The corpse lay sprawled on the floor, face-up, its body stocky and clad in a gray suit.
At the throat, a ghastly wound split open, running down to the chest. Blood gushed from the torn flesh, soaking clothes and floor before congealing into a thick, tar-black stain.
The wound looked as though some beast had savaged it—muscle flayed back, yellowed fat exposed, the stench of blood reeking in the air.
"F*ck!"
The blond-haired thug shrieked, stumbling backward at the sight. Never—never—had he imagined his boss would die so horrifically.
The squat, barrel-chested man beside him rushed forward to steady him.
"What happened?"
"Damn it, we need to get out of here! The boss is dead!"
Panic erased any thought of explaining further. His legs, weak as jelly, carried him stumbling toward the exit.
The squat man, though clueless, caught the fear in his friend's voice and bolted after him.
Bang!
A dull thud rumbled through the darkness.
A rush of air followed, carrying a nauseating stench of blood.
Panting heavily, the blond whipped out his phone, its dim glow flashing across the shadows—just as a black shape lunged at him.
Instinctively, he raised his arm to block.
Agony seared through it instantly—razor claws had pierced into his flesh.
"Fck! Fck! Sh*t!"
Screaming, he swung the phone at the thing clawing him.
But before the strike landed, something rammed through his throat.
Pain and suffocation hit all at once. His vision dimmed, consciousness sinking into black nothingness. His body crumpled to the ground.
The squat man, still struggling to grasp what was happening, barely had time to react before his own throat was ripped open. Blood poured down his chest as he collapsed.
From the shadows, Peter watched in silence as both men fell.
He showed no sorrow, no rage—only cold detachment—as his gaze fixed on the killer.
The murderer was no human.
It was a gray wolf—massive, fur bristling brown, its eyes feral and gleaming. Jaws full of jagged teeth dripped with blood, capable of tearing through flesh and bone like paper.
Ordinary wolves were small, no more than sixty kilograms, rarely a meter tall at the shoulder.
But this beast was hulking, a predator built like a grizzly bear, radiating raw killing intent.
Peter narrowed his eyes.
Why would a creature like this appear in the city?
A man-wolf? Some kind of mutation?
The wolf, finished with its slaughter, stood still—its crimson gaze scanning the shadows. It sensed something. Another hunter lurked here.
And that hunter's presence… was stronger than its own.
Realizing the danger, the wolf began to retreat, cautious. It would need to vanish into the dark and strike only on its own terms.
But then
Bang!
Air rippled. A black blur streaked out of the shadows, slamming into the wolf's chest and hurling it across the floor.
Snarling, the beast sprang up and launched forward. Lightning-fast—faster than any normal wolf. To an ordinary human, it would be death itself.
Thud!
The ground trembled under its charge. Peter braced, raising his arm to block.
The impact was tremendous, stronger than he'd expected. His brow furrowed as he skidded back.
And then—the skin on his arm darkened, hardening into a gleaming black carapace.
The surface was like an exoskeleton—alien, organic armor that sprouted the instant of impact, without thought.
This wasn't human. This was something else.
Half-man, half-monster—an evolution born from battle.
The wolf's claws scraped uselessly against the hardened carapace. Peter seized the moment. With predatory precision, he twisted, thrusting his arm toward the beast's throat.
The wolf dodged—but Peter shifted, bending his elbow, and drove it straight into the creature's chest.
The black carapace had become a weapon, jagged like an alien claw. It pierced the wolf's hide in one strike, plunging into its heart.
Blood erupted.
Shhhkt!
Expressionless, Peter withdrew his arm. The light in the wolf's eyes dimmed. Its massive body toppled with a crash.
He stared down at the corpse, shook the blood from his hand, and turned toward the safe hidden in the room.
But just as he moved, the wolf's body began to change.
Its fur receded, claws shrank away, the monstrous form shrinking… until what lay on the ground was no beast at all, but a boy.
Peter froze.
So the wolf… had been this boy?
A werewolf?
He had heard of vampires and stranger things, but to see a werewolf with his own eyes left him stunned.
After a pause, his face smoothed back into its usual calm.
Whatever. It had nothing to do with him.
No guilt weighed on him as he strode toward the safe. His mission remained unchanged.
Glancing at the lingering black armor coating his arm, Peter shook his head and smashed the safe open with a single punch.
The alien mutation in his blood didn't just give him agility and predatory instincts—it granted him brutal strength.
Inside the safe were neat stacks of cash, easily half a million dollars, and pouches of white powder. He didn't need to guess what it was.
At the bottom lay a file folder.
Peter pulled it free, flipping through. His brows drew together.
"Beasts…?"
He dropped his gaze to the lifeless boy at his feet. Now he understood. At least partly.
So the city had more monsters lurking than he realized.
And perhaps, he thought grimly, was he really so different from them?