The lieutenant's roar shattered the stifling darkness of the empty tunnels. His wolf-like form rushed at me—massive shoulders tensed, teeth bared. I barely registered Rowan's shout before instinct took over: bone cracked, flesh shifted, and claws tore through metal in a blaze of sparks and gouts of blood.
Agony and ecstasy tore through me in equal measure. Muscles ripped and re-wove as my wrists elongated into razors. I snarled, hungry for the taste of betrayal in his meat. The lieutenant's shock broke the rhythm of the fight—he stumbled backward as my claws raked across his chest plate, rending armor into twisted metal.
Rowan's cry came from behind: "Maris, focus!"
My wolf's blood sang in my veins—electric and primitive. I spun, tail banging the tunnel wall and sending loose rocks tumbling. Horror danced on the lieutenant's wild features as I slammed him into the corrugated steel side, then rammed a shoulder into the next guard and sent him stumbling into a pile of broken rails.
I relished my own breath, metallic and hot. Gunpowder and fear weighed down the stagnant air in the tunnels. My entire nervous system seared with the understanding that my mark—my cursed silver crescent—wasn't a scar. It was a catalyst for this brute strength. The predator within me had awoken, and it reveled in carnage.
There was a sharp report behind me. Rowan flung himself at me, slamming into my side, knocking me off balance—and in that split second, a sniper's bullet screamed past, embedding itself in the tunnel wall where my head had been a moment before. He shoved against me, body shielding mine as the shadows churned at the edges of my vision.
His breath was a soft whisper in my ear. "Stay with me," he growled.
I instinctively wrapped tight against him, wolf tongue licking over fangs I could barely keep in check. Relief wrenched a sob from me when I realized he had chosen to take a risk on himself for my benefit. The tunnel walls echoed with the distant battle—cries and snarls rebounding like hail.
"We have to move," I rasped, voice as rough as pebbles.
We lurched along together, his bracing himself against me, me summoning every final strand of human will to keep my wolf in check. The cryptic map Rowan had sketched for me burned my pocket—routes leading us deeper down beneath the Sanctuary. The stakes could not have been higher: somewhere beneath us was Blackwood's ultimate weapon, and my blood was the key.
We crested a curve in the tunnel and came to a dead halt. In front of us, a vault door barred the cavern—steel two times our height, embossed with the Blackwood crest: an silver wolf's head superimposed over a corporate trident. Ancient Ebon script glyphs rimmed the frame, admonitions none of the Council scribes had ever whispered.
Rowan dropped to a knee, wiping sweat and grime from a gash on his forehead. "They've hidden it all here," he breathed. "The chemical labs… weapons prototypes… the serum." He shook his head. "They're close to perfecting it. My sources gather that they'll unleash a private wolf blood army—selling the serum to desperate warlords. And you… your DNA is the missing link."
I gulped down a pit of fear. My mother's letters, secreted away in my brain, had told of how a silver mine could transform blood into militarized venom. Now I understood: Blackwood had militarized our legacy. The blood that flowed through my veins wasn't happenstance—it was training.
As if summoned by our thoughts, the guard detail before us opened fire. Bullets ripped through stone and rainwater, crystalline droplets shimmering in torchlight. Metal clanged as I dropped into a crouch, wolf ears pricked at every rebounding echo. Rowan hooked his arm around my waist, drawing me toward the vault's primary lock panel.
"Help me override this," he panted, fingers dancing across battered keypad buttons. Sparks fried the final wiring, and a low groan rumbled as heavy gears engaged.
I stayed alert, senses flaring. The lieutenant I'd thrown earlier had crawled to his feet, snagging a fallen rifle. His amber eyes locked onto me, fury etched across his muzzle. "Maris," he snarled, voice husky with wounded pride. "This ends now."
I let the wolf answer. With a burst of power, I leaped forward, claws outstretched—but Rowan slammed into me in time, hauling me out of the line of fire. Bullets tore through the air, digging into the vault door with deafening crunches. Sparks of molten metal showered down.
We plunged behind a broken support beam. The door to the vault groaned open, and inside, the room was illuminated by phosphorescent vials that lined steel tables. Wolf blood serum was frozen in curved glass tanks, each of which was labeled with council stamps and corporate sigils. Chemicals and ozone stung the air.
Rowan's eyes widened. "They've harvested hundreds of liters already. This is worse than we imagined." He turned to me, voice low. "We shut this down, Maris. Whatever it takes.
My soul clenched. This place was blasphemy—a corruption of everything I held sacred. The pack's legacy degraded into commodities. Anger seared my blood hotter than fire. I stood, transforming in the midst of battle: bones cracked beneath my flesh, fur erupting in dark black patterns down my arms and legs. In moments, I towered as a lupine monstrosity, lit by the blazing vials at my rear.
The lieutenant stumbled back, horror and wonder struggling in his face. "By the moon—" he breathed.
I roared, voice rent between human indignation and wolf's fury. Leaping onto the nearest table, I knocked vials of serum shattering—frozen red vapor exploding like fireworks. Guards staggered, boots skidding in chemical spill. The lieutenant raised his rifle, but Rowan threw himself at the lieutenant's feet, wrenching the barrel aside.
My claws ripped across the console of main control, wires crunching like twigs. Sparks burst, energy coursing through the room. The Ebon warnings of old etched into the door frame blazed light by the destruction, a prophecy fulfilled by my hand.
The earth trembled underfoot. A low mechanical growl echoed down the corridor—an armored steel jaw emerging from a hidden shaft in the floor. Hydraulic legs unfolded like a metal beast awakening. Pistons hissed; armored plating scraped against stone.
Rowan slipped to my side, eyes open wide. "It's the war machine—code name Hecate. Designed to deploy serum augmented soldiers in urban combat."
I let the wolf answer again: I crouched, muscles coiling, with a feral grin. The war machine's single cyclopean eye locked onto me, barrel spinning, targeting lasers dancing across my fur. Its weapons system came online: mini missile pods and high velocity cannons trained on the vault entrance.
A grin tore across my muzzle. This was the time of prophecy—blood and steel together in a war dance. I drew back my head and howled, a challenge to both man and metal.
Rowan clutched my shoulder—firm, unfaltering. "Together," he breathed.
I nodded—prey and protector in one unbreakable bond. Then, in a primitive leap, I launched myself at the knee joint of the war machine, claws raking sparks and ripped circuitry. The chamber exploded in falling light and crashing alarm bells.
When the vault door shut behind us, locking the room in chaos, I knew that the Sanctuary had fallen. Blackwood's gun was free, and the true battle was still to come—through broken halls, broken vows, and the firestorm I would unleash.
Above us, Hecate's hidden pulse beat in every synapse and wire. Below us, the earth trembled with the threat of revolution.
And between steel teeth and silver blood, my destiny roared.