The night was heavy with fog — thick enough to swallow sound.
William moved through the abandoned industrial district with the precision of someone who had walked the edges of war for centuries. His coat trailed behind him like a shadow with purpose, his eyes sharp — predatory gold burning through the mist.
Billkin walked beside him, quiet but alert. Even in human form, the wolf in him showed — lean, dangerous, the scent of steel and wild air clinging to him.
They stopped at the edge of a collapsed tunnel. The air carried the faint tang of blood — sweet and wrong.
"Same pattern as the last site," Billkin said, crouching to inspect the ground. His hand brushed over the soil. "Burn marks. Silver residue. Whatever these things are, they bleed corruption."
William's gaze followed the blackened streaks leading deeper into the tunnel. "They were summoned. Not born."
"You're sure?"
"Certain." His voice dropped — low, calm, terrifyingly certain. "The mark of binding is too old. Older than any vampire or witch alive."
He pulled off his gloves and touched the wall. The runes carved into the stone pulsed faintly — the same sigil he'd seen in the ancient records of the Mara clan. A sigil no one should be capable of recreating.
Billkin's breath hitched. "That means—"
William turned, cutting him off with a sharp look. "Don't say it. Not here. This place listens."
They moved deeper. The further they went, the colder it grew — not the kind of cold that came from lack of heat, but the kind that ate sound and life.
The tunnel opened into a wide cavern. Broken sigils glowed faintly on the floor, and in the center of them — bodies. Human. Vampire. Wolf. All drained, not of blood, but of essence.
William's expression didn't change, but his jaw tightened. "They're feeding something."
Billkin sniffed the air, his wolf senses sharpening. "They're still here."
Before the words finished leaving his mouth, the shadows moved.
Three shapes emerged — wrong, twisted, their flesh shifting like smoke. Eyes like coals. Mouths too wide, too many teeth.
The creatures screamed.
William didn't flinch. "Stay behind me."
He raised a hand — the mark of the First House burned to life across his palm, flaring gold-white.
When the first creature lunged, William met it midair — his power flaring in a violent burst of light.
The explosion shattered the sigils on the ground, scattering dust and ash.
Billkin leapt forward, shifting mid-motion — fur, fang, silver claws — tearing through the second creature's throat. The air filled with the sound of growling and breaking bone.
The third one went straight for William's back. He turned his head slightly, eyes glowing molten gold.
"Wrong move."
A single snap of his fingers — the creature froze, its limbs bending backward in a grotesque twist. It screamed, dissolved into smoke, and vanished.
When silence fell, only the echoes of William's heartbeat remained — steady and too calm for what he had just done.
Billkin stood beside him, chest heaving, half-shifted. "I thought you said you didn't want to draw attention."
William brushed off ash from his coat. "I didn't."
"That light could be seen from a mile away."
"Good," William said simply. "Let them know I'm looking."
He knelt beside one of the drained bodies. The sigil burned faintly on the corpse's wrist — Mara's mark.
"They're getting bolder," Billkin muttered. "Almost like they want to be found."
William's gaze went distant. "No. They want to lure us."
He stood, eyes narrowing toward the darkness beyond the broken sigils. "And whoever's pulling the strings... knows exactly which strings to pull."
Billkin frowned. "You think it's the same person who tried to awaken the curse?"
William didn't answer immediately. His voice, when it came, was quieter. "Yes. And if I'm right— he's close."
He turned, coat flaring behind him as he walked away from the ruin. "We report to the Supreme by dawn. No delays."
Billkin followed, glancing back once at the bodies. The sigils on the floor still flickered — faint, rhythmic, like a dying heartbeat.
And beneath the earth, something old and hungry stirred.
----
The screams came first — sharp, abrupt, and quickly swallowed by the day.
The café district was supposed to be one of the safest in the Supreme's territory — a place of refined peace, where marble terraces overlooked moonlit gardens. But now, the scent of blood soaked the air. Tables overturned, chandeliers shattered, and the delicate notes of string music had been replaced by chaos.
Magnus slammed a creature against the wall with sheer force, his arm slick with his own blood. "Alexander! Behind you—!"
Too late.
Another creature — larger, faster — tackled Alexander across the table, fangs sinking deep into his shoulder. He roared, the sound vibrating the air as his eyes bled crimson.
Flames of cursed power burst from his palms, searing through the creature, but more came — crawling from shadows, from cracks in the marble, from the reflections in the glass. They were endless.
Magnus leapt forward, shoving Alexander out of the way as claws raked down his back. His own power, ancient and bright, flared blue — lightning crackling across his skin. "There are too many—!"
Alexander coughed blood, trying to stand. "Then we make it count."
The creatures circled them — dozens now, their bodies half-mist, half-flesh, with eyes that burned like smoldering coals. They moved like a single will, a single hunger.
Magnus gritted his teeth, summoning his blade — a silver-forged relic older than the council itself. He swung, the weapon singing through the air, cutting down three, four at once. But for every one that fell, two more rose.
One creature slipped past his guard, its claws slicing into his side. Alexander turned too late — saw Magnus falter — and grabbed him, dragging him backward toward the wall.
"Stay with me!" Alexander hissed.
Magnus laughed, bitter and hoarse. "Not dying yet, pretty boy."
They stood back to back — centuries of brotherhood forged through countless wars. But even that bond trembled now beneath the sheer weight of the swarm. The creatures were coordinated, deliberate — like they knew.
"Someone told them," Magnus growled, his fangs out, his voice raw. "They know us—our weaknesses."
Alexander's eyes flickered to him, then to the growing dark. "We were set up."
Then the creatures pounced — a tide of darkness ready to devour them whole.
A blur of motion struck it midair.
The creature shattered like glass under a single kick.
The two leaders turned — breathless, bleeding — to see a figure standing amidst the chaos, coat flaring in the wind, eyes glowing faint gold.
Supreme Hirunkit.
Nani's presence alone bent the air around him. Shadows folded toward him like obedient hounds, his aura dark, cold, ancient — the kind that made even other immortals instinctively lower their gaze.
"Seems I missed the invitation," Nani said, voice calm, dangerous. "Mind if I clean up?"
He moved — elegant, effortless — his power slicing through the horde like silk through paper. The air hummed as he snapped his fingers; entire rows of creatures convulsed and disintegrated, their corrupted energy devoured by his darkness.
Behind him, another figure emerged from the smoke — tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black. Sky.
To Magnus and Alexander, he looked like just another bodyguard — a wolf in service to the Supreme, a loyal shadow. But the way he moved — too fast, too precise — betrayed something far more dangerous.
Sky fought like instinct, each strike lethal and clean, his movements sharp as breath. He tore through the creatures with inhuman agility, but something in his eyes trembled — like he was holding back a storm.
Nani felt it first — the pulse beneath his skin, faint but growing. The air shimmered.
"Sky." His voice was a command.
Sky ignored him. Another creature lunged for Nani's back — and Sky didn't think, didn't hesitate. He spun, threw himself between them—
Light burst from his chest.
A shockwave of silver and white exploded outward. The entire terrace quaked. The creatures screamed, their bodies burning from the inside out. Even Magnus and Alexander shielded their eyes as the light flared brighter than the moon itself.
When the flash subsided, silence fell. The ground was scorched. Every creature turned to ash.
Sky knelt on one knee, panting, his hand pressed against the ground — veins glowing faintly silver. The sigil on his chest was visible now, flickering through torn fabric.
Nani turned to him slowly, jaw tight, the burn from the Guardian's light already crawling up his arm. "I told you not to use it," he said quietly, dangerously calm.
Sky looked up, his eyes luminous. "You would've been hit."
"I don't need your protection."
"Then let me protect you anyway," Sky shot back, voice raw. "You think being immortal makes you untouchable?"
Magnus and Alexander, wounded and half-conscious, looked between them — confusion flickering in their gaze. "That... light..." Magnus rasped, struggling to his feet. "Who is—"
Before he could finish, William and Billkin appeared at the scene — shadows bursting outward, power rippling through the broken glass.
William took one look around — at the carnage, the ash, the faint scorch marks where holy light met cursed darkness — and his expression hardened. "We were too late."
Nani stood still, the faint shimmer of burns visible along his collar. "No," he said softly. "We arrived just in time."
He glanced down at Sky, who was still trying to steady his breath. The wolf's body trembled with the effort of holding his power back — afraid he'd burn them all if he let it go.
Nani's voice lowered, private. "You fool," he murmured. "You'll destroy yourself one day."
Sky met his gaze — tired, stubborn, and unbearably alive. "Not while you're still standing."
A long pause.
Then, without another word, Nani turned away, cloak sweeping over the ash. "William — take Magnus and Alexander to the penthouse infirmary. They'll need the blood wards to stabilize."
William nodded, barking orders to Billkin. As they moved, Sky stood shakily, still glowing faintly, his eyes never leaving Nani's back.
The Supreme didn't look at him — but his hand, hidden from the others, brushed briefly against Sky's as he passed. A silent connection. A wordless command.
And though the battle was over, the air still crackled — the curse awake and watching.
Far above, unseen by any of them, the moon bled faintly red across the clouds.