I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
Patréon.com/emperordragon
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The lodge still smoked faintly, thin ribbons of gray curling toward the bruised sky like reluctant ghosts. The air was sharp and electric—tainted by ozone, metal, and the bitter tang of wolfsbane. It clung to the senses, that scent, the way an aftertaste lingers after something violent. The world here had been torn open, and though the fighting was over, the land itself hadn't yet remembered how to breathe again.
From the shelter of the treeline, Tony watched in silence.
He watched through eyes that weren't his own—Darren's eyes—borrowed windows into a borrowed life. They tracked the trio emerging from the ruins of the lodge: Lucas at the front, Malia and Isaac limping close behind. Lucas moved with the calm precision of a blade, steady and deliberate, while the others carried the visible weight of exhaustion and pain. Even at this distance, Tony could sense it—the quiet storm of power thrumming just beneath Lucas's skin, restrained but restless, like thunder waiting for permission to strike.
It wasn't supposed to end this way.
The plan had been elegant in its simplicity. Wolves and hunters were meant to tear each other apart, driven by old grudges and fresh wounds. He had chosen Edward carefully—a man corroded by loss, so consumed by vengeance that a single push should have been enough to unleash bloodshed. But the slaughter never came. No one had died.
Tony clenched Darren's jaw, the muscles tightening as his borrowed face twisted with frustration. There was nothing left here to feed on—no spark of conflict for him to nurture, no new hatred to coax into a flame.
Beneath the human facade, the parasite's resentment simmered. His entire existence thrived on chaos, on corruption, on setting fire to fragile peace and watching it burn. The plan had been simple: ignite a war and let human nature finish the rest. Yet Lucas had ruined it effortlessly.
The memory of it replayed in Tony's mind—the boy went through trained hunters like wind through reeds, calm and unshakable. Every movement had been measured, efficient, terrifyingly precise. It hadn't just disrupted Tony's scheme; it had fascinated him.
"That body… that strength…" Tony whispered, the words slipping out like a confession. "You'd make such a fine home."
The thought filled him with a greedy hunger that made the fragile vessel of Darren's flesh tremble. His current body was weak, temporary, an ill-fitting disguise stretched over a creature that craved more. And Lucas—Lucas wasn't merely an obstacle anymore. He was the prize.
For a long moment Tony remained there, staring at the three figures as they faded into the morning mist. The forest swallowed them slowly until there was nothing left but the whisper of wind through dead leaves. Finally, Tony turned away.
"No point lingering," he muttered to himself. "There's nothing left here but smoke and wasted chances."
Back in Darren's apartment, the world was smaller. Quieter. The walls were yellowed with age, and the air smelled faintly of stale coffee, dust, and resignation. A single lamp fought against the darkness, its weak glow throwing long, uneasy shadows across the room.
Tony locked the door behind him, methodical as ever. He shrugged off Darren's worn jacket and tossed it carelessly onto the couch, moving with the awkward weight of a man who didn't quite fit the body he inhabited.
He sank into the couch's sagging cushions and let out a slow, weary breath. The old computer on the table flickered to life beneath his touch, the bluish light washing his face until he looked almost spectral. One by one, folders opened in precise succession—his observations, the quiet fruits of weeks spent watching, listening, recording.
Photos. Notes. Timestamps. The web of obsession laid bare.
He scrolled past familiar faces: the Hales, the hunters, the remnants of their tangled history. Each file a story, each story a weapon. But then the cursor paused. Hovered.
Erica Reyes.
He clicked.
The screen filled with her image—frozen moments of a life she had no idea was being watched. Erica laughing in class. Erica leaning over Lucas's notebook, pointing something out. Erica handing him a cup of coffee with a smile that reached her eyes. Every captured moment was intimate, vulnerable. Every detail meticulously labeled, catalogued, dissected.
A slow smile began to curve Tony's lips, serpentine and deliberate.
"So that's it," he murmured. "The boy has a soft spot."
The disappointment that had been festering inside him melted away, replaced by something darker, more satisfying. Power could be resisted. Hatred could be met with hatred. But love? Affection? The human heart was always the weakest point.
Lucas might have lightning in his veins, but he still carried a heart that could be broken. And Tony—patient, poisonous Tony—knew exactly how to do it.
He leaned back in the chair, the screen's glow reflecting in his eyes as Erica's image flickered softly before him.
"Don't worry, Lucas," he whispered, almost tenderly. "You'll give me your power willingly… once I've taken everything you care about."
And just like that, the parasite smiled again—because the game wasn't over. It was only changing shape.