I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
Patréon.com/emperordragon
________________________________________
The night was quiet, broken only by the hum of crickets and the faint glow of street lamps bleeding into the lot outside the clinic. Lucas stood near the door, ready to leave. Beside him were Laura and Malia, their expressions subdued, there to see him off.
Lucas froze mid-step, his whole body going rigid. His head whipped sharply toward the far end of the clinic's perimeter—toward the clinic's edge where the hunters' car was parked. A cold ripple of awareness passed through him.
There was someone standing there.
A figure, barely illuminated by the spill of yellow light from a distant lamp, lingered near the hunter's car. They were perfectly still. Their face was obscured—half-concealed in darkness—but their focus was unmistakable. Their eyes, or whatever lay beneath the shadow of that hood or hair, were locked onto the backseat of the car, where the two unconscious hunters lay.
Laura followed Lucas's gaze. Malia stiffened.
"Who is that?" Malia whispered.
The question hung unanswered.
The figure turned, glancing their way. Then, without a word, it bolted—slipping into the trees and vanishing into the dark woods.
Lucas moved instinctively, ready to chase. But he halted mid-step, his attention caught by movement in the hunters' car.
The two men stirred. Groaning. Shifting. Too soon.
That's not possible, Lucas thought, his gut tightening. The tranquilizers should still be working for a few more hours.
But the hunters weren't groggy. They shoved open the car doors and staggered out with weapons already in hand.
Their eyes were bloodshot, burning with unnatural fury. Rage poured off them, thick and wrong, like something had eaten away their reason.
Malia moved without hesitation. Her fangs bared, claws extending in a smooth, fluid motion as golden light flooded her irises. She dropped low, a growl rumbling from her throat as she braced herself for a fight.
But Laura stepped forward and caught her arm.
"Wait. Something's off."
Malia snarled, her instincts fighting the hold, but Laura's tone was firm. "That person—we just saw. That person did something to these hunters. This isn't them. Not really."
The hunters advanced, blades flashing in the moonlight, movements fueled by raw aggression.
"There's already one hunter dead," Laura said, never taking her eyes off them. "We can't afford two more."
She stepped ahead of her sister, calm but coiled like steel. "Let me handle this."
And with that, Laura stopped forward ready to face the two raging hunters.
The gravel crunched and shifted noisily under the heavy boots of the two hunters as they lunged straight at Laura, their blades slashing the air in brutal arcs. The steel gleamed faintly in the dim light, every strike thrown with a deadly precision drilled into muscle memory. Even though their faces were twisted with something closer to feral madness than human focus, their bodies told another story—every step, every thrust, every counter was the reflex of long hours spent training to kill. Their rage was mindless, but their discipline lived on in their flesh.
Laura moved like water through stone. Her body flowed between their attacks with an ease that belied the danger, each motion shaped by control, instinct, and the predatory sharpness humming in her blood. She dropped low as a blade cut for her throat, ducked under a wild slash, twisted past a blind thrust, and answered with open-handed strikes and whipping kicks that landed with bone-jarring force. Calm lived in her eyes even as violence unfolded around her. Within moments, the two hunters were on the ground, staring up at the night sky.
But they didn't stay down.
One groaned, his hand hanging at a strange angle, and yet he rose as if the pain didn't register. The other pushed himself up with a guttural snarl, eyes glazed and empty, rage filling every corner where reason should be.
Laura's expression darkened. She knocked them down again, faster, harder—ribs cracking, shoulders dislocating under her blows. It should have been enough. But like broken marionettes, they staggered upright again.
Malia's voice cut sharp across the lot. "It's like they're zombies. They'll keep coming unless we put them down for good."
Laura didn't answer. She didn't have to. Her silence carried more weight than words could. Her chest heaved, her breathing a little rougher now. Strain carved lines in her shoulders as she launched back into the fray, determination hardening each movement. She brought her leg up high and drove one back with a kick that landed like a battering ram, then spun on her heel to seize the other and hurl him into the side of a car. Metal groaned and shuddered under the impact, the vehicle trembling violently before settling again. And still, impossibly, the hunters clawed their way up from the ground, refusing to stay down.
Lucas had watched long enough.
"Laura—step back."
She glanced over her shoulder, hesitating. His tone brooked no argument. She gave a curt nod and leapt back out of range.
The hunters turned toward her again—but Lucas was already moving.
He blurred forward, the air cracking with the speed of his motion. In a blink, he stood in front of the first hunter. His fist shot out, not heavy but sharp and precise, driving straight into the man's jaw.
The sound exploded through the night.
Like a gunshot in the silence.
The hunter collapsed instantly, lights out before he even hit the ground.
The second turned with a roar—but Lucas was already there, faster than sight. He drove an uppercut under the man's chin, a clean strike powered by perfect technique.
The second hunter's feet left the ground. He landed in a heap, unconscious.
Silence rushed back into the night.
Laura straightened, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. Malia's claws stayed out, her golden eyes flicking from the hunters to Lucas.
The two men lay sprawled at Lucas's feet, breathing but unmoving. For now, the fight was over.