The heavy, wet crunch of splintering timber echoed through the clearing, signaling the arrival of the Alpha. The surviving remnants of the pack whimpered and scattered as Fenrir Greyback finally stepped out of the dark forest.
He was a hulking, terrifying brute of a creature, effortlessly standing over seven feet tall on powerful, digitigrade legs. Unlike the emaciated wolves that preceded him, Greyback was built for brutal, overwhelming strength rather than agility. His shoulders were incredibly broad, layered with dense packs of muscle that swelled across his back, chest, and arms. He moved forward in a menacing, all-fours power-crouch before effortlessly rearing up onto his hind legs to establish his dominance.
His form was completely covered in dark, matted, coarse grey and brown fur. It wasn't the sleek coat of a natural predator; it was wild and thick. Beneath the fur, flashes of thick, leathery, heavily scarred skin were visible across his knuckles and brow ridges—the physical map of a lifetime spent in savage combat. Even in this monstrous state, his human features were hideously integrated. A thick, unkempt mane of coarse hair framed his face, and his signature, heavy mutton chops were visible as a dense ruff of dark fur woven directly into his jawline.
Greyback snarled, pulling back his lips to reveal sharpened, yellowed, and jagged canine fangs. His eyes, a pale, piercing yellow-grey, lacked any trace of human warmth, radiating only a cold, endless hunger.
Hope let out a low huff, shaking the dark blood from her pristine white muzzle. She took a deliberate step back. Alexander, towering in his own monstrous eight-foot lupine form and stepped back, his golden eyes locked on Klaus. They both knew the rules of engagement.
This was Klaus's prey.
Klaus stood amidst the butchered remains of the pack, casually flicking a splash of gore from his fingertips. The Original Hybrid looked up at the towering, seven-foot beast, his glowing yellow eyes narrowing in cruel amusement. The dark veins pulsing under his eyes seemed to darken as a vicious smirk spread across his face.
"So, this is the legendary Fenrir Greyback," Klaus drawled, his aristocratic British accent dripping with heavy, theatrical disappointment. "I must confess, I was expecting a formidable predator. A king among beasts. Instead, I am met with a flea-bitten, overgrown stray with a truly tragic lack of grooming."
Greyback let out a deafening, saliva-spraying roar of absolute fury and lunged.
Despite his massive size, Greyback was fast, but to a thousand-year-old Original, he was moving through molasses. Greyback swung a massive, claw-tipped fist aimed perfectly at Klaus's head, intending to take it clean off his shoulders.
Klaus wasn't there.
Using his blistering vampire speed, Klaus blurred out of existence, reappearing casually leaning against the trunk of a nearby pine tree. Greyback's fist met empty air, the momentum carrying the massive beast forward.
"Is that it?" Klaus taunted, clicking his tongue. "Come now, mutt. Show me why they fear you in the shadows!"
Greyback roared again, dropping to all fours and launching himself at the tree in a frenzied power-crouch. He snapped his massive jaws, but Klaus simply vaulted over the beast's head, landing silently behind him. Before Greyback could pivot, Klaus delivered a brutal, shattering kick to the back of the werewolf's knee. The joint gave way with a sickening snap, forcing the Alpha to drop with a guttural howl of pain.
Greyback wildly swung a backhand, but Klaus caught the massive, fur-covered wrist in his bare hand. The Original didn't budge an inch. The sheer, terrifying gap in their physical strength became instantly apparent as Greyback strained, his muscles bulging, completely unable to free his arm from Klaus's iron grip.
"You savage children think a full moon and a bit of fur makes you gods," Klaus whispered, his voice dropping an octave into a cold, lethal hiss. He twisted his wrist, shattering Greyback's arm in three different places. "Allow me to show you the difference between a monster... and an Original."
As Greyback howled in agony, Klaus didn't hesitate. With a blur of motion, Klaus drove his free hand straight into Greyback's broad, muscular chest. His fingers pierced the thick, leathery hide, punching cleanly through the dense muscle and shattering the ribcage like dry twigs.
Klaus's hand found its mark. With one violent, effortless yank, he tore his hand free, holding Greyback's still-beating heart in his blood-soaked palm.
Greyback's pale, predatory eyes went wide with shock. The massive beast swayed for a fraction of a second before collapsing forward into the dirt, dead before he even hit the ground. Klaus looked down at the carcass, crushed the heart in his fist, and wiped his bloody hands on Greyback's matted mane, his smirk returning as he looked back toward his daughter.
The heavy, breathless silence of the forest returned, broken only by the wet thud of Greyback's massive corpse settling into the dirt.
With the threat neutralized, Hope and Alexander relaxed their postures. In a chorus of snapping bones and shifting muscle, the two massive beasts began to shrink, their fur receding and their monstrous features melting away. Within seconds, they were standing upright in the clearing, completely human once again.
Unlike the typical, messy aftermath of a werewolf transformation, neither of them was left standing naked in the freezing woods. Thanks to a brilliant bit of spell-craft Hope had perfected back at Ilvermorny, their clothes had been charmed to seamlessly merge with their magic. As their human forms solidified, their outfits materialized flawlessly—not a single seam ripped, nor a drop of blood staining the fabric.
Hope brushed a stray leaf from her perfectly intact dress, looking immensely satisfied with her spell-work. Then, she turned her attention to Alexander. She tilted her head, her brow furrowing in genuine curiosity. Growing up in New Orleans, she had seen hundreds of werewolves, from the Crescent Pack to her own father. But she had never seen anything like the towering, bipedal nightmare Alexander had just turned into.
"Okay, I have to ask," Hope said, crossing her arms as she stepped over a fallen branch. "What exactly was that? You didn't look like any wolf I've ever seen. You looked like something out of a horror movie."
Alexander casually brushed a speck of golden dust from his shoulder. He looked completely unbothered by the massacre around them.
He met her curious gaze, gave a nonchalant shrug, and offered a simple, maddeningly casual answer."I imagined it."
He couldn't say he liked Van Helsings werewolf form.
Klaus, who was in the middle of wiping the last streaks of Greyback's blood from his hands with a pristine white handkerchief, paused. He slowly turned his head to stare at the teenager.
"You imagined it?" Klaus repeated, his tone caught somewhere between disbelief and dry amusement. "You simply decided you wanted to look like an eight-foot, walking terror, and your magic just accommodated you?"
"Pretty much," Alexander replied smoothly, offering a faint smirk. "My magic is all about intent. I wanted something intimidating with opposable thumbs. It seemed practical."
Hope let out a short, delighted laugh, shaking her head at his sheer audacity, while Klaus merely rolled his eyes, tossing the bloody handkerchief onto Greyback's chest.
"Teenagers," the Original Hybrid muttered under his breath, turning his back on the carnage. "Come along, you two. I believe this father-daughter outing has concluded, and I have a sudden craving for a terribly expensive bottle of bourbon."