Chapter2

There were no lights in the alley.

Rain poured off a broken awning overhead, hammering against rusted metal drums with a hollow clang. My shoes splashed through puddles, each wet smack echoing off the narrow walls, making the whole place feel even lonelier.

I walked for about five minutes before turning into a dead-end alley.

A tall brick wall loomed ahead, choked with dead vines that looked like shriveled hands in the rain. On both sides, old walls were covered in layers of graffiti, the faded colors twisting into ugly shapes under the weak spill of a distant streetlight.

I stopped and turned around.

Three dark figures were closing in from the mouth of the alley.

They moved slowly, casually, like predators toying with wounded prey. Rain ran down their black leather trench coats, but not one of them seemed bothered by it.

I could smell them.

Werewolves. Low-tier, but still more than enough to kill the man I was now a hundred times over.

The Vow inside me clamped down like a steel trap, locking up my meridians. I could feel the silver runes of the seal coiling around my heart like snakes, every beat sending a faint stab of pain through my chest.

I couldn't summon even a shred of supernatural power.

Right now, I was nothing but a fragile mortal.

"That him?"

The one in the middle spoke first, his voice rough and jagged, like sandpaper scraping metal.

"The piece of trash Lord Victor was talking about."

The one on the left let out a cold laugh. "This is the guy? I thought he'd be harder to handle. A mechanic? And Victor sent all three of us?"

The one on the right said nothing. He just pulled a triangular dagger from his waist. The blade flashed cold in the rain, sharp enough to seem like it could cut the air itself.

I said nothing.

"Oh, look at that. He's got backbone."

The man in the middle stepped forward, revealing a brutish face with a scar running from his left eye all the way down to his chin. In the rain, it looked even uglier.

"Fine. Then we'll do exactly what Lord Victor ordered—break all four limbs and dump you in the Hudson."

Before the last word left his mouth, he moved.

Fast. Inhumanly fast. The explosive burst of a werewolf. His body blurred through the rain as his right arm shot out, fingers hooked into claws, going straight for my throat.

I twisted aside.

Not with supernatural power, but with muscle memory forged years ago on the battlefield. That kind of instinct gets carved into your bones. Even a seal couldn't take that away.

His claws sliced past my neck, kicking up a gust sharp enough to sting my skin.

I didn't hesitate. I caught his wrist, turned his force against him, and drove my knee hard into his elbow joint.

Crack!

The sickening sound of snapping bone split through the rain.

"Aaagh—!"

Scarface screamed. His arm bent at a grotesque angle, bone shards punching through skin, pale white against the storm.

But in that same instant, the silver rune over my heart convulsed violently.

The Vow was punishing me.

Warning me not to resist. Not to use anything beyond what an ordinary man should be capable of.

And that move had clearly crossed the line.

My body locked up.

Only for half a second.

But for a werewolf, half a second was more than enough.

The one on the left lunged in with a savage grin and drove a kick straight into my chest.

Boom!

The impact was monstrous, like getting hit head-on by a truck. I heard my ribs break—cleanly, unmistakably. Not one. At least three.

My whole body flew sideways like a rag doll and slammed into the brick wall. The moment my back hit, pain exploded down my spine, my vision blackening as the metallic taste of blood surged into my throat.

Before I could even slide to the ground, the silent one on the right moved.

The triangular blade cut a silver line through the rain—

Thud!

The freezing blade punched through my right shoulder and pinned me to the wall.

The tip tore through muscle and lodged into the mortar between the bricks, hanging me there with my feet off the ground. Warm blood poured from the wound, running down my body before the rain diluted it into pale red streams across the puddles below.

White-hot pain ripped through my nerves and clawed its way into my skull, like a thousand ants gnawing at my bones.

I clenched my teeth and didn't make a sound.

Scarface staggered over, clutching his mangled arm. Rage twisted across his face. He raised his muddy combat boot and planted it on my face, grinding my cheek into the rough brick.

The wall scraped my skin raw. The stink of wet dirt and filthy rainwater filled my nose.

"This all you've got?" Scarface spat through clenched teeth. "Victor sent three of us for a mutt like you? Guess he gave you way too much credit."

He pulled a waterproof phone from his coat. The screen lit up, its glare stabbing into my eyes.

"Open your damn eyes and take a good look at the woman you were so desperate to protect."

On the screen was a livestream from a press event in Manhattan.

Irene had changed into another breathtaking custom red gown and was tucked sweetly against Victor's side, their fingers laced together. She was smiling—beautiful, soft, radiant. I had seen that smile a thousand times before. At our wedding. At candlelit dinners. In every moment I'd thought we were in love.

But now, she was giving it to someone else.

In front of the flashing cameras, her voice rang out from the phone, clear and cruel.

"Yes, our two families are finalizing the merger, and we'll be announcing our engagement soon. As for that mechanic named Kane? He was just a joke my grandfather arranged when he'd lost his mind. The only stain on my life. And now that stain has finally been erased."

"The only... stain?"

I stared at Irene's merciless face on the screen. Even through the phone, I could feel the disgust in her voice—the way she couldn't wait to cut every tie to me.

Three years of patience.

Three years of humiliation.

For one dying wish from her grandfather, I had willingly imprisoned myself, chained the monster inside me, and buried my life in the ordinary world.

And what had it gotten me?

Her contempt.

Her betrayal.

Her hand pushing me straight into the grave.

"Seen enough?" Scarface sneered, pocketing the phone. "Then die. In your next life, learn not to stand in a powerful man's way."

His right arm began to shift. Muscles swelled. Fingers thickened. Nails lengthened into curved wolf claws that gleamed cold in the rain.

A werewolf's signature weapon.

Claws strong enough to tear through steel.

He raised them to my throat and slashed down without hesitation.

And in the fraction of a second before those claws could rip open my neck—

Thump!

A heavy heartbeat sounded deep in my chest.

It was impossibly loud, like an ancient war drum pounding inside my ribcage, drowning out even the thunder and rain for one surreal instant.

Scarface froze.

His eyes widened as he stared at me.

THUMP!!

A second beat.

The Vow that had sealed me for three long years—unyielding, absolute—finally let out a sharp, splintering crack.

Crack—

Like ice breaking. Like chains snapping. A clean, terrible sound that made the scalp prickle.

Slowly, I lifted my head.

The grin on Scarface's face vanished. His claws were still raised, but his whole body had started to shake uncontrollably.

He looked at me, and pure terror exploded in his eyes.

Because he saw my irises—once blue—being swallowed whole by a bottomless crimson glow.

"Y-you..."

His teeth chattered so hard he could barely speak. It was the sound of a lower-ranking wolf standing before an absolute apex predator, fear rising from the deepest part of his soul.

Crack—

The silver chains inside me shattered completely.

The feeling was like a man stepping into open air after three years in solitary confinement. The power I had suppressed for so long came roaring out of my heart like a flood through a broken dam, filling every vein, every nerve, every cell in an instant.

An ancient pressure burst from me in a tangible black tide, swallowing the entire alley whole.

The rain above my head stopped.

Not slowed. Stopped.

Every falling drop hung in midair, then was crushed into white mist by the sheer weight of my aura. The moisture in the air trembled. The brick walls cracked. Ripples spread across the puddles at my feet with unnatural force.

Scarface convulsed violently.

Every trace of mockery was gone from his face. Only terror remained. He tried desperately to pull back, but he couldn't move so much as a finger.

"W-what the hell are you?" he whimpered, his teeth rattling in despair. "What kind of monster are you?!"

I didn't answer.

I slowly raised my left hand, gripped the dagger pinning my shoulder, and pulled it free.

The wet scrape of steel against bone was hideously clear in the rain.

I didn't flinch.

I didn't even blink.

The wound didn't bleed.

Crimson muscle fibers wove themselves back together in plain sight. Severed blood vessels reconnected. Torn flesh regrew, as if the scene were playing in reverse. Within seconds, the injury vanished completely, leaving behind only smooth pink new skin.

Scarface looked like his eyes were about to burst from their sockets.

"N-no... impossible... not even a high-ranking werewolf heals that fast..."

I reached out and caught the other two assassins by their throats.

The motion was casual. Almost lazy.

And that terrified Scarface even more.

Because it meant I wasn't even taking them seriously.

RIIIP!

No technique. No finesse. Just pure, primitive force.

I spread my arms.

And their powerful werewolf bodies tore apart like wet paper.

Blood and entrails spilled out in sheets, splashing scarlet through the rain. The two halves of each corpse hit the ground with a heavy smack, twitched once, and went still.

Hot blood sprayed across Scarface's face.

His legs gave out. He collapsed into the muddy alley with a splash, and a dark stain spread instantly through his pants.

"M-my lord—please! Mercy! I was just following orders! It was Victor! Victor made us do it!"

I planted my foot on his chest.

Crunch.

His rib cage collapsed under my boot. I felt the brittle give of bone, and then the wet little pop of his heart bursting beneath the pressure.

His eyes bulged. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Blood dribbled from his lips, mixing with rainwater into grotesque red trails across his face.

Then he died.

I pulled my foot back and flicked bits of flesh from my hand.

The rain washed over my fingers, thinning the blood as it streamed into the puddles below. I watched it swirl away and disappear.

I felt nothing.

Three years.

For three whole years, I had turned myself into a joke for someone who had never been worth it.

Enough.

From inside my coat—soaked with blood and mud—I pulled out a matte-black satellite phone.

Military grade. Encrypted. Titanium shell. Waterproof, fireproof, blastproof.

For three years, it had rested over my heart and never once left my body.

With my blood-slick thumb, I pressed the power button.

The screen lit up.

The call connected instantly.

For a moment, there was silence on the other end. Then a man's voice came through—low, rough, trembling in a way it had no right to.

"My king... you've finally awakened?"

Iron Wolf Axel, supreme commander of the Iron Fang Legion.

Three years ago, when I left, he had dropped to his knees and clung to my leg, crying like a child despite being a six-foot-six mountain of a man.

"Lock down Manhattan."

My voice was calm. So calm it sounded strange even to me. It was cold enough to seem dragged up from the depths of hell itself.

"Not even a fly leaves the island."

I heard hurried footsteps and shouted orders explode on the other end. Then Axel's voice came back, blazing with fanatic fury.

"At once, my king! The Iron Fang Legion has been ready for this order for three years!"

I ended the call and looked down at the bodies on the ground—two ripped in halves, one with his chest caved in.

I bent down, grabbed Scarface by the hair, and yanked hard.

Rrrip—

His spine tore with a wet crack as his head came free in my hand, still dripping blood.

I picked up the other two heads as well, one in each hand, and stepped out toward the storm-lashed street.

With my ancient bloodline fully awakened, my senses spread over the entire neighborhood in an instant.

I could hear everything within a mile.

Rain hammering rooftops.

Rats skittering through storm drains.

A drunk puking outside a bar.

A baby crying in a high-rise apartment.

And several blocks away, inside that brightly lit ballroom, the waltz was building toward its climax.

I could even hear Victor clearly—leaning close to Irene, whispering into her ear.

"Irene, close your eyes."

Then came the disgusting sound of their lips about to meet.

The instant before it happened—

I moved.

My legs drove into the pavement, and I shot through the rain like a black bolt of lightning, tearing straight toward the ballroom.

Buildings blurred past on either side. Raindrops hit my face like bullets.

But my heartbeat stayed steady, precise, mechanical.

Three seconds.

That was all it took me to cross five city blocks and stop in front of the ballroom entrance.

The doors were solid bronze, twelve feet high and massively thick, etched with ornate patterns that must have cost a fortune. Behind them: music, laughter, luxury.

I raised my right leg and kicked with everything I had.

BOOM—!!

The deafening blast of shredded metal ripped through the ballroom's polished atmosphere in an instant.

The two massive doors, each weighing hundreds of pounds, blew inward like they'd been hit by artillery, flying across the room and smashing straight into the crystal chandelier hanging over the center of the hall.

Crash—!

The chandelier—worth millions—exploded into a storm of crystal shards, raining down like glass hail into champagne flutes, onto designer gowns, into perfectly styled hair.

The room erupted into panicked screams.

People fell. Dove under tables. Ran for the exits.

The entire gala dissolved into chaos.

Before Irene's startled cry had even faded, three round objects came flying in from the thunderstorm outside, trailing the stench of blood.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Three severed heads rolled across the expensive carpet, dragging bright red smears behind them, before bumping to a stop at the toes of Irene's diamond-studded heels.

She looked down.

And the moment she realized what they were, all the color drained from her face.

"AAAAH—!!"

Her scream ripped through the hall. Her body went limp against Victor as both hands flew to her mouth, her eyes bulging in horror.

The tender look on Victor's face vanished instantly.

He stared at the heads.

At the familiar faces.

His trusted men. The assassins he had sent after me.

His pupils contracted sharply.

Wind and rain roared in through the shattered entrance, whipping tablecloths into the air and rattling champagne glasses together.

I stood in the doorway, casually tossing a white hand towel—used moments ago to wipe blood from my fingertips—into a puddle outside. My boots crunched over broken glass as I stepped into the hall.

The lights fell on my torn suit, my rain-soaked hair, and the blood covering me from head to toe.

I didn't care.

Under the horrified gaze of every last person in the room, I curled my mouth into a cruel smile.

"The party's just getting started. Why's everybody in such a hurry to leave?"