Above, the moon slowly climbed into the sky, casting a pale light over the clearing—watching like a silent witness.
Below Derek and John can be seen shoulder to shoulder, facing the apex predator—an Alpha, massive, relentless, and radiating raw, primal power.
Its heavy breaths misted in the cold air, lips curled back to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth. Even without the full moon, its presence alone sent shivers down
Then, the Lycan opened its jaws and unleashed a thunderous roar that shook the ground beneath their feet.
Without warning, the Lycan charged. Its massive left arm swung wide—fast.
John moved on instinct, twisting just enough to avoid being ripped in half.
Without wasting a second, he stepped back and muttered an incantation—his body flaring with a faint yellow glow as protective magic wrapped around him.
Derek darted around the Lycan, a blur of motion in his wolf form, using speed and precision to strike from the sides as the beast advanced.
With the Lycan momentarily distracted, John charged in—blade in hand, its edge glowing with arcane power. Only brutal, physical damage could take this monster down, and he aimed straight for the heart.
Derek sank his fangs into the Lycan's back, trying to pin it down long enough for John to strike—but the beast had other plans.
With a sudden burst of power, the Lycan leapt into the air, the force of its jump kicking up a gust of wind. It twisted mid-air, grabbed Derek, and slammed him into the ground with bone-rattling force—leaving a crater in the earth where he landed.
The shockwave from the impact sent John sliding back, boots skidding through the dirt. He stared at the crater, realizing the truth.
"So that's it…" he muttered, a dry laugh escaping. "I was right, you were faking weakness. Luring your enemies in like a good little predator."
His eyes narrowed. "The Argents really underestimated you."
He straightened, sword still in hand. "You've been hiding just how powerful you are. That kind of raw strength without the full moon? That only means one thing—you're a Hale."
John smirked. "Yeah, I'd know. I dated one."
John's intel had been right—someone close to Derek had killed Laura. John's eyes narrowed as he spotted Derek—unconscious, back in human form, crumpled on the ground like a discarded shell.
Across from him, the Lycan slowly rose to its full height, its joints cracking as it rolled its neck. It didn't bother finishing Derek off—because that wasn't the goal. Right. That vampire had said it once… it was after revenge. That's what drove it. That's why it would kill its own blood.
John clicked his tongue in disgust and glared up at the moon.
"You're watching this, aren't you?" he shouted. "Your own creation is killing its blood—and what do you do? Nothing."
But now wasn't the time to vent.
With a snap of his fingers, glowing cards formed in the air before him, spinning in a slow orbit.
"It's time you learn what it means to cross a Constantine."
John grabbed one of the cards and slammed it to the ground. Magic pulsed outward in waves of heat.
"I, John Constantine, call upon the power of the Flaming Sun!"
The air crackled. The ground split. Just as the Lycan lunged toward him, a radiant figure emerged from the blaze—a knight of the golden age, towering over seven feet tall, clad in shimmering golden armor and wielding a sun-forged blade.
John pointed toward the beast. "Now, my crusader—cast this monster into the dust!"
The knight raised its blade, which blazed with holy fire. As the Lycan charged, the knight brought the sword down with a flash of light like a sunrise.
Moon and Sun collided—raw primal fury against divine wrath.
The shockwave blasted outward. John was thrown back, tumbling across the ground. The Lycan too was hurled through the air, crashing into the dirt.
It staggered, growling.
The Lycan dropped to one knee, its body scorched and trembling, steam rising from its burned skin. Snarling in frustration, it groaned—then began to shift. Its form cracked and twisted as it slowly reverted back to human.
Naked, wounded, and gasping, Peter Hale collapsed against the forest floor, his hand brushing against the cold earth. The contact sent a jolt of pain through his nerves. The fire had ravaged him, and though the healing had begun, it was slow… agonizing.
He screamed through clenched teeth, raw and guttural.
"Ahhh!"
But pain wasn't enough to stop him. Not now. Not when revenge was still unfinished.
He forced himself up, dragging his battered form through the underbrush. His body trembled with every step, but he kept moving. He had to.
Peter lifted his bloodied face toward the moon—his eyes gleaming a deep, burning crimson.
"You won't be rid of me that easily," he growled. "Not yet."
A twisted grin crossed his face, blood staining his teeth. "With the gift of the Hale bloodline… I rise."
As his body slowly healed, fueled by rage he turned toward the distant lights of Beacon Hills Hospital—where he would recover, wait, and one day return.
The hunt wasn't over.
It was just beginning.
Back with Iván:
He ran full speed through the trees, with Scott and Stiles right beside him. Branches whipped past, their footsteps pounding the dirt—until suddenly, a blinding flash of light erupted behind them.
The three skidded to a halt, turning around instinctively.
And just like that… the oppressive weight, the overwhelming sense of danger—it was gone.
Iván breathed hard, chest heaving. "Guys… do you feel that? I think… Everything's okay now."
Scott narrowed his eyes. "How can you tell?"
Iván looked around, his expression uncertain but calm. "I don't know. I just… feel it. Like something lifted."
Stiles glanced between them, still on edge. "Yeah, well, I've learned never to trust the peaceful moments in Beacon Hills."
Then—like a sudden jump scare—a figure came sprinting down the road, breathing hard.
"Rowan?!" Scott called out. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Rowan huffed, hands on his knees. "My dad made me wait in the car, but then I felt it—he used a summoning spell. What the hell happened back there?"
His eyes landed on Iván, and his expression shifted. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
Iván met his gaze, then sighed. "I'm not mad, Rowan. There's too much going on."
He looked away, eyes heavy. "And… I think I want to move back to L.A."