The full moon bathed the grand hall in silver light as Elias stepped forward, his form more monstrous than ever before—fangs bared, claws drawn, red eyes blazing with fury. The once-charmed air of aristocratic calm among the gathered vampires shattered into tense silence.
From the edge of the room, the dark-skinned witch who had cursed the estate stood firm, arms raised, incantations flowing in whispers too ancient to be understood. A shimmering barrier sealed every door and window. The vampires were trapped.
"None of you leave this place," she declared, voice steady and full of vengeance. "This house is now your coffin."
The vampire leader growled. "Do you think a witch and a beast can kill thirty of us?"
But before he could step forward, Elias was already in motion. His body moved like liquid shadow, blurring between vampires. The first scream came from the far right as Elias slammed into a younger vampire, claws rending through bone and sinew. The body crumpled to the floor, twitching.
Chaos erupted.
Vampires surged forward to attack, but Elias was a storm among twigs. They had underestimated him. This wasn't a mindless creature—this was something far worse: a predator who had embraced his rage.
One vampire attempted to flank him, but Elias grabbed him mid-lunge and drove him into the marble floor. Another tried to stab him with a dagger dipped in vervain, but Elias tore it from his hand and drove it through the vampire's own eye.
All the while, the witch stood silently, maintaining the barrier, her eyes locked on the unfolding carnage. She wasn't there to fight. She was there to make sure the guilty paid.
In the midst of it all, Elias felt his claws sink into another vampire's torso—and again came that dark pull. The energy, the life force, the power. It flowed into him like fire, like ice, like poison and lightning all at once. But this time, the feeling was different.
Once, he thought absorbing them was a crime of desperation—a necessary evil, something monstrous. But now, amidst the chaos, surrounded by the scent of innocent blood on their hands and the memory of Lila's lifeless gaze, his perception changed.
They were predators. Monsters. Bloodthirsty fiends that thrived on death and fear.
And he? He was retribution.
The darkness no longer disturbed him. It felt right. Not because he enjoyed the pain, but because he finally understood what he was fighting for.
They needed to be ended.
More vampires lay broken, blood splattered across the grand chandeliers and velvet-lined furniture. The smell of death mixed with the iron tang of fresh blood. They began to retreat, some trying to plead for their lives, but the spell held. There was no running.
The leader watched in horror as his men fell one by one. Fear overtook pride.
"What are you?!" he screamed, backing away as Elias approached him.
Elias stopped for a moment, breathing hard. His eyes locked with the vampire's.
"The thing your kind should never have made an enemy of," he growled.
With a single motion, he lunged. The leader tried to fight, but Elias overpowered him easily. Claws pierced his chest, and the leader gasped as his own strength was torn from him, leaving only ashes and the echo of regret.
The witch finally lowered her arms. The barrier flickered and dissolved, the spell complete. Only silence remained.
Bodies lay across the mansion floor. Blood soaked into the ornate rugs. Elias, now covered in gore, stood in the moonlight, chest heaving. He wasn't just a werewolf anymore. He was something else—a harbinger.
The witch approached cautiously. "You may have finished this fight," she said, "but you've started something far greater. The other covens will feel this. The old bloodlines will awaken."
Elias didn't respond immediately. He looked to the moon.
"Let them come."