Chapter 10: Alpha's Wrath
Lucius
The first Lycan died before his foot cleared the doorframe.
I'd wired the silver grenade to the door handle three hours ago. Simple tripwire mechanism—pull the door, pin releases, explosion follows. The Lycan who kicked it open caught the full blast in his chest.
[ BP ACQUIRED: 62 ]
His body flew backward into the pack behind him. I didn't wait to watch it land.
Enhanced Reflexes Lv.2 turned the world to slow motion. Four Lycans remained—three soldiers in mid-transformation, bones cracking and fur sprouting, and Raze himself already fully shifted, seven feet of muscle and murder.
I fired.
Triple-tap. Triple-tap. Triple-tap.
The first soldier caught three rounds through his skull before his claws finished growing. He collapsed, half-human, half-wolf, entirely dead.
[ BP ACQUIRED: 55 ]
The second managed two steps. My next burst shattered his kneecap, spun him sideways, and the follow-up punched through his temple.
[ BP ACQUIRED: 63 ]
The third was faster—or luckier. He dove left as I fired, taking rounds through the shoulder instead of the brain. The impact slowed him enough for me to track, adjust, squeeze—
Click.
Magazine empty.
The wounded soldier lunged. Claws filled my vision. I twisted aside, Enhanced Reflexes screaming warnings, but not fast enough. Three parallel lines opened across my ribs, hot and deep.
Pain registered distantly. The surgeon's part of my mind cataloged damage: muscle laceration, two ribs cracked, blood loss manageable. Regeneration Lv.1 was already working, tissues knitting even as fresh blood soaked my coat.
The silver dagger was in my hand before conscious thought. The soldier's momentum carried him past me. I buried the blade in his eye socket, felt it scrape bone, twisted.
[ BP ACQUIRED: 71 ]
He dropped. I pulled the dagger free and turned to face Raze.
The Alpha hadn't moved during the slaughter. He stood in the safehouse doorway, fully transformed, yellow eyes burning with something beyond rage. Behind him, smoke from the grenade blast curled into the night.
"You killed my brother," he said. The words came out distorted, filtered through a throat designed for howling. "Dmitri. He was the one who went for your throat."
The beta I'd stabbed. The one whose eye socket was still warm on my blade.
"Family business. Wonderful."
"He shouldn't have lunged."
Raze moved.
I'd seen vampire speed. I'd experienced vampire speed. But Alpha Lycan velocity was something else entirely—raw power without finesse, a freight train with claws instead of wheels.
His backhand caught me mid-dodge.
The impact launched me through the safehouse wall. Drywall exploded. Support beams cracked. I hit something solid—concrete maybe, or compacted rubble—and everything went white for a half-second.
[ WARNING: TRAUMA DETECTED ]
[ RIBS: 4 CRACKED (PREVIOUSLY 2) ]
[ REGENERATION LV.1: ACTIVE ]
[ ESTIMATED REPAIR TIME: 3 HOURS ]
I forced myself upright. The room was different—I'd been thrown into an adjacent apartment, walls reduced to skeletal frameworks. Through the hole my body had made, Raze was approaching. Casual. Confident. A predator who knew his prey was cornered.
"The Butcher of District Seven," he growled. "That's what they call you now. Eleven of my pack in six days. You hunt us like animals."
"You are animals."
The taunt landed. His roar shook dust from the ceiling. He charged again, and this time I was ready.
Enhanced Reflexes tracked his movement—right arm winding back for a killing blow. I dropped, rolled, came up firing. The spare magazine had slapped home during my tumble. Silver rounds punched into his chest, his shoulder, his throat.
Each impact made him stagger. None made him stop.
His claws raked the air where my head had been. I kept moving, kept firing, trying to create distance. But the safehouse was too small, his reach too long. Every dodge bought inches. Every near-miss shaved years off my unlife.
A claw caught my coat, yanked me backward. I twisted, fired point-blank into his wrist. The joint shattered. His grip loosened for one critical second—
I slammed the dagger into his eye.
Silver burned. He screamed, head thrashing, claws swiping blind. I was thrown again, hitting the far wall hard, but I'd taken something important with me.
His depth perception.
"You think one eye matters?" Raze tore the dagger from his socket. The wound was already closing, regeneration fighting silver poisoning. "I've killed vampires older than your sire's sire. You're nothing."
He lunged. I fired. Empty.
"Shit."
His hands closed around my throat. Claws pricked the skin, a millimeter from the carotid. His surviving eye burned with triumph.
"Any last words, butcher?"
Glass exploded overhead.
Rigel dropped through the skylight like a leather-clad missile. His silver whip—a weapon I'd seen in the armory but never in action—unfurled mid-descent, wrapping around Raze's throat with a sound like cracking thunder.
The Alpha roared. His hands released me to claw at the burning metal. Silver smoke rose from the contact points, flesh sizzling.
I hit the floor gasping. Rigel landed beside me, bracing against the whip's tension.
"Tracked your communicator," he said through gritted teeth. "Heard combat. Thought you might—"
Raze surged forward, dragging Rigel with him. The Death Dealer's boots scraped concrete, but he held the line.
"A little help would be appreciated!"
I grabbed the fallen dagger—Raze had dropped it during Rigel's attack—and threw myself at the Alpha's back. Enhanced Strength Lv.1 drove the blade between his shoulder blades, seeking the spine. Silver met bone. He screamed.
Rigel yanked the whip tighter.
I reloaded. Standard rounds—not silver, grabbed from the wrong pouch—but at this range, mass mattered more than material.
"Hold him!"
"What do you think I'm doing?"
I pressed the Beretta against the base of Raze's skull and emptied the magazine.
The first round cracked bone. The second penetrated gray matter. The third, fourth, fifth—they did the wet work of destruction, pulping what remained of the Alpha's brain.
His body went rigid. Collapsed.
[ BP ACQUIRED: 238 ]
[ CURRENT BP: 833/500 ]
[ MAJOR THRESHOLD EXCEEDED ]
[ UNLOCK AVAILABLE: MEMORY SIPHON LV.2 ]
The notifications cascaded through my vision. I dismissed them, focusing on the immediate.
Raze was dead. The pack was dead. Rigel was staring at me with an expression caught between admiration and concern.
"You killed an Alpha," he said. "A fledgling. Killed an Alpha Lycan."
"Had help."
"Don't be modest. I saw the bodies on my way in. Four Lycans before I arrived. You set this whole thing up as a trap."
I shrugged, then winced as cracked ribs reminded me of their existence. "They were coming either way. Might as well control the battleground."
Rigel unwound his whip from Raze's corpse, coiling it at his belt. His eyes tracked to the dagger still embedded in the Alpha's back, the silver smoking where it touched flesh.
"You need to feed," he said. "Injuries like that—"
"Already handled."
I knelt beside Raze's body, found the throat—still intact despite the whip burns—and bit.
The blood was wrong. Lycan blood always tasted wrong, feral and bitter. But the BP value was immense, and the memories...
[ MEMORY SIPHON LV.1 ACTIVATING ]
[ EXTRACTING RANDOM FRAGMENTS... ]
Lucian's face. Commands whispered in underground chambers. Plans for something called "the key"—a human whose blood could change everything. A name: Michael Corvin.
I pulled back, wiping my mouth. Rigel watched with troubled eyes.
"That's not... standard."
"Old sire taught me." The lie came easily now. "Drinking from kills strengthens us. Waste not."
"Your sire taught you a lot of unusual things."
"He was an unusual vampire."
Rigel accepted the explanation, but the seed of suspicion was planted. I could see it in the way he looked at me—not fear, not quite, but wariness. The Butcher of District Seven was becoming something he couldn't easily categorize.
"Add it to the list of complications."
[ CURRENT BP: 833/500 ]
[ ABILITIES AVAILABLE FOR PURCHASE ]
[ MEMORY SIPHON LV.2: 100 BP ]
[ - TARGETED MEMORY EXTRACTION ]
[ - RECENT MEMORIES (7 DAYS) FULLY ACCESSIBLE ]
[ - KEYWORD SEARCH ENABLED ]
The upgrade called to me. But not here. Not with Rigel watching.
"We should report this," Rigel said. "Raze was one of Lucian's top lieutenants. Kraven will want confirmation."
"And credit for the kill?"
Rigel's smile was tired. "I'll make sure they know who did the real work. Consider us even for the waterfront."
We left the safehouse together—me limping, ribs grinding, but alive. Behind us, five Lycan corpses cooled in the November air.
District Seven was mine.
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