(A/N):
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Quileute tribe...
The pack wasn't idle.
They never were.
Jacob Black stood at the center, leaning casually against a tree, mid-conversation with the others—laughter low, tension absent.
For a moment—It almost looked normal.
Then—Leah arrived.
No words. No greeting.
Just presence. Sharp. Focused.
Jacob saw her expression—And the air shifted instantly.
"What happened?" he asked, straightening.
Leah didn't answer right away.
She pulled out the photos.
Handed them over.
Jacob took them.
One glance—Then another. His expression changed.
Not explosive. Not loud.
Cold.
"Mercenaries," Leah said. "Organized. Armed. Not from around here."
She paused—Then added the name.
"They're after Bella."
Silence.
"...."
"...."
"...."
The forest itself seemed to listen.
Jacob's grip on the photos tightened just slightly. His jaw clenched.
Eyes narrowing as he studied each face like he was already memorizing how they'd fall.
"…Figures," he muttered.
Leah continued her explination,
"Jojo's orders."
That got everyone's attention.
"Capture them," she said. "All of them."
A beat.
"Alive."
One of the pack members scoffed lightly.
"Alive? After they walk into our land like this?"
Jacob didn't look up.
"...."
Didn't react immediately.
Then—He handed the photos back.
"We follow the order," he said.
Calm. Final.
That was enough. No one argued.
Because if Jojo had given that command—There was a reason.
Jacob stepped forward, rolling his shoulders slightly as something deeper than anger began to surface.
Something older. More territorial.
"They picked the wrong forest," he said quietly.
Leah smirked faintly.
-Smirk!
"Yeah."
Jacob turned to the pack.
"Gear up."
No shouting. No dramatic rally.
Just two words. And that was enough.
The shift began.
Bones cracked. Muscles expanded.
Clothes tore as forms blurred and reshaped—The pack emerged.
Not scattered. Not wild. A unit.
Leah stepped beside Jacob in her wolf form, eyes sharp, focused.
Jacob's voice echoed through the pack link—steady. controlled. dangerous.
"We don't rush. We don't spook them."
"We surround."
A pause.
Then—
"And we take every single one of them."
The forest answered.
One by one—They vanished into the trees.
Silent. Fast.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Café...
Private Room....
The room was closed off.
Curtains drawn. Noise muffled.
Six of them sat around the table. Weapons hidden. Eyes sharp.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Tension thick enough to taste.
A small device sat in the center.
Secure line. Encrypted.
Their lifeline to command. It crackled.
-Crack! -Crack!
Then—Connected.
"Mission update."
The voice on the other end was flat.
Professional. Detached.
"Operation is terminated."
Silence.
"...."
"...."
"...."
One of the hunters frowned.
-Frown!
"Repeat that."
"The client—Victor Hale—has withdrawn."
That landed like a bad joke.
"…Withdrawn?"
Another muttered. He couldn't believe what he had just heard.
The voice continued, unaffected.
"Losses sustained. Operational failure confirmed. All units are to disengage and return immediately."
A pause.
Then—
"Payment adjustments will be processed accordingly."
The line cut.
For a moment—No one moved.
Then—
"Are you kidding me?"
One of them snapped, slamming his fist lightly against the table.
-THUD.
"All that setup—weeks of tracking, traps, coordination—"
Another growled in irritation.
"—and he just backs out?"
A third leaned back in his chair, scoffing.
-Scoff!
"Rich old man throws money at a problem, then panics when it doesn't go his way."
"Idiot,"
Someone muttered under their breath.
One of them picked up the communicator, staring at the dead screen like it had personally insulted him.
"We lost people for this,"
He said quietly feeling all those death were wasted.
That shifted the mood.
From frustration—To something sharper. Anger.
"And now we just walk away?" another asked.
The first one exhaled slowly, forcing himself back into control.
-Sigh!
"That's the order."
A bitter laugh followed.
-Haha!
"Yeah? And who's paying for the rest of this mess?"
No one answered. Because they all knew.
No one.
Outside—Rain tapped steadily against the glass.
Soft. Unbothered.
Inside—One of the hunters stood up, grabbing his jacket.
"Pack it up," he said. "We're done here."
Chairs shifted. Gear adjusted.
The tension didn't leave—It just changed shape.
Forest Road...
The engines died one by one.
Six vehicles.
Spread just enough to avoid being an easy target.
Professional. Cautious.
Headlights cut through the darkness—Only to stop at the obstacle.
A tree. Massive. Freshly fallen.
Too clean. Too perfect.
Inside the lead vehicle, one of the hunters leaned forward slightly.
"…That wasn't there before."
Another door opened.
Then another. Boots hit wet ground.
Rain tapped against metal and leaves as all six stepped out, scanning the road, the treeline, the sky.
Instincts prickling.
"This is Forks," one muttered. "Could be weather."
Another crouched near the trunk, running a hand along the break.
Then paused.
"…No."
He stood slowly.
"Too clean."
That was all it took.
Hands moved subtly toward concealed weapons.
Eyes sharpened.
Formation instinctively tightened.
One of them pulled out a phone trying to contact fire-service.
"Call it in," he said. "We'll get it cleared—"
A low sound cut him off.
Not loud. Not aggressive.
Just—Present.
From the forest. They froze.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Another sound. To the left.
Then—To the right.
Not movement. Not quite.
'Positioning.'
The man with the phone slowly lowered it.
"…We're not alone."
The rain seemed to hush. The forest leaned in.
From the shadows—Pairs of eyes opened.
Golden. Sharp.
Watching. Too many.
One of the hunters whispered,
"What the hell…"
Then—A shape moved. Fast. Gone again.
Another—closer this time.
The formation tightened instantly, backs shifting, angles adjusting, weapons drawn but not yet fired.
They couldn't see the enemy.
But they could feel it.
Surrounded.
The forest closed in.
Not with noise—But with presence.
From the shadows, the wolves emerged.
Large. Too large to be a normal wolf.
The hunters raised their guns instantly.
Confusion flickered across their faces.
"…Those aren't normal wolves," one muttered.
At the center—Jacob Black stood in full wolf form.
Still. Watching. Just the pack.
They surrounded the hunters completely, cutting off every path—front, back, flanks, even the treeline behind their vehicles.
"Hold your aim!"
One of the mercenaries snapped.
But their formation was already cracking.
Because instinct was screaming—
'Wrong prey'.
Then—One of them fired.
The gunshot echoed. And the forest answered.
Jacob moved the very moment. A blur of fur and force.
The nearest hunter was slammed to the ground before he could even react, his weapon flying out of his hands.
-THUD.
"OPEN FIRE!"
Someone shouted.
Bullets tore through the air—Wild. Desperate.
But the wolves were already inside their range.
Too fast. Too close.
One hunter swung his rifle—It was ripped away mid-motion.
Another tried to reposition—Knocked flat instantly.
The pack didn't kill. Didn't maul.
They controlled. Pinning. Disarming.
Breaking formation piece by piece.
Within seconds—The fight ended.
Six hunters. All down.
Groaning. Disarmed. Helpless.
The wolves stepped back.
Then—Shifted.
Bones cracked. Forms folded.
Humans stood where beasts had been.
Jacob rolled his shoulders once, glancing over the captured group.
"You really thought you could hunt here?" he said calmly.
No response.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Just silence.
The pack moved quickly—binding hands, securing legs, stripping every last weapon.
One hunter tried to resist—Jacob pushed him back down effortlessly.
"Stay down."
That was enough.
Minutes later—They were loaded.
Into their own vehicles.
Engines turned.
And the convoy disappeared deeper into the forest—Heading toward Devil May Cry headquarters.
No witnesses. No trace.
Just an empty road. A fallen tree.
And silence reclaiming everything.
"...."
"...."
"...."
DMC Headquarters...
Interrogation Wing...
An hour later—Silence had teeth.
Six mercenaries. Cuffed. Chained. Iron links biting into reinforced anchors along the wall.
And in front of them—Leah.
Still. Watching. Measuring.
No shouting. No threats.
Just pressure.
"Who hired you?"
Her voice cut clean through the room.
No answer.
The six men held their silence like it was the last thing they owned.
Leah tilted her head slightly.
"…You walked into someone else's territory. Lost your entire operation. And you still think silence helps you?"
Nothing.
Behind the one-way glass—Rosalie stood with her arms crossed, eyes sharp.
Beside her, Alice leaned forward slightly, gaze flickering as if trying to catch something just out of reach.
Inadu stood calm, unreadable.
Seconds stretched.
Then—One of the mercenaries snapped.
"SCREW THIS."
The word cracked the silence open.
The others turned slightly—Too late.
"We're not getting paid anyway!" he barked, glaring at Leah.
"So what the hell are we protecting?"
Leah didn't react.
But behind the glass—Rosalie's eyes narrowed.
"…Talk," Leah said simply.
The man let out a bitter laugh.
"Our client?" he scoffed. "Victor Hale."
That name landed.
Heavy.
"He pulled the plug," the mercenary continued.
"Canceled everything. Left us hanging after we lost men trying to follow his damn revenge fantasy."
Another of the captives clenched his jaw—but didn't interrupt.
"We're not even on the job anymore," he added. "Contract's dead."
Leah's eyes sharpened.
"Then why target them in the first place?"
The man hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then—
"Because they killed his son."
Silence.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Not the tense kind. Not the waiting kind.
The impact kind.
Behind the glass—Alice's eyes widened slightly.
Rosalie's posture stiffened.
Inadu didn't move.
But her gaze shifted—calculating.
Inside the room—Leah studied the man carefully.
"Edward. Bella," she said slowly.
The mercenary nodded once.
"That's what we were told. Those two."
He exhaled sharply, frustration bleeding through.
"Old man's been tracking them for a while. Built this whole operation around it. Hunters, traps, everything."
A bitter smirk.
-Smirk!
"And then he bails the moment things go south."
Leah stepped back slightly.
That was it.
No torture. No force.
Just truth—Spilling out under its own weight.
Behind the glass—Rosalie spoke first.
"…That explains the obsession."
Alice shook her head faintly.
"But not the scale. This was too big for just revenge."
Inadu finally spoke, her voice calm.
"Revenge is rarely… just revenge."
At that moment—A soft glow lit up the room.
A projection.
Sara appeared—sleek, composed, her form made of light and data.
"I have located relevant information," she said smoothly.
Data streams flickered beside her—files, records, financial trails.
"Victor Hale. Chairman of Hales & Creast. Significant financial influence. History of private operations and off-record dealings."
More data scrolled.
"Recent expenditures indicate large-scale hiring of mercenary groups and acquisition of specialized anti-supernatural weaponry."
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(Author's POV)
(A/N):
Guys My New Fic name is:
-->Mahabharat: Shiva's Last Variable
Check it out... I hope you will like it
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