Bite of the Alpha

Rage, anger, bloodlust—these were the fires that fueled Alpha Stella. The more furious she became, the stronger she grew, her power bound to fury like a cursed blessing. And now, in the heart of the battlefield, she was a storm incarnate.

With a howl that split the air, she slashed forward like a beast possessed, claws aiming straight for Bryan's gut. The sheer force bent the wind and screamed through the atmosphere. She was ready to bathe in blood, to rip apart organs, to feel her prey's life drain through her fingers—

But she felt… nothing.

No blood. No flesh. Only cold, slippery resistance. A shroud of darkness wrapped around her claws—shadow. The same dark, creeping veil that bled from the Primordial Alpha.

Her eyes widened. Where—?

CRACK!

A sharp sound from behind snapped her out of thought. She spun, just in time to see Bryan—shrouded in shadows—behind Pat. Before Pat could react, Bryan twisted her head like it was a loose lid.

Her neck snapped. Her body dropped.

Stella stood stunned, and so did Mico. Just a moment ago, the monster was in front of them. Now Pat, her partner, was dead.

Mico lunged with a furious punch, rage distorting his vision. But Bryan casually slapped it aside with the back of his hand like brushing away a leaf.

More punches followed—wild, powerful, fast—but Bryan was already thinking two steps ahead. This one's easy to bait.

Bryan grinned.

He let the next punch come, absorbed the impact, and struck back.

PAK!

Mico's bones snapped through his shoulder like splinters tearing through paper. His scream tore through the battlefield.

> "ARRGGHH!"

Bryan didn't pause. He stepped on Mico's feet, pinning him down—

BOOM!

—and sent a final punch to his face. The sound of cracking bones and squished organs echoed. Mico's face imploded, his proud Alpha eyes crushed inside his skull.

The werewolves around them recoiled. Even the cocky ones fell silent.

> "W-Wasn't this the Alpha Pack we all feared?" an omega muttered.

"They're dying like sheep…"

"I think even I could kill them—"

"Go on then," someone said.

"You crazy?! You wanna see me die next?! Bastard."

Laughter and fear mingled, but none could look away.

Christopher, their Alpha leader, clenched his fists. Mico was gone. Pat, too. Two of his strongest. This isn't battle. It's slaughter.

Bryan didn't look back. He had no interest in broken bodies. But he hesitated a moment after Pat. I respected her. I hoped I wouldn't have to kill her.

But she had chosen her path, just like the rest. Power had made her blind. Mercy would've only delayed the inevitable.

Michel, standing to the side, had been silently charging a Thunder Claw—the strongest of his arsenal.

He unleashed it with a deafening roar. The lightning bolt exploded forward, ripping through the air, a burning lance of electric fury. The others vanished instantly, retreating to avoid the blast.

The bolt struck Bryan.

The earth shook. Trees were incinerated. Flames roared high into the sky.

When the light faded—Bryan stood there, unmoving.

Electricity licked his flesh. His skin blackened, burned—and then healed. Over and over. Cells died. Cells regenerated. Pain circled through him endlessly.

Burning. Healing. Burning again.

But his expression didn't change.

> "Pervert," Bryan muttered, stepping out of the fire. "Trying to burn off my clothes?"

Michel's eyes widened. Impossible. That blast should've left nothing behind.

But Bryan was already gone—

He appeared mid-air, reverted to two legs, and with a twisted motion, slammed his knee into Michel's chest. Claws slashed through his neck.

Michel hit the ground, blood sputtering from his mouth. Dead.

And yet the carnage continued.

Another Alpha lunged from beneath—a sneak attack. Bryan pinned him without effort, foot crushing his back.

Lancelot came next, charging blindly.

Bryan caught both of his arms mid-swing.

SNAP. SNAP.

Then his legs. Another CRACK.

Bryan twisted him around, forced his broken arms to wield a blade, and made him slash the neck of the sneak attacker still beneath his feet.

The head rolled away. Bryan tore out Lancelot's heart and tossed him aside like trash.

Terror.

> "H-He's doing it again," someone whispered.

"Doing what?"

"Like that night… the Black Moon."

"No… that's just a myth. He wouldn't—"

"Shut up! My grandfather saw it! The city burned without fire. He never even shifted. He just walked."

Legend has it that it happened on a rare lunar event — a Black Moon, when the sky was completely void of light and the moon vanished. To most werewolves, the Black Moon is a time of weakness. They rely on lunar power for strength and healing. But for Bryan…

> "He didn't weaken. He evolved."

On that night, the human kingdom of Velmora, famous for burning werewolves alive in silver-lined pits, celebrated their latest slaughter. They hosted a festival called the "Culling Moon." Dozens of captured werewolves were paraded, tortured, and executed before cheering crowds.

What they didn't know was that Bryan, long thought dead or retired, had watched silently from the forest's edge.

By midnight, the gates of Velmora were found open.

By dawn, the kingdom was no more.

Not a single person alive.

And strangest of all — not one wolf howl was heard.

A chill swept through the crowd. Even battle-hardened wolves shivered.

> "Velmora," someone muttered. "The entire kingdom. One night. Gone."

Christopher's heart pounded.

We're losing.

No—we've already lost.

The others fought with everything they had. Christopher himself finally pulled his trump card. He hurled the Soul Reaper Dagger—crafted for one purpose: to kill Bryan.

The blade pierced Bryan's chest—

—and he pulled it out, groaning.

> "Hey, that actually hurts," Bryan growled. "Next time, aim a little to the left. That's where my heart is."

And without another word, he flung the dagger into the distant head of the White Titan.

It exploded in ash.

Silence.

> "He's immortal," someone whispered.

The fear spread. Finally, they understood what stood before them.

Bryan turned to the crowd of werewolves.

> "I think I've killed enough Alphas in this pack. Or what do you think?"

He pointed to a random werewolf.

> "M-Me?" the werewolf stammered.

> "I retired, you know," Bryan continued. "This? This is nothing compared to the old days. But you children never let me rest."

> "I even hoped to spare the pretty ones," he added, glancing at Stella.

Christopher clenched his fists, rage overtaking fear.

> "ENOUGH!" he bellowed.

"Let's kill this son of a bitch!"

The surviving Alphas—Stella, Christopher, Rio, Chloe, and Fred—rallied.

But Bryan didn't move. His ears twitched. He had heard something.

Two voices.

One of them… familiar.

Change of plans, the voice said.

Bryan smiled.

The massacre wasn't over.