Chapter 15: The Argent's Pursuit
The world was a symphony of adrenaline. The high school lacrosse field, usually a place of athletic triumph and teenage bravado, was a battlefield. Chris Argent, a ghost in the shadows, had found his prey. Scott McCall, a blur of motion, was running, his werewolf senses screaming in his head. The air smelled of damp grass, of cut pine, and of something else, something cold and metallic that made Scott's hackles rise. A hunter's scent.
Adam and Stiles, watching from the periphery, knew they had to act. Scott was panicking, his control slipping. His movements were clumsy, panicked, and predictable. He was a wounded animal, easy prey.
"We have to do something!" Stiles yelled, his voice raw with panic. "He's going to get caught!"
Adam's mind was a frantic, strategic chessboard. He had one move, and it was a dangerous one. A Hail Mary. He had to create a diversion. He needed to be a bigger, more enticing target. He had to mimic.
[SYSTEM: Action: Mimicry. Target: Werewolf Speed. Warning: Energy Levels Low. Overload Imminent.]
The warning was a cold, sharp blade of information. He knew the risk. He'd barely mimicked anything substantial in a while, his System's energy reserves running on empty after his subtle, constant work behind the scenes. But he had no choice. He needed to get Scott out of the crosshairs.
He took a deep breath, and he ran.
His body was a flash of motion, a blur of speed that outstripped anything a human was capable of. The wind roared past his ears, a high-pitched shriek. The trees were a green, brown smear. The world was a chaotic blur. He was a lightning bolt in the night, a new, faster, more terrifying target. He ran straight for the Argents, a human-shaped missile of a distraction.
Chris Argent, from his vantage point, saw the new variable. He saw the impossible speed, the unnatural burst of motion. His focus, which had been on Scott, immediately snapped to the new, more interesting target. He raised his rifle, not to kill, but to maim, to disable, to capture.
Adam ran faster, the exhilaration of the speed warring with a deep, burning pain in his muscles. His System was screaming. [SYSTEM: Mimicry Unstable. Energy Levels Critical. Warning: Overload Imminent.] The world began to warp at the edges, the colors blurring, the sounds becoming a distant, distorted hum. The power was too much, his body a frail vessel for a force it was not meant to contain. He felt the muscles in his legs seize, a sharp, searing pain that made him stumble, then fall.
He collapsed, a breathless, gasping heap on the forest floor, the energy from the mimicry draining out of him, leaving him exhausted, weak, and vulnerable. His mind was a foggy, disconnected mess, the System's warnings a meaningless jumble of static. He was a shipwreck, and he knew it.
A moment later, Stiles was at his side, his face a mask of fear. "Adam! What happened?"
"Too… too much," Adam gasped, the words a painful, breathless struggle. "System… overload."
The sound of footsteps, a rapid, determined rhythm, was growing closer. It was Chris Argent. He was coming for them.
"Oh, no, you don't," Stiles muttered. He grabbed Adam's arm, an act of sheer, desperate will, and he began to drag him. It was a humiliating, painful struggle. Stiles, the human, was now the one dragging the supernatural.
Scott, seeing his chance, disappeared into the shadows, his heart a symphony of gratitude and fear. The hunters were off his trail, but at what cost?
Stiles, with a raw, visceral determination, managed to pull Adam out of the Argents' line of sight, hiding him in a thicket of bushes just as Chris Argent emerged from the trees, his rifle still raised.
The hunter's eyes scanned the area. He saw the flattened grass, the disturbed undergrowth, but he saw no one. Just the scent of a werewolf, and the lingering after-image of a phantom. He scowled, his face a hard, disappointed line. He had lost his prey, and he was beginning to suspect that this new player was responsible.
Stiles and Adam lay still, their breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps, their bodies pressed against the cold earth. They waited until the sound of Chris's footsteps faded into the distance before they moved.
Adam felt the cold, hard reality of his limitations. He wasn't a god. His System was a tool, a resource, and like any resource, it had a limit. He had almost collapsed, almost gotten them caught, all for a simple diversion. He was a mimic, not a hero. He was a supporting character, not the main event. And from now on, he'd have to remember that.
In the backseat of his family's SUV, Allison Argent, her mind still reeling from Scott's confession, watched the woods flash by. She saw her father's grim, determined expression. She knew he was hunting. And she knew she was caught between two worlds. The human world, and the world of the supernatural, the world of her family, and the world of the boy she loved. And now, thanks to her father's hunt, she was one step closer to choosing.
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