Star Field Forest.
Tension crackled in the air as the rival pack leaders—Lucian of Shadow Moon, Victor of Berserker Beast, and Williams of Black Hound—gathered their wolves. The previous night had ended in bitter defeat. This time, they were prepared. Bryan Robinson—the Primordial Alpha—was weakened. Rumors said he had fought the Calamity Blood Pack. Now, before the Alpha Powerhouse could swoop in and steal their kill, they would strike first.
Silas, a sharp-nosed beta from Shadow Moon, lifted his head, nostrils flaring. "I've got it!"
"Move!" Lucian barked. His twenty werewolves surged forward.
Williams and Victor's wolves followed, a fragile alliance bound by vengeance. Duke followed silently, his presence like a blade in the dark.
The scent trail led to a clearing bathed in moonlight. A tall, lean figure dropped from a tree branch, landing with barely a sound. He stepped forward, the shadows pulling back to reveal a handsome young man—black turtleneck, worn denim jacket, dark jeans. His hair was swept back casually, his eyes half-lidded with amusement.
Bryan Robinson.
The Primordial Alpha.
He leaned lazily against a tree, arms crossed. His smile was neither friendly nor mocking. It was a warning. The air shifted.
The wolves bristled. Killer intent radiated from the packs like heat from a wildfire.
Bryan blinked. Then his smile deepened—and the world seemed to freeze.
His own killing intent exploded outward like a tidal wave. Invisible. Crushing. Wolves staggered, gasping. Legs trembled. Even some Alphas gritted their teeth, struggling to remain upright.
"You've all come so far," Bryan said, voice low, conversational. "But the VIPs aren't here yet, are they?" His smile vanished. "Well... let's start without them."
His eyes ignited—glowing crimson like twin blood moons.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Bones broke, shifted, snapped. His muscles expanded beneath his shirt, claws erupted from his fingers like obsidian blades. Fur spread across his skin in smooth ripples. His jaw lengthened into a partial muzzle, his fangs gleaming.
The other wolves roared in response, unleashing their own transformations. Some bore glowing red or yellow eyes; others blue. Claws lengthened. Fangs tore through gums. Snarls and howls filled the night.
"Kill the beast!" Victor thundered.
The forest floor erupted as dozens of werewolves charged.
Bryan stood still—until the very first wolf came into range.
Then he moved.
Faster than a blink. A whisper of motion.
The first beta's head snapped back. A spray of blood arced through the air. His body didn't fall—it folded, boneless.
The second beta lunged—only for Bryan to step sideways and tear his throat out mid-air, his claws slicing so clean the head dangled by a thread.
He pivoted, ducked a third swipe, and plunged his hand through a wolf's chest—ripping out the heart.
Three seconds. Four corpses.
The packs surged, now more cautious. Seven wolves attacked from different angles. A coordinated strike.
Bryan grinned.
He exploded forward, becoming a blur of claws and death. One wolf lost a leg. Another his jaw. A third was split from shoulder to waist. Limbs scattered. Blood soaked the grass.
Duke, watching from the rear, muttered to himself, "This isn't a battle... it's a massacre."
Lucian clenched his fists. His plan had to work.
He threw two loyal betas forward—sacrifices. While Bryan killed them mid-lunge, Lucian used their backs as springboards, launching high. His claws gleamed as he aimed for the Primordial Alpha's neck, slashing from the blind spot.
Victory was inches away—
—and then Bryan's hand snapped up and caught him mid-air by the throat.
Lucian choked, blood gurgling from five wounds where Bryan's claws had pierced skin and muscle.
"W-why… how—?" Lucian rasped.
Bryan's eyes burned into him. "Your malice betrayed you."
Lucian's gaze widened. The Primordial Alpha had felt it—his intent, his rage. Not just seen it, but sensed it like a parasite clinging to the wind. Bryan had locked onto the Alphas the moment he arrived: Lucian, Williams, Victor... even Ruth, the lone female Alpha observing from the shadows above, her presence hidden.
She alone hadn't radiated hatred. Just... fear. Caution.
"Leave," Bryan growled, lifting Lucian effortlessly. "Take what's left of your pack."
Then he hurled him across the clearing like garbage. Lucian hit the earth with a thud and didn't rise.
The remaining wolves froze. Even the Alphas faltered.
Then rage boiled over.
Victor and Williams roared.
Crack. Crack.
They unleashed their second-stage transformations.
Victor's body expanded, limbs thickening with unnatural bulk. Black fur surged across his form as he became a hulking beast—like a bear standing on two feet. Fangs the size of daggers jutted from his snarling jaws.
Williams' skin darkened, his claws lengthening into hooked talons. The Black Hound's transformation was sleeker, more predatory. His eyes burned yellow as poison mist leaked from his mouth.
Bryan's lips twitched. "Finally."
Victor charged with brute force, shaking the ground. His claws slammed down, aiming to split Bryan in two.
Bryan caught them with both hands. The ground beneath his feet cracked, but he didn't budge.
Williams came from the side, claws aimed at Bryan's ribs.
Bryan spun. In one fluid motion, he used Victor's arm as a pivot, vaulting over and slashing Williams across the chest. The Black Hound crashed into a tree, bark exploding.
Bryan landed, twisting Victor's arm—and with a savage snap, dislocated the Alpha's shoulder. Victor howled.
The Berserker tried to retaliate, but Bryan kneed him in the gut, sending him flying into the air like a rag doll.
Betas joined in, trying to swarm him.
Mistake.
Bryan didn't fight like a werewolf. He fought like something ancient, merciless. Each motion was precise. Efficient.
One beta lunged—Bryan spun and took his leg off at the knee.
Another tried to bite him—Bryan grabbed his muzzle and crushed it sideways.
The third never even saw the blow. His head was gone before he landed.
By now, the clearing was littered with broken bodies and blood-soaked grass.
Bryan exhaled slowly, his breath curling in the night air like smoke.
Above, Ruth still watched. Her eyes locked with his.
Bryan didn't attack her. She hadn't tried to strike. Her gaze held no malice. Only unease—and something else.
He narrowed his eyes. "Not blind to the truth… interesting."
The battle wound down. The ground trembled from the final clash of Victor's retreating Berserkers and Duke's calculated silence.
Then... silence.
Not one wolf dared approach Bryan.
He stood tall—unshaken, unmarked, his crimson gaze sweeping the field.
One man.
Dozens of enemies.
Only one left standing.
The Primordial Alpha.