Midnight. The Northern Border.
The scent of blood and burning flesh thickened the cold air.
The F4 northern outpost-one of their strongest defense points-was eerily silent.
Too silent.
Inside the main watchtower, a scout adjusted his earpiece.
"Sector 4, confirm your status."
No answer.
"Sector 4, respond-"
A static-filled breath crackled through the radio. Then-
A scream.
Not a normal scream. Agonized. Wet. Cut short.
And then, nothing.
The scout stiffened. His wolf senses screamed-RUN.
Too late.
The last thing he saw was a flash of silver-then blinding pain as an arrow ripped through his throat.
He choked, clawing at the wound, blood spilling down his uniform. His vision blurred.
The radio slipped from his trembling fingers, landing on the wooden floor with a dull thud.
And below the tower-
Hell erupted.
---
The Slaughter
It wasn't an ambush. It was an execution.
They came from the shadows-black-cloaked figures moving soundlessly, striking before the wolves even sensed them.
Silver arrows rained down first, piercing warriors before they could even shift. Some died mid-transformation, their bodies grotesquely twisted between forms.
Then came the fire. Not just flames-but silver-laced fire, burning hotter than anything natural.
Those caught in it screamed as their bodies melted from the inside out.
The air turned thick with the stench of scorched fur, flesh, and blood.
And the worst part?
Some of the attackers were wolves.
Blackridge wolves. Traitors.
They slaughtered their own kind without hesitation.
Their leader, a massive Alpha in obsidian armor, stepped over the corpses of fallen F4 warriors like they were nothing.
He gave one silent command.
"Leave no survivors."
---
Kirin ran.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears, breath ragged.
Behind him-his brothers were dying.
He didn't look back. Couldn't.
But he heard it.
The choked gasps as a silver dagger was driven through a warrior's lung.
The thud of bodies collapsing as their throats were ripped open.
The gut-wrenching wails as wolves burned alive, their bodies turning to blackened husks.
The sickening crunch of bones snapping under boots.
A warrior screamed nearby-"NO! PLEASE-!"
A sword silenced him.
Kirin stumbled, catching himself just before he fell into a pile of corpse-littered mud.
He was shaking. Terror froze his body.
Then-a shadow moved behind him.
Cold steel bit into his throat.
He barely had time to process his impending death-
BANG.
A gunshot rang out.
His attacker jerked back, a bullet clean through his skull.
Kirin gasped as a hand grabbed his arm, yanking him forward.
"RUN!"
His fellow scout. The last one left.
They sprinted through fire and carnage.
Through ash and screams.
Kirin didn't look back.
Because he already knew.
They were the only ones left.
---
The Message
Hours later.
By the time reinforcements arrived, the outpost was silent.
The air still reeked of burning bodies.
Blood painted the walls. The ground. The trees.
And at the center-
A single survivor.
Barely alive. His body carved open, fresh wounds bleeding into the dirt.
With a single message burned into his chest:
"This is only the beginning."
And beneath it-
The symbol of the Blackridge pack.
Carved in wolf claws.
-----
Midnight - A Silent Warning
The Metawin Estate was a fortress.
Thick stone walls. Armed guards stationed at every corner. A household of warriors trained for war.
Yet tonight-
It stood silent.
The moon hung high and cold, casting shadows long enough to swallow men whole.
At the gate, two warriors stood guard. Beta-class enforcers, loyal to the Metawin bloodline.
One of them, a broad-shouldered wolf named Tawat, sniffed the air. His instincts twitched, but he saw nothing.
"Something's off," he muttered to his partner.
The other wolf exhaled, shoulders stiffening. "It's just the wind."
Then-
The wind shifted.
The scent of iron.
Blood.
And before either wolf could react-
A shadow moved.
Fast.
A blade whispered through the air-
SHHK.
A wet sound.
Tawat's body went stiff. His partner turned, eyes widening in horror as he saw-
A thin black wire, slicing clean through Tawat's throat.
A quiet gurgle.
And then, he collapsed.
Blood sprayed the ground. Silent. Brutal. Final.
His partner barely had time to draw his blade-
A dagger lodged into his chest.
Not just any dagger.
Silver. Poison-laced.
The last thing he saw-
A Blackridge wolf stepping out from the darkness, boots crunching against gravel.
"Burn them all."
And with that command-
Hell was unleashed.
---
The Blackridge wolves poured in.
Dark silhouettes, moving too fast for normal wolves.
Poisoned claws. Silver-tipped blades. Dark runes carved into their weapons.
They didn't just attack.
They slaughtered.
Inside the Mansion
The first scream tore through the halls. A servant, impaled against the marble columns by a Blackridge spear.
The guards reacted instantly-but it was already too late.
The dining hall became a battlefield. Betas and Alphas lunged, shifting mid-air-only to be cut down before their paws even touched the ground.
Blood splattered across polished floors. The scent of burning flesh filled the air.
One warrior, a Metawin Alpha, roared as he ripped a Blackridge wolf in half with his bare hands.
But before he could turn to his next enemy-
A shadow appeared behind him.
A single, silent movement.
A Blackridge wolf whispered something in his ear.
Then sliced his throat open.
The Metawin Alpha collapsed in a pool of his own blood.
This wasn't a fight.
It was annihilation.
---
Metawin's Private Study
Waranon heard the screams before he saw the blood.
By the time he stepped out of his office, the mansion was drenched in death.
His guards-dead.
His warriors-butchered.
And in the center of the carnage-
The Blackridge Commander.
A monstrous Alpha with dark runes carved into his arms, his eyes glowing red with magic.
"Your time is over, Metawin."
Waranon didn't waste time with words.
He lunged.
A clash of titans.
Claws against steel.
Teeth sinking into flesh.
Blood spraying against the walls.
Waranon was old but not weak.
He broke the first Blackridge warrior's spine with one punch.
The second wolf lunged-only to be ripped in half by Waranon's claws.
But the Blackridge Commander was different.
He didn't fight fair.
With a snap of his fingers, dark runes ignited across the floor.
A spell.
An Alpha-binding spell.
Waranon's limbs locked up. His movements slowed.
Pain-burning through his veins.
And that was all the opening the Blackridge Commander needed.
A dagger-laced with nightshade venom-sank into Waranon's ribs.
His body jerked.
His vision blurred.
The Commander raised his sword for the final blow.
But then-
The storm arrived.
---
The windows shattered.
A roar-low, powerful, and unmistakable-shook the entire mansion.
The Blackridge wolves froze.
Their instincts screamed DANGER.
Then-
A figure dropped from the ceiling.
Fort.
Stormveil's Beta.
A towering presence, his body crackling with raw, unrestrained power.
And he wasn't alone.
Behind him-
Stormveil warriors.
Not just any warriors.
Sky's personal enforcers.
And they were furious.
A Stormveil warrior moved first.
He ripped a Blackridge wolf's jaw clean off.
Another warrior snapped a Beta's spine in half with his bare hands.
Fort?
He grabbed the Blackridge Commander by the throat and slammed him into the ground.
A shockwave rattled the mansion.
The Blackridge Commander snarled-but he wasn't the strongest here.
Stormveil was.
And for the first time-
The attackers became the hunted.
---
The battle ended in minutes.
Of the fifty warriors stationed at the Metawin mansion, only five survived.
The Betas? Dead.
The Elite Guards? Slaughtered.
Only Waranon remained.
Alive-barely.
Because Stormveil had arrived just in time.
Fort stood over the bodies, his gaze dark.
"Blackridge just signed their death sentence."
And when he turned-
He saw Sky arriving.
Stormveil's Alpha.
And Sky's aura-
Was so heavy, so powerful, so suffocating-
Even his own warriors struggled to breathe.
The message was clear.
Stormveil was done holding back.
And now-
The real war was about to begin.
----
The Metawin Estate was in ruins.
The once-pristine halls were soaked in blood, the scent thick and suffocating. Smoke curled from torches still burning, casting eerie shadows over the bodies strewn across the marble floors.
Among the wreckage, Waranon Metawin lay still.
Not dead-but not far from it.
The Blackridge's curse still clung to him, dark tendrils of power coiling around his body, sinking deep into his wounds. His veins pulsed black, the corruption spreading.
Even unconscious, he gritted his teeth, fighting against the poison eating him alive.
But then-
A cool hand pressed against his chest.
A whisper of power.
And then-
The dark magic burned away.
The spell broke-shattering like glass.
Waranon's body lurched as he gasped for air. His vision cleared just enough to see the man crouched beside him.
Tee.
His hands glowed faintly, a mixture of light and raw, ancient power. Something not quite human.
Sky stood behind him, watching in silence.
Tee exhaled, his voice quiet but firm. "He'll live. But he's weak. We need to move him now."
Sky's jaw tightened. His golden eyes swept over the wreckage, over the bodies of the Metawin warriors, over the blood tainting the floors of their home.
The Blackridge bastards had gone too far.
His aura flared-powerful, suffocating, absolute.
Even Stormveil's own warriors felt its weight, their instincts screaming at them to bow.
But Sky ignored them. His voice was cold, sharp as a blade.
"Fort."
His Beta stepped forward immediately.
"Gather the rest of the F4 leaders. Now. Bring them to Stormveil. If anyone resists, drag them here by force."
Fort didn't question it. He simply nodded and disappeared into the night.
Sky turned back to Tee. "Can you handle him?"
Tee didn't answer. He just tightened his grip on Waranon's arm, preparing to lift him.
Sky exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. His mind was already moving three steps ahead.
Blackridge was no longer just a threat.
They had declared war.
And by dawn-
The entire supernatural world would know that Stormveil was done playing games.