The morning sun had fully risen, casting a warm golden hue over the neighborhood as Utibe walked back home after his little street brawl. His breathing was steady, sweat glistening on his dark skin, but he wasn't tired. In fact, he felt refreshed. Nothing like knocking some idiot's teeth loose to start the day.
Still, his mind lingered on the bullied kid's words.
"You shouldn't have gotten into it."
The hell was that supposed to mean? Utibe had expected gratitude, maybe a bit of hero worship, but the guy had just left like it was some life-or-death situation. Whatever. Not his problem.
As he neared his house, the scent of jollof rice and fried plantain hit him, and his stomach grumbled. His mom wasn't playing around today.
Walking into the house, he found his mother, Grace Johnson, standing in the kitchen, stirring a pot with an intensity that could only mean one thing—she was pissed.
Utibe barely stepped in before she spoke, her tone calm but firm. "So, you got expelled again."
Utibe sighed. "Morning to you too, Mom." He grabbed a glass of water, took a sip, then leaned against the counter.
Grace turned to him, arms crossed. "Don't 'morning' me, Utibe. This is the fifth school."
He shrugged. "Yeah, and?"
Her brow twitched. "And? Do you think this is normal? You're running out of schools, Utibe. What's your plan? Just keep getting expelled until they stop accepting you?"
Utibe rolled his eyes. "I already told you, school's pointless. I've got multiple degrees already. I could apply for a job anywhere if I wanted."
Grace pinched the bridge of her nose. "Online degrees don't replace real-world experience."
"I don't need 'real-world experience' to know I don't need school."
His mother exhaled, shaking her head. "Utibe… you are eighteen. You should be making friends, thinking about your future. Not acting like you have it all figured out."
Utibe grabbed a plantain from the pan, ignoring her glare. "I do have it figured out. I'm a genius, Mom. I'll be fine."
Grace sighed. "You think you're untouchable, don't you?"
Utibe smirked. "More like unstoppable."
She muttered something under her breath, then waved him off. "Just eat your food and go do something useful today."
He grinned. "Already did. Broke some guy's nose this morning."
Grace shot him a deadpan look, but he was already walking away, laughing.
---
The Pack Hunts
Somewhere else in the city, deep within a quiet alley, the bullies from earlier had gathered. But this time, they weren't alone.
Kelvin, now fully healed thanks to his werewolf regeneration, stood with his arms crossed, his jaw tight as he glared at the boy who had humiliated him. The rest of the pack—six other werewolves—stood beside him, forming a half-circle around their prey.
The bullied boy, now kneeling on the pavement, remained silent.
Kelvin sneered. "You made a mistake, lone wolf."
The boy smirked. "So what? Gonna cry about it?"
Kelvin's fingers twitched. "Nah. I'm gonna make you bleed."
The air shifted. A deep, primal energy flooded the alley.
Kelvin's body twitched, muscles tightening, bones cracking. His pupils turned into slits, his teeth sharpening. Clawed fingers flexed as his limbs grew, his frame stretching into something more monstrous.
The others followed. Their transformations were swift and brutal—bones snapping, flesh stretching, skin darkening as fur sprouted across their bodies. Their uniforms ripped, leaving behind monstrous figures standing in the dim light of the alley.
Seven werewolves.
The bullied boy exhaled and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they glowed a deep silver. He pushed himself up, his own transformation taking over—his fingers lengthening, canines extending, his body shifting into something stronger, faster.
But he was alone.
Kelvin cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. "Let's see how long you last."
The pack lunged.
The lone wolf barely dodged the first attack, ducking under a swipe meant to tear his throat out. He countered with a vicious elbow to the ribs of the nearest attacker, making him stagger, but another came from behind, slashing at his back.
He twisted mid-air, landing a solid kick to Kelvin's jaw, but the werewolf leader barely flinched.
"Not bad," Kelvin chuckled, wiping his mouth. "But not good enough."
Before the lone wolf could react, another member of the pack grabbed him from behind, locking his arms.
A fist slammed into his stomach, forcing the air from his lungs.
Another strike cracked against his jaw, dazing him.
Kelvin moved in, his clawed hand wrapping around the lone wolf's throat. He lifted him effortlessly, slamming him into the alley wall. The impact sent cracks through the brick.
The lone wolf gasped for air, struggling, but Kelvin tightened his grip.
"This is what happens when you don't belong to a pack," Kelvin growled. "You lose."
The lone wolf tried to raise his claws, but another brutal punch to his ribs shattered his resolve.
Blood dripped from his mouth. His vision blurred.
He had fought well. But he had never stood a chance.
As darkness crept into his vision, he barely heard Kelvin's last words.
"Welcome to the bottom of the food chain."
Then, silence.
Meanwhile, Utibe was sprawled across the couch at home, a bowl of rice on his lap and a movie playing in the background.
His phone buzzed.
A message from his best friend, Tega:
"Yo, wanna hit the arcade later?"
Utibe smirked and typed back.
"You paying?"
Tega:
"Bro, I asked you."
Utibe:
"And I asked you."
Tega:
"Damn, you're a menace."
Utibe chuckled, shoving another spoonful of rice into his mouth. His life was simple. No worries, no stress, just vibes.
Completely unaware that, just a few streets away, a werewolf pack had just put one of their own in the dirt.
And that soon, his normal life was about to be shattered.
X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X
The training room smelled of sweat and determination. A faint hum of workout music played from a speaker in the corner, the bass thrumming softly in the background. The walls were lined with various equipment—punching bags, free weights, wooden dummies, and a sparring mat in the center.
Grace Johnson, clad in a tight-fitting workout tank and shorts, was in the middle of her routine. Her muscles flexed as she gripped a heavy barbell, lifting it with ease before lowering it in controlled reps. Beads of sweat rolled down her dark skin, but her expression remained focused.
She set the bar down with a loud clang, rolling her shoulders before turning to the wooden dummy in front of her. Without hesitation, she launched a flurry of punches, each strike sending a loud thud echoing through the room. Left hook, right jab, a knee to the midsection, and a final spinning kick that sent the dummy rocking on its hinges.
She moved like a seasoned fighter—controlled, precise, efficient. Years of discipline had honed her body into a weapon, and she never let a day pass without sharpening it.
She exhaled, stretching her arms.
Then, the door creaked open.
Then came the sound of slow, exaggerated clapping from the doorway.
Utibe swaggered in, dressed in loose sweatpants and a tank top, a cocky grin plastered on his face. "Damn, Mom. You're gonna scare off all the men in town at this rate."
"Damn, Mom, you trying to join the UFC?"
he cracked his knuckles as he stepped onto the sparring mat.
Grace didn't even glance at him. She finished her reps, set the barbell down, and grabbed a towel to wipe her face. "They should be scared."
Utibe chuckled, stepping onto the sparring mat. "So, how about it? You look like you've got some stress to burn off." He stretched his arms, cracking his neck. "Let's do our usual. You and me. One-on-one."
Grace sighed, already knowing where this was going. "Utibe."
"Mom."
"You sure you want this smoke?"
He smirked. "Always."
This was routine. Whenever she was frustrated, Utibe would challenge her to a duel. It was his way of letting her blow off steam—though she never held back.
Grace raised an eyebrow. "You sure? Last time, you couldn't walk properly for two days."
Utibe smirked. "Pfft. That was a warm-up. This time, I'll actually try."
She sighed, tossing the towel aside. "Alright, then." She walked to the mat, rolling her wrists. "No crying when I put you on your ass."
Grace stretched her neck, stepping onto the mat. "Fine. No crying when I beat you."
Utibe rolled his shoulders. "Pfft. I let you win last time."
She chuckled, getting into her stance. "Lying won't save you."
Utibe grinned. "Bring it, old woman."
The moment the words left his mouth, Grace shot forward like a bullet.
Utibe barely had time to react. He threw up his arms, but she was already inside his guard, her fist slamming into his stomach.
His breath vanished.
Utibe staggered back, gasping, eyes wide. "Yo—"
Grace didn't let him finish. She swept his legs out from under him, and before he could hit the ground, she caught him by the collar and slammed him down herself.
The impact rattled through his bones.
Utibe groaned. "Jesus—"
She gave him zero breathing room. The moment he tried to roll away, she was on him, straddling his chest and pinning his arms down with her knees.
"Still cocky?" she asked, tilting her head.
Utibe growled and tried to buck her off, but she didn't budge.
"Okay—okay! Damn, Mom, get off!"
She chuckled, but instead of letting him go, she grabbed his wrist, twisted his arm behind his back, and flipped him onto his stomach.
Utibe screeched.
"AH! ABUSE! THIS IS ABUSE!"
Grace just held him there, applying just enough pressure to make him squirm but not enough to dislocate anything. "What was that, unstoppable?"
Utibe gritted his teeth, tapping the mat. "I YIELD! DAMN, I YIELD!"
She finally let him go, standing up with a victorious smirk. "That was too easy."
Utibe groaned, rolling onto his back, catching his breath. "I think you broke something…"
Grace wiped her hands on her shorts. "You'll live."
She turned, grabbing her towel again, and made her way toward the door. "That was fun. Let me know when you want another rematch."
Utibe just lay there, wheezing.
As Grace walked out of the training room, she had a satisfied smile on her face.