I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
Patréon.com/emperordragon
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From within the dense curtain of trees, just beyond the edge of moonlight, a figure remained perfectly still. Shrouded in a darkness deeper and more impenetrable than the night itself, they stood like a phantom—silent, patient, and unseen. The forest around them breathed quietly, its silence only broken by the distant rustle of leaves and the occasional whisper of wind through branches.
Beyond the treeline, the lot lay exposed. Bathed in pale moonlight and the faint artificial glow leaking from the clinic windows, every detail was laid bare: the scattered gravel of the lot, the unconscious bodies sprawled at its edge, and the trio still standing in its center.
Laura Hale stood poised, radiating a steady control honed by experience. Malia beside her, tense and coiled, like a spring waiting to snap—ready, alert, alive. The two hunters who had attacked them moments before still twitched occasionally on the ground, the madness that had consumed them now gone, replaced by the unconscious stillness of defeat.
And then there was Lucas.
The figure in the trees tilted their head ever so slightly, a subtle motion betraying a sharp and focused interest. They watched as Lucas moved through the lot with a calm that didn't match the violence he had just unleashed. There had been no hesitation in him, no wasted motion. He had brought the hunters down with precise efficiency—quick, clean, almost surgical.
The sounds of the fight still echoed faintly in the figure's memory. The sound of each strike—the cracks in the air, the thud of bodies hitting earth. Each impact had been deliberate. Controlled. The kind of control that only came from someone who had been trained—or shaped—to hurt without hesitation.
Fingers flexed at the figure's side, restless, as if itching to test that strength themselves. But instead of stepping forward, they lingered, letting the cover of the woods swallow them.
A whisper rose, not spoken aloud but carried in the sharp curl of their lips. "Interesting. The Hale Alpha couldn't put them down, but he could. Clean. Fast."
Their eyes flicked to the hunters again. Both were still breathing, though bruised and bloodied. Alive. That fact, too, seemed to amuse them.
"Mercy," they murmured with quiet contempt—or was it admiration? "So predictable. So dangerous."
For a long, silent beat, the figure didn't move. They simply watched, eyes following every subtle shift in posture, every word exchanged among the three. Like a predator taking note of its prey—not to strike, but to study.
Then, with deliberate slowness, they turned and melted deeper into the forest. Their movements were unnaturally smooth, too quiet for any ordinary creature of flesh and blood.
And just before they vanished completely, the faintest breath of satisfaction slipped into the air, intangible but undeniable.
"Good," they whispered. "The game is working."
Back at the Clinic:
The night clung to the ground like smoke—heavy, still, and thick with the mingled scents of blood, adrenaline, and the cold iron tang of violence just passed. The gravel lot behind the clinic was quiet now, save for the occasional shallow breath from the two hunters lying motionless near the treeline.
They were alive—but just barely. Their limbs were limp, their expressions slack, like puppets with cut strings. Whatever had driven them into that earlier frenzy had burned out completely, leaving only the bruised wreckage of their bodies and none of the rage that had animated them.
For a while, no one spoke. The silence stretched, deep and weighty.
Malia broke it first, her voice edged with awe. "How did you do that?"
Lucas straightened slowly, flexing his hand once before answering. "Hunters' bodies are a lot more tougher and durable than a normal person, sure. More conditioned, more resistant. But at the end of the day, they're still human. And humans all share the same weak points. Pain's one way to stop someone. Shutting the body down is another."
Malia stared at him, her expression unreadable at first. Then, gradually, a flicker of something—respect, perhaps even admiration—settled into her eyes. She nodded, once. Slowly.
Laura crouched by one of the hunters, her glowing red eyes scanning. Lucas joined her, the two of them studying the men's ragged breathing and glassy expressions.
"What do you think?" Lucas asked quietly.
Laura shook her head. "I don't sense anything… off. They look normal now."
Lucas slowly nodded, his gaze narrowing on the bruises forming across the men's jaws.
Malia folded her arms, sharp and frustrated. "Then how did that person turn these two into raging beasts and sic them on us?"
Laura rose, brushing dirt from her palms. Her tone was calm but firm. "That's what we need to figure out. And fast."
Lucas exhaled, glancing back at the two unconscious hunters. "And in the meantime, we still don't know what to do with them. It was one thing when they were just out cold. Now they're also beat up, and questions are going to come with that."
Laura's eyes flicked to him, steady and decisive.
"Don't worry about these two. I'll handle it. What matters is you get home. It's getting late—I don't want Susan worrying."
Lucas hesitated, but nodded. "Alright."
Malia wasn't as ready to let it go. She stepped forward, her eyes flashing. "But we still don't know what's going on. That thing—whoever it was—could come back. Could send more after us."
Laura put a hand on her shoulder, her voice level. "You're right. But tonight isn't giving us any more answers. For now, we regroup."
Lucas took one last look at the two hunters sprawled in the dirt, before turning and walking away. The weight of unanswered questions pressed down, heavier than before.
As he pulled away from the clinic, the shadows in the treeline seemed to watch him go.