Darkness abound.

A boy's silhouette, head up, standing still as a scarecrow, apparent.

Intense streaks of light spectra flash into the dark: blue, green, yellow, lots of yellow, more defined darker reds and purple. As if spotlights in minutiae, they beam all around, searching.

Not for long, no. The streaks, in all their brilliance, vanish with haste. All the while, the boy stands still.

Darkness abound.

Until... A soft glow peeks through part of the ingress visible from down below. Into the distance, a dark, vermilion moon faces the ingress; gracing the motes of magenta algae on walls of the cave with ethereal luminescence.

The boy, now under celestial spotlight, is fully visible: dirty blond—neck-long, split ends—onset of stubble on his chin, late teens, tall. He has a black eye and split lip.

The moonlight distorts the color of his eyes, his good eye, to an unusual azure. Though, this does not seem to bother him all that much. In fact, He is grinning.

This is 17-year-old Matthis Greene. When Lycans speak of his life, it is here we begin.

"Staring at the moon's not gonna bring you any closer to it, you know." Says someone in a low voice, coming from further into the cave, away from the light. "Hell, the only thing you're getting any closer to is having another neck cramp."

A chuckle, rasp and restrained—like an itch in the back of the throat they do not want known—comes from this other person veiled in darkness.

"Worth it. I know they can see me. You too, Logy. 'Try as you might, hiding's no good'. Canary taught us that, remember?" Matthis says. He peers into the darkness, looking over his shoulder, smiling at this other person, at Logy.

"This is our last shot, Logy. They'll be no next year after this one. They won't want us anymore—we'll be too old."

"They'll still want you. I'm the Runt, Matt. Not you." Logy says. A sharp, cracking sound echoes; like a rock being struck by something hard.

"Don't call yourself that," Matthis says, sighing. He looks away from the darkness. Matthis faces the ingress once more, bathing in the moonlight, eyes closed. He should get that black eye seen by a doctor. "You are Logan Greene, my brother. You do not identify by some derogatory term coined by Mongrels."

That rasp chuckle again, and more of those sharp, cracking sounds. Crack, crack. They are becoming periodic.

"Mongrels--" Logy... Logan says, snickering. "As you wish, Alpha. Your Beta heeds... You alone gets to be derogatory with his terms."

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Matthis's eyes shoot open. "Not this again, Logan. Our pack has no Alpha." He says, glaring back into the darkness with knit brows, at Logan, irritated. "It's us both or none at all."

"'It's us both or none at all' ," Logan says, attempting and failing, at mimicking his brother's tone. Logan's voice cracks, he sounds nothing like Matthis, a touch feminine. "That's a very Alpha-like thing to say, little brother... So assertive."

Matthis scoffs. Again, his gaze turns to the moon. The celestial body's surface is cratered with wounds from eons past. Beautiful, dark maria aesthetically contrast bright city lights of the north and south poles; it is a stunning, rough gem of the night sky.

Matthis raises his arm, blocking the view with his right hand, slowly clenching it into a fist, then grabbing the moon.

Matthis looks up at his clenched fist. He has has dozens of white scars running across his arm, and fresh scabs on his knuckles. A chipped thumb nail with a blood clot glares at him, bleeding for attention. Matthis loosens his tightened fist, the palm of his hand is calloused. He raises an eyebrow at the sight.

"Did I really think I'd caught the moon, what am I, a pup again?" Matthis says under his breath, smiling wryly. "Soon, we'll..."

"Besides, How'd you know I'm staring at the moon? The light's not reaching the back of the dugout yet... And the second moon won't be out for a while." Matthis says, looking back at his brother.

The cracking intensifies: Crack, crack, crack.

A blackwood, orthopedic walking stick peeks out of the darkness, into the moonlight. Tall and thin, a boy's silhouette, supported by the walking stick, looms.

"It's a full moon tonight, I don't need to see it to know. That's the only time you get quiet." Logan says. "Also, I don't know... Maybe it's because we're so high up, but I can sort of feel it better, here... the Mystia in the air."

"Wait... You can feel the Mystia? What's it like, can you see me--"

"The preliminary selection process is over."

"To all surviving Lycan-Hybrids, congratulations are in order!"

"With 103 remaining packs, Vermilion Moon's ninety-eighth Lethal Gene will now begin."

"Transmigration will be instantaneous. Brace yourselves."

A woman's monotone voice resounds across an entire planet and star systems beyond. Inaudible to all but a select few privy to it.

"Shit! Logan can't handle another Transmigration right now. Not after all you just put us through, you fuckers!" Matthis says, dashing for his brother.

Logan drops his walking stick. His silhouette appears: fallen to his knees. His hair is long, wavy. It covers his face. Logan screams, grabbing the sides of his head, pulling his hair.

He begins to growl.

Logan's hand shakes as he reaches for his walking stick, at an arm's length away, bathed in the moonlight.

Now in the light, his arm is thin, and his hand is pale and bony. As moonlight touches his skin, it blisters.

Wads of hair still in his clutch, Logan digs into the ground, scratching the moist, stony floor of the cave with his nails. Streaks of blood trail. Logan draws back into the dark.

"It... Burns... Matt--"

"Shit, shit, shit!" Matthis says, dashing for his brother. He trips, landing on his back, clutching his chest. Matthis is frothing at the mouth. He, too, begins to convulse and shake wildly.

Matthis eyes the moon, azure turns blood-red. Tears roll down his face.

"Ours is... A pack of two... I swear... I'll find you, Logy. I--"

The streaks of Light spectra return. Flashing all around. They vaporize all that they touch: The moisture of the cave, the magenta algae lining its walls, all life in the cave, down to the smallest bacteria, vanishes. This, of course, includes the two brothers.

And then... Silence. The air in the cave is sterile. As before, the streaks of light vanish, this time leaving nothing behind.

Nothing... but darkness abound.