---
The silence was a tomb. Jack's world had shrunk to the frantic, hammering rhythm of his own human heart. The beast was gone, not just suppressed, but absent. It was a terrifying void, a fundamental part of his being surgically removed by the cold, humming disc in the grey-suited man's hand. He felt frail. Breakable. The rain on his skin was cold, the screams of the panicked crowd were distant, and the ground-shaking approach of the crystalline behemoth was a promise of an ending.
Elsa strained against an invisible force, her finger frozen on the trigger of her rifle, a snarl of pure fury trapped on her lips. Morbius was a statue of pallid fury, his vampiric nature pinned like a butterfly to a board.
The Consortium operative watched them with the detached interest of a scientist observing a concluded experiment. "Vital signs are spiking. Adrenaline and cortisol levels are consistent with terminal stress responses. Note the psychological shift in Subject Zero from aggression to... futility."
The behemoth took another step, its massive, stone-and-muscle leg crushing a fire hydrant, sending a geyser of water into the air. Its glowing maw opened, emitting a low, resonant hum that promised annihilation.
Futility.
The word echoed in the hollow space the beast had left behind. It was the feeling of his father's death. The sound of his mother's dying wish. The taste of every failure, every loss of control.
But it was also a key.
The suppressor was a lock designed for a raging monster. It fed on the struggle, the primal resistance of the supernatural. It was a wall built to withstand a battering ram.
Jack stopped pushing. He stopped being the battering ram.
He closed his eyes, shutting out the approaching horror, the smug face of his captor, the desperate faces of his friends. He retreated inward, away from the curse, away from the pain, away from the rage. He sought the quietest, most human part of himself. The boy who had loved his mother. The man who kept his promises. He folded the beast away not with force, but with surrender, making himself small, insignificant, and utterly, completely human.
The effect was instantaneous.
The suppressor field, a perfectly tuned instrument, suddenly lost its primary frequency. The constant, raging signal of the werewolf it was built to contain simply vanished. The complex energy matrix, designed for a specific, powerful resonance, stuttered.
For less than a second, the hum of the device wavered. The pressure on Jack did not just lessen; it shattered.
It was the only opening Morbius needed.
A century of hunting in the dark had taught him to feel the slightest shift in the fabric of the night. The moment the field flickered, he was moving. He didn't try to access his full vampiric speed—there was no time. He used the simple, explosive strength of a body no longer held down, lunging forward not at the operative, but at the device in his hand.
His long, pale fingers closed over the man's wrist. There was a sickening crack of bone. The operative's eyes, for the first time, widened in genuine, physical shock and pain. The suppressor disc clattered to the wet asphalt, its light dying.
The silence broke.
And the world erupted into beautiful, chaotic noise.
Sound and sensation rushed back in a dizzying wave. The roar of the behemoth was no longer a distant threat but an immediate, ear-splitting reality. The hiss of the rain, the screams of the fleeing populace, the frantic shouts of the other Consortium operatives—it was a symphony of chaos.
But the first sound was the sharp, definitive crack of Elsa Bloodstone's rifle.
Freed from the suppressor's grip, her instincts took over. She didn't aim for the monster. She didn't aim for the operatives. She pivoted, her eye to the scope, and her finger squeezed off three rapid, precise shots.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
The disc-like devices the operatives had placed to corral the behemoth exploded in showers of sparks and shattered metal. The invisible fence containing the creature's rampage vanished.
The effect was immediate and catastrophic for the Consortium. The behemoth, which had been methodically herded toward Jack's group, suddenly found its boundaries gone. Its simple, destructive mind recalibrated. The closest source of energy, the closest annoyance, was now the cluster of grey-suited figures and their humming scanning equipment.
With a ground-shaking bellow that was pure, unfiltered rage, it turned. A limb of living rock and crackling energy swept down, obliterating the armored van and sending two operatives flying through the air like broken dolls. The calm, clinical field test dissolved into a desperate battle for survival.
"Fall back!" Elsa yelled, already slinging her rifle and drawing a heavy-caliber pistol. "This is their mess now!"
Morbius stood over the injured lead operative, his form seeming to drink the light from the surrounding chaos. The man clutched his shattered wrist, his face a mask of pain and furious disbelief. Morbius leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper only the man could hear.
"Tell your masters this," he hissed. "The patents they seek are written in blood they cannot afford to spill."
Then, he turned and melted into the shadows of a collapsing storefront.
Jack remained on one knee, gasping. The return of the beast to his soul was a thunderclap, a surge of power that left him trembling. He looked up, his eyes now glowing with a feral, triumphant light. He saw the behemoth laying waste to the Consortium's perfect operation. He saw the fear in the operatives' eyes as their control evaporated.
He stood, his body thrumming with power, but his mind was clear. The man was back in control, and the beast was a willing weapon.
He didn't howl. He didn't charge. He simply looked at the lead operative, meeting his pain-filled gaze, and gave a single, slow nod.
It wasn't a threat. It was a message. I learned your rules. Now learn mine.
Then, he turned and followed Elsa into the rain-drenched chaos of the city, leaving the Aegis Consortium to reap the whirlwind they had sown.
They regrouped two blocks away, under the rusted skeleton of a freeway overpass. The cacophony of the behemoth's rampage was a dull roar in the distance, punctuated by the wail of converging emergency vehicles. The rain had soaked them to the bone, washing away the grime of battle but not the tension.
Elsa leaned against a concrete pillar, her breath misting in the cool, damp air. "They herded it. They used a dimensional horror to test their equipment on us. The arrogance."
"It is their fundamental flaw," Morbius stated, his form a patch of deeper shadow. "They see the supernatural as a series of equations to be solved. They do not account for the variable of will."
Jack said nothing. He was staring at his hands, flexing his fingers. The memory of the suppressor's effect was a cold brand on his soul. The utter helplessness. The void where the beast should be. It was a vulnerability more terrifying than any silver weapon.
"He called me Subject Zero," Jack said, his voice low and rough. "Not a person. Not a monster. A subject. A patent." He finally looked up, his eyes meeting theirs. "They won't stop. We didn't just beat them back today; we showed them a flaw in their design. They'll see that as a problem to be fixed. They'll be back with a version three, a version four... and they won't be trying to capture me next time."
The truth hung in the air, as cold as the rain. This wasn't a war with a front line. It was an infection. The Aegis Consortium was in the city's bloodstream now.
"We need to find their heart," Elsa said, pushing off the pillar. "We can't just keep swatting at the symptoms."
"The operative," Morbius suggested. "The one whose wrist I broke. He will be extracted. But he will require medical attention. A facility equipped for... unique injuries."
A slow, grim smile spread across Elsa's face. "A high-tech medical facility that doesn't ask questions. The Consortium wouldn't risk a public hospital. They have to have their own private clinic. A clean room for their dirty work."
Jack nodded, the plan crystallizing. The chaos of the battle wasn't just an escape. It was the very tool they needed. In their arrogance, the Consortium had revealed a piece of their logistics. They had assets in the city that needed maintenance. They had a supply line.
"We follow the blood," Jack said, the hunter's light fully returned to his eyes. "His blood."
He turned his face towards the distant sounds of sirens and destruction, his senses stretching out, filtering the million scents of the city. He was looking for a new trail now. Not the wild ozone of a rift, not the sterile stench of a lab, but the coppery, urgent scent of a high-value asset in distress, being rushed to a hidden place of healing.
The game had changed again. They were no longer the prey, and they were no longer just defending.
They were on the hunt for the hunters.
The scent was a ghost on the wind, a delicate thread of pain and panic woven through the city's heavier tapestry of exhaust, rain, and fear. Jack stood motionless under the overpass, his head tilted, every ounce of his focus dedicated to the hunt. He discarded the stench of the behemoth's ozone-and-stone passage. He ignored the acrid smoke from burning vehicles. He sifted through the symphony of human terror until he found the specific, discordant note he was searching for.
Antiseptic. Expensive cologne now soured with sweat. The sharp, metallic tang of fresh blood. And underneath it all, the cold, sterile scent of the suppressor technology, clinging to the man's clothes like radiation.
"There," Jack growled, his eyes snapping open. He pointed east, toward the towering, modern skyline of the city's central business district. "They're moving him. Fast. In a vehicle... sealed. No, not a standard ambulance. Something else. The scent is too clean, too contained."
Elsa was already on her phone, her fingers flying across the screen. "I'm pulling traffic cam footage for a five-block radius around the engagement site. Looking for a non-emergency vehicle leaving at high speed right after the collapse of their perimeter."
Morbius closed his eyes, his head cocked as if listening to a frequency only he could hear. "The whispers of the city's digital ghost... they speak of a minor data spike. An encrypted, high-priority medical transport request originating from the financial district, routed to a private holding company... 'Aethelstan Holdings.'"
"A shell corporation," Elsa muttered, not looking up from her phone. "Of course. But a shell needs an address. A physical location to receive its... packages." Her phone chimed. "Got it. Black, modified Mercedes-Benz Sprinter van. No markings. Tinted windows to the point of being opaque. Left the scene three minutes ago. Heading east on 5th Street."
Jack was already moving, striding out from under the overpass and into the steady rain. "The scent trail is getting fainter. They're putting distance between us. We need to move."
"We'll never catch them in a car through this traffic," Elsa said, gesturing at the gridlocked streets around them, still choked with emergency vehicles and panicked evacuees.
"We won't use a car," Jack said, his gaze lifting from the street to the rooftops. A familiar, dangerous energy began to coil around him. The air shimmered. "The streets are their world. The rooftops are mine."
He didn't wait for a response. The change this time was swift, controlled, and brutally efficient. His form expanded, dark fur erupting as his clothes strained and tore. In seconds, the massive, powerful form of the Werewolf by Night stood where the man had been, his intelligent eyes fixed on the urban canyon ahead.
He looked back at his allies, his voice a gravelly rumble. "Keep up."
With that, he launched himself onto a fire escape, his powerful claws finding purchase on wet metal and slick concrete. He moved up the side of the building with breathtaking speed, a dark shape against the grey sky.
Elsa and Morbius exchanged a single glance—a mixture of resignation and grim determination.
"After you," Elsa said, slinging her rifle.
Morbius simply nodded, and his form dissolved into a cloud of swirling, shadowy mist that flowed up the wall after the werewolf.
The hunt was on. Not through the crowded streets, but across the high, forgotten highways of the city. They were following the trail of a broken man to the heart of the beast that created him. The Patent was running, and the Howl was in pursuit.
---
The scent was a ghost on the wind, a delicate thread of pain and panic woven through the city's heavier tapestry of exhaust, rain, and fear. Jack stood motionless under the overpass, his head tilted, every ounce of his focus dedicated to the hunt. He discarded the stench of the behemoth's ozone-and-stone passage. He ignored the acrid smoke from burning vehicles. He sifted through the symphony of human terror until he found the specific, discordant note he was searching for.
Antiseptic. Expensive cologne now soured with sweat. The sharp, metallic tang of fresh blood. And underneath it all, the cold, sterile scent of the suppressor technology, clinging to the man's clothes like radiation.
"There," Jack growled, his eyes snapping open. He pointed east, toward the towering, modern skyline of the city's central business district. "They're moving him. Fast. In a vehicle... sealed. No, not a standard ambulance. Something else. The scent is too clean, too contained."
Elsa was already on her phone, her fingers flying across the screen. "I'm pulling traffic cam footage for a five-block radius around the engagement site. Looking for a non-emergency vehicle leaving at high speed right after the collapse of their perimeter."
Morbius closed his eyes, his head cocked as if listening to a frequency only he could hear. "The whispers of the city's digital ghost... they speak of a minor data spike. An encrypted, high-priority medical transport request originating from the financial district, routed to a private holding company... 'Aethelstan Holdings.'"
"A shell corporation," Elsa muttered, not looking up from her phone. "Of course. But a shell needs an address. A physical location to receive its... packages." Her phone chimed. "Got it. Black, modified Mercedes-Benz Sprinter van. No markings. Tinted windows to the point of being opaque. Left the scene three minutes ago. Heading east on 5th Street."
Jack was already moving, striding out from under the overpass and into the steady rain. "The scent trail is getting fainter. They're putting distance between us. We need to move."
"We'll never catch them in a car through this traffic," Elsa said, gesturing at the gridlocked streets around them, still choked with emergency vehicles and panicked evacuees.
"We won't use a car," Jack said, his gaze lifting from the street to the rooftops. A familiar, dangerous energy began to coil around him. The air shimmered. "The streets are their world. The rooftops are mine."
He didn't wait for a response. The change this time was swift, controlled, and brutally efficient. His form expanded, dark fur erupting as his clothes strained and tore. In seconds, the massive, powerful form of the Werewolf by Night stood where the man had been, his intelligent eyes fixed on the urban canyon ahead.
He looked back at his allies, his voice a gravelly rumble. "Keep up."
With that, he launched himself onto a fire escape, his powerful claws finding purchase on wet metal and slick concrete. He moved up the side of the building with breathtaking speed, a dark shape against the grey sky.
Elsa and Morbius exchanged a single glance—a mixture of resignation and grim determination.
"After you," Elba said, slinging her rifle.
Morbius simply nodded, and his form dissolved into a cloud of swirling, shadowy mist that flowed up the wall after the werewolf.
The hunt was on. Not through the crowded streets, but across the high, forgotten highways of the city. They were following the trail of a broken man to the heart of the beast that created him. The Patent was running, and the Howl was in pursuit.
To Be Continue...