetrable skin deteriorated quickly.

  Suddenly, her shoulders jerked violently, and something erupted from her back. A pair of deteriorated, skeletal wings exploded outward, twisting unnaturally as they grew exponentially, their ragged form barely holding together. Claw-like bones jutted from their edges, dripping with decay, accelerating her vampiric transformation at the cost of her remaining humanity.

  She was shedding what little was left of herself.

  The Utica we once knew no longer existed.

  Only the monster remained.

  I stood still, waiting, watching her approach like a storm on the horizon. The moment I tensed, ready to counter her blade—

  Mel struck.

  She leaped through the air, swinging her sword in a powerful arc, striking Utica directly. Once the blade connected, a blinding detonation ignited upon impact, consuming all of us in a fiery burst of energy.

  The force sent me hurtling backward, my body crashing into the dirt. Debris and dust clouded the battlefield, flames flickering through the smoke. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard Utica's agonizing scream.

  Between the smoke and fire surrounding us, I forced myself to my feet, my body aching from the blast. But my focus remained on Utica, who writhed on the ground, her body twisting in agony.

  Her stone-like skin was crumbling, pieces flaking off like shattered armor, quicker than before. The explosion had ripped through her defenses, leaving her vulnerable.

  This was it.

  Her defenses were broken.

  Now—it was time to finish this.

  A surge of primal hunger coursed through me, the beast within me craving victory, its thirst for vengeance nearly intoxicating. I sprinted forward, my claws elongating, my entire body moving on instinct.

  Faster.

  My legs burned, but I pushed harder, my speed increasing until I reached her in an instant. I seized her by the throat, lifting her effortlessly before slamming her against the rock, the impact shaking the ground beneath us.

  Utica choked, her eyes wide with shock, her body weakened and broken.

  But all I saw was the trail of bodies she left behind. All the werewolves she murdered—those who only wanted to live in peace. The weight of their deaths bore down on me, fueling my conviction, and my rage.

  I raised my clawed hand, ready to drive it through her chest, to end this once and for all.

  But then—

  A hand touched my arm.

  Gentle.

  Soft.

  A warmth that cut through the storm of my hatred, like a single flicker of light in a void of darkness. My breathing hitched, the feral rage inside me faltering for just a moment. I turned my head slightly, my body still tense, my claws still inches away from delivering the final blow.

  And then, through the smoke, through the chaos—

  I saw her... Mel. Even with her injuries, she reached out, her touch gentle, and grounding, her fingers caressing my arm with tenderness. "Don't kill her," she whispered. "She will be judged for her crimes. I don't want you to be blamed for her murder."

  I clenched my jaw, my claws trembling inches away from Utica's exposed flesh. The anger roared inside me, the feral part of me demanding retribution. Every fiber of my being screamed for vengeance. I had been waiting for this moment—this chance to end her, to avenge every werewolf she slaughtered.

  And yet...

  Mel's words cut through the haze, through the bloodlust, pulling me back from the brink of madness. I let out a massive, guttural howl, forcing the fury out of my lungs, letting it roar in Utica's face with all the wrath I still carried.

  She flinched, her body trembled, and her strength faded as the rays of the sun tore through the sky.

  But I didn't strike.

  My claws receded; my breathing heavy as I forced myself to release my grip on her throat.

  I took a step back, my fists clenched, my body still buzzing with unspent fury.

  Utica's body crumpled, collapsing onto the dirt, her limbs trembling under the strain.

  Behind me, Mel let out a slow breath. "Thank you," she said.

  Her voice cut through the fury boiling beneath my skin, cooling the rage that had been rising with every heartbeat. I could still feel it there, simmering, begging for vengeance—but Mel's presence steadied me.

  Quickly, she unclasped her cape and gently draped it over Utica's broken body.

  "You should leave while you can," she said. "The enforcers will be here any minute. You don't want to get mixed up in this carnage. I'll meet you at your place... in a few hours."

  I nodded, sparing one last glance at Utica.

  Then, I turned and ran. Every ounce of fury still coursing through me was now channeled into speed, my feet hitting the earth with urgent, unrelenting force.

  There was no more time to waste.

  The wounded at the estate needed help.

  As I drew closer, something caught my attention. A curious sight—one of Titus' sentinels roaming the forest near the estate. That meant only one thing—Derrick had succeeded in contacting Vantos.

  Once I walked up to the guest house, I was immediately greeted by Morgoth's deafening screech, the massive creature spread its wings wide at the sight of me.

  The estate was overwhelmed. The ground was littered with the wounded and weary, many injured by the volley of arrows from Utica's men. The scent of blood, sweat, and wolfsbane, remained lingered in the air, reminding me of Utica's savage attack.

  As I moved through the aftermath, my gaze landed on Andrea.

  She was alive.

  Her eyes widened the moment she saw me, and in an instant, she was on her feet, head bowed low. "I am forever in your debt, young master. Had you not commanded Alphonse to pull me from danger, I would not be standing here now."

  "You have nothing to fear," I said, my gaze sweeping over the werewolves as they rose, surrounding me like shadows drawn to flame. "Dylan is dead. His reign of terror is over. But the killing blow wasn't mine—that honor belongs to Derrick. If anyone deserves your thanks, it's him."

  The crowd parted, and Derrick stepped forward. He dropped to one knee before me, head bowed in quiet respect.

  "I only did what was necessary, young master. It was your blood that pulled me back from the edge of death and gave me one more chance to live. I couldn't stand by and let him waste your time while our allies bled. I know you held back—hesitating to strike with us so close, protecting us from harm."

  I stared at him, noting the lingering traces of his transformation. "That last shift, Derrick..." I said. "It seems the Demon Wolf curse has woven itself fully into you. I look forward to seeing what you're truly capable of."

  A shadow crossed his face as he lowered his gaze. "I'm afraid I lost control the moment Dylan fell, my lord. That form... it's not mine to command. It seems I can only wield it for a short time before it slips away."

  Vantos had been right all along. Sharing my blood with a lesser werewolf had triggered immediate changes—undeniable proof that Annie, too, might be capable of undergoing the same transformation as Derrick.

  "Keep aiding these people as best you can. There are other matters I must attend to."

  "As you wish, young master," Derrick said.

  Stepping away, I halted before Vantos, who greeted me with a smile. "I already know what you're about to ask," he said, "And my answer? I told you so. Even I was caught off guard by Derrick's transformation when he arrived at my club. His Demon Wolf form is nowhere near as powerful as yours, but... it's a welcomed revelation. Imagine what we could do with an army of them. We might just stand a chance against the culling."

  "I don't think I have enough blood to turn every werewolf into a Demon Wolf."

  Vantos smirked. "And what of Utica? Were you able to dispose of her?"

  I lowered my head, the silence speaking for itself. "No. I held back. Mel helped me take down both her and Dylan... and she asked me to spare Utica, to let the enforcers handle her."

  Vantos exhaled, nodding slightly. "I understand her reasoning, young master. Like it or not, we are still bound by a society of rules, even if we are monsters. Killing a high-ranking hunter could bring even more trouble to your already embattled clan. Worse, you could be branded a murderer and sentenced to death. In other words, she did you a favor. The war of the clans is nearly upon us. If Utica dies during the culling, it will be seen as a casualty of war. But in times of peace..." He touched his chin, his expression thoughtful, yet edged with certainty. "It's simply murder."