Farkas landed before Victoria with an impact that shattered the asphalt. His werewolf form towered over the rest—jet-black fur, layered muscle, and yellow eyes filled with ancient hatred.
He gave no pause.
Farkas lunged.
Victoria twisted aside at the exact moment his claws swept through the air. The asphalt split where she had stood. Her sword rose in a smooth arc, stabbing into Farkas's ribs. The silver blade pierced flesh—but Farkas only roared and slammed his shoulder into her.
Victoria was thrown several meters, her body skidding across the street before crashing against a ruined building. She rose in a single motion, dust not yet settled.
"Weak," Farkas sneered, dark blood spilling from his wound before sealing shut. "Is that the Vampire Queen everyone fears?"
Victoria did not answer.
She stepped forward.
They collided at the center of the battlefield. Silver blade met razor claws, sparks tearing through the darkness. Every strike from Farkas carried brute lupine strength; every movement from Victoria was precise, controlled, deliberate.
Farkas swung his arm, smashing into Victoria's ribs. A sharp crack echoed. She did not scream. Instead, she seized his wrist, twisted her body, and used his momentum to drive her blade straight into his shoulder.
Farkas howled and hurled her into a wall.
The wall collapsed.
Victoria was buried momentarily beneath concrete and twisted metal before stepping free, her eyes cold and unwavering. Blood traced down the corner of her lips, yet her stance remained firm.
"You're slowing down," she said calmly.
Farkas roared, patience gone. He attacked without restraint—claws, fangs, raw force. Victoria dodged some blows, endured others. One claw tore through her shoulder, flesh splitting open. She ignored it.
She was waiting.
When Farkas lunged to bite, Victoria stepped in—into the closest possible range, where brute strength became a weakness. Her sword drove downward, piercing his chest.
Farkas laughed.
With both hands, he snapped the blade in two.
Fragments of silver scattered across the street.
"Now," Farkas growled, lowering his massive head until his snout nearly brushed her face, "you die."
Victoria met his gaze without fear.
"You're wrong."
Her hand slipped into her black leather coat. In a single motion, she drew a short blade engraved with ancient symbols—silver infused with primordial blood.
She drove it straight into Farkas's neck.
His scream tore through the night.
White fire erupted from the wound, burning him from within. His massive body staggered and crashed to the ground. He thrashed wildly, claws tearing at the pavement as he tried to escape pain he had never known.
Victoria stood over him.
"This war was never about strength," she said softly. "It was about vengeance."
Farkas lifted his head, his yellow eyes already fading.
"This… isn't over…" he rasped.
Victoria pushed the blade deeper.
"For you," she replied coldly, "it is."
A blinding flash of light erupted. Farkas's scream was cut short.
When the light faded, only a body remained—returned to human form, unmoving.
Around them, the battle began to fall silent, one clash at a time.
The Lycans froze, their instincts collapsing with the death of their leader.
Victoria stood at the heart of the battlefield, drenched in blood and dust—unshaken, unbowed.
"Kill them all!" Victoria shouted, her voice burning with fury.
She walked slowly through the remnants of the battlefield. Her body bore deep claw marks, her shoulder torn and bleeding freely. Yet her stride never faltered. She did not look around. She did not look back.
The fighting around her no longer mattered.
The night swallowed her shadow, inch by inch.
***
In Manhattan, James Aron trudged along the sidewalk toward his apartment after leaving the office. The city's pulse still throbbed around him, yet his mind wandered far away. He tilted his head upward, gazing at the night sky for a moment, as if searching for answers among the faint stars.
Victoria's face flickered across his thoughts.
Aron exhaled slowly and continued forward.
Upon reaching his apartment building, he went straight to the elevator. He pressed the button. The doors slid open without hesitation. Aron stepped inside and stood quietly as the elevator carried him upward, passing several floors before finally stopping.
The doors opened.
Aron stepped out and walked down the silent corridor. The white lights above reflected his shadow across the polished floor. He passed several doors before stopping in front of his own unit.
He raised his hand to the key, ready to unlock the door.
Pushing it open, he stepped inside, his face etched with fatigue, shoulders slumped as if carrying the weight of the long day.
"Hey…"
The voice startled him. He turned sharply, closing the door behind him. His heart raced faster than usual. His steps slowed as he moved toward the living room.
"Victoria," he whispered when he saw her sitting on the sofa.
She looked exhausted. Her clothing was torn in places, claw marks cutting through her skin on her shoulders and arms. Dried blood stained the dark fabric she wore.
"Hey, Aron," she replied, her voice barely audible.
Aron rushed to her side. His eyes scanned every wound, worry and anger mingling—not at Victoria, but at a world that had hurt her.
"Don't worry," Victoria said softly. "I'm used to injuries like this. It still hurts… but this time, I don't know why it feels stronger."
Her words faltered. Tears slid down her cheeks despite herself.
Aron embraced her carefully, as if afraid his touch might worsen her pain.
"Don't worry," he murmured. "The pain will pass."
He rose slowly, removing his suit jacket and placing it aside. He rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing his forearms.
"Suck my blood now, Victoria."
Victoria shook her head weakly. "I don't want to."
"Why not?"
"I don't want to disgust you," she said, crying softly.
Aron sat beside her. "I never thought that way, Victoria. I let you take my blood."
"I'm embarrassed, Aron," she admitted, her voice trembling. "I didn't ask for this."
Aron lifted his hand, brushing the tears from her cheeks.
"I know," he said gently. "Please don't think the wrong things. I… I'm glad you're here with me."
Victoria cried again, but this time it wasn't from shame or pain. Her heart felt calm—something she hadn't felt in a long time.
Aron stroked her hair softly, as if trying to soothe her soul, then extended his right arm.
"Don't worry," he said quietly. "Just drink."
Victoria hesitated for a moment. Then she bowed her head. Her lips parted slowly, revealing two elongated fangs she hadn't noticed. Her breath was slightly ragged before she sank her teeth into Aron's arm.
Victoria's body moved gently, her shoulders rising and falling with the rhythm of her feeding. At the same time, the transformation began. The large wound on her shoulder slowly knit itself together, torn flesh closing as if time itself was rewinding. Claw marks on her arms and body faded, leaving her skin flawless once more.
Several minutes later, Victoria withdrew her fangs. She leaned back, eyes closed, slipping into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Aron smiled faintly. He rose carefully, bending down to lift her in his arms to carry her to the bedroom.
But—
"What the heck?"
He froze.
Victoria's body felt far heavier than usual. He tried again, but failed.
"Why is she so heavy?" he muttered, baffled. He had carried her countless times before without issue, yet tonight… it was as if her weight had multiplied many times over.
Aron straightened, exhaling slowly.
"I'm sorry, Victoria," he said softly, gazing at her sleeping face. "Tonight, you'll have to sleep on the sofa."
With light steps, Aron hurried toward his own bedroom.
*
Morning crept in slowly. Sunlight filtered through the gap in the curtains, illuminating the quiet room. On the bed, Aron was still asleep, his breathing steady.
"You sleep so peacefully."
The voice made Aron stir slightly. Victoria was already sitting on the edge of the bed, her face fresh, showing no trace of last night's injuries.
Aron opened his eyes slowly. His vision was still blurry, but the figure in front of him was clearly recognizable.
"Hey… good morning," he said in a hoarse voice, still wrapped in sleepiness.
"Good morning," Victoria replied calmly, before adding a teasing edge. "I can't believe you let me sleep on the sofa."
Aron's eyes widened. He sat up straight immediately.
"Don't get me wrong. Last night, I tried to lift you, but your body… it's really heavy. I had no choice."
Victoria raised an eyebrow.
"Oh? So you're saying I've gotten fat?"
"No!" Aron denied quickly. "I just said your body is heavy. That's all."
"Well then, you didn't even change my clothes."
"Hey," Aron raised his hands slightly. "What do you think I am? Someone who casually takes off a woman's clothes?"
"What's wrong with that?" Victoria replied casually. "You know me, after all."
"I do know you," Aron said, his tone slightly defensive. "But not to the point of removing your clothes."
Victoria tilted her lips in a smile that was hard to read.
"In that case, accompany me to the shower."
"Ooo… no. No. That's even more impossible," Aron said firmly, shaking his head. "You'll have to shower alone."
"I don't have any clothes."
"Don't worry. There's some clothes from my ex-fiancée in the closet. Just wear those."
"I don't like wearing other people's clothes," Victoria said, hugging herself.
"She never wore them," Aron explained confidently. "Including the underwear I bought. Everything's still new."
Victoria looked at him for a moment.
"Really?"
Aron nodded without hesitation.
"You really don't want to shower with me?"
"One hundred percent not."
"Fine," Victoria said as she got up. "Your loss."
"Don't worry, I won't regret it. So please… grab a towel from the closet," Aron said quickly. "And please… don't be naked in front of me."
"Sorry," Victoria replied casually. "It's my body. I do what I want."
"Fine. Do as you like," Aron said, turning his face away. "I won't look."
"Hahaha," Victoria's light laughter echoed in the room — soft, yet somehow quickened Aron's heartbeat just a little.