Desperation had driven Orion to the iron gate, but no matter how hard he tried, it refused to budge. He frantically pressed every button and pounded on it with his fists, but it remained steadfastly sealed. Horror crept over his face as he realized the inescapable truth. It was then that something within the situation shifted, and Rightfang, among others, began to sense it.

Orion came to a halt just in front of the unyielding gate, his frustration and despair palpable. As the wolf, Borr, howled in laughter, he taunted, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you inching closer to the gate?”

Rightfang began to voice his protests, but Orion cut him off with an unexpected outburst. “I know I am the weakest,” he declared, his voice carrying a strange mix of defiance and resignation. “But it’s funny, you know. They sent the second biggest bitch to kill the weakest newborn.”

Orion’s taunts and provocations continued, drawing an increasingly furious response from the wolf, Borr. The beast’s snarls grew louder, and his muscles tensed as he prepared to pounce on the source of his anger. The air seemed charged with tension, and everyone watched with bated breath.

Uncle Alfred shook his head in disappointment, muttering, “It seems some lessons must be learned the hard way. His second lesson is why he should not piss off a werecub.”

Orion pressed on, hurling insults and barbs at the ferocious creature. “Don’t get me wrong,” he goaded, his voice steady as he held his hands out in a gesture of surrender, “this place is peaceful, like a sweet summer meadow. Your presence shifts the meadow to the one where Bambi’s mom was shot. If you want to know how bad that feels, it’s not good. But I doubt you would know anything about loving mothers.”

Orion’s words sliced through the air like a blade, striking deep into Borr’s wounded psyche. The wolf’s anger intensified, and a monstrous growl rumbled from deep within him. His body seemed to swell with fury, and his eyes gleamed with an eerie red light.

“Don’t worry; it’s something we have in common,” Orion continued, his voice unwavering as he held his hands in surrender. “I honestly can’t say if my mother truly loves me or not. The bright side for me is my dad abandoned me long before I had a chance to love him. The bad thing for you is, you seem to love your dad, but he truly doesn’t seem to love you.”

Borr’s rage was palpable now, and his howls pierced the night air with an unsettling intensity. His massive form seemed to grow bulkier as if fueled by the burning anger within. Orion, undaunted, continued to taunt the enraged wolf, pushing him to the brink.

“Sorry, did I hit a nerve?” Orion’s voice remained steady, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Sounds like you have, quote, ‘I need approval from Daddy issues,’ unquote.”

With a final, deafening howl, Borr launched himself at Orion at top speed, his fangs bared and claws extended, ready to strike. Orion braced himself, his heart pounding in his chest, as he prayed silently for one more chance to escape this relentless predator.

As Borr drew closer and closer, his massive form charging toward Orion, panic gripped the ghoul’s heart. “Come on, come on...” he muttered desperately, his voice trembling with fear. His breath came in ragged gasps as he stared down the impending threat, every second stretching out agonizingly.

In that crucial moment, just as Borr was inches away, time itself seemed to warp and bend around Orion. The world froze as if caught in a timeless void. All movement ceased, and the snarling jaws of the beast, mere inches from his face, remained locked in a frozen grimace. Orion’s heart pounded in his chest as he looked around, realizing that everyone, including the charging wolf, was suspended in time.

Orion couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph as he realized the extent of his newfound ability. “So that’s how it works...” he muttered to himself with a knowing smirk, his voice barely audible in the frozen stillness. He marveled at the incredible power he had unwittingly tapped into.

However, his triumphant moment was abruptly interrupted as he became aware of a presence that had eluded his notice until now. Suspended in time just like everything else, this new figure sent a chill down Orion’s spine. It was Alfred, the concierge, who had appeared out of nowhere, standing perilously close with an outstretched hand aimed directly at Orion’s throat. The shock of his sudden presence left Orion momentarily speechless, his mind racing to understand Alfred’s intentions.

But Orion had little time to dwell on the enigma of Alfred’s presence. His powers were waning, and he could feel the warm spark that had surged through him gradually fading. The world outside was straining to break free from the temporal stasis he had invoked.

Desperation welled up within him as he managed to summon just enough energy for one final move. With a sudden lurch, he threw himself out of harm’s way just as reality snapped back into place with a deafening boom. The force of the collision that followed was deafening—a thunderous crash followed by the gut-wrenching sound of teeth shattering and bone breaking.

Borr had rammed headfirst into the iron-reinforced door, his powerful charge leaving him unconscious and battered. The impact left a formidable dent in the sturdy doors, serving as a stark testament to the sheer force of the collision. As the dust settled, bewildered onlookers tried to make sense of the chaotic events that had unfolded. Orion, disheveled and dazed, lay sprawled on the ground, while Borr remained incapacitated.

Confusion and bewilderment continued to grip the spectators, who struggled to fathom the inexplicable turn of events that had unfolded before their eyes. Orion lay sprawled on the ground, his body wracked with pain from the deep scratch on his back. Exhaustion washed over him, his muscles aching, possibly torn or shredded from the relentless pursuit. Dust filled his lungs with every ragged breath, leaving him gasping for air. The warm spark of energy that had surged through him had dwindled, leaving him acutely aware of his body’s desperate fatigue.

Amid the perplexed crowd, Alfred stood with an approving glint in his eyes, his stoic demeanor momentarily cracking to reveal a hint of satisfaction. “Two times,” he remarked as if acknowledging Orion’s extraordinary feat. He glanced at the iron-reinforced door, then at the incapacitated wolf.

A mixture of amazement and disbelief rippled through those who had witnessed the events unfold. Comments and speculations buzzed through the crowd. “Dude fainted and saved his own life. Talk about luck,” someone remarked, finding the situation almost comical.

Yet, Rightfang wore a sly, knowing smile. He had noticed something that others had missed—the fact that Orion’s right fist remained clenched. It was a detail that spoke volumes about the young ghoul’s resourcefulness and determination. “Not bad, Newbie, not bad at all,” Rightfang commented with a smirk.

Astrid knelt beside the fallen Orion, her disbelief gradually giving way to a tender smile as she joined in Rightfang’s jests. Her laughter was like a sweet melody, filling the air with a warm and affectionate atmosphere. “Oh, Newbie, why did you have to be so brave? You ruined our chance to make some quick money,” she playfully chided, her voice light and filled with genuine warmth.

Gently pushing Rightfang aside, Astrid carefully turned Orion over, her fingers lightly brushing against his cheek. She cradled his weary form in her lap for support, her touch gentle and reassuring. She sighed softly, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability as she gazed into his eyes. “I know this is a strange way to apologize, especially after nearly getting you into serious trouble, but I’m truly sorry for throwing you out of that window.”

As she spoke, her undead heart seemed to flutter within her chest. The intensity of her feelings surprised her, and her cheeks took on a faint blush as her gaze lingered on Orion’s lips. With a soft, affectionate smile, she leaned in closer to him, her warm breath mingling with his. Her eyes searched his, and in that intimate moment, they seemed to communicate more than words ever could.

Astrid couldn’t deny the magnetic pull between them, a connection that transcended the ordinary. She found herself getting lost in his eyes, captivated by the vulnerability and strength she saw within them. The apology she offered held a deeper sincerity than mere words could convey, and it was clear that something special was blooming between them in the wake of the chaos that had unfolded.

Astrid’s cool touch on Orion’s overheated skin was like a soothing balm. Her fingers gently brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead, and he couldn’t help but feel a shiver of delight at her touch. The contradiction of her coldness against his heated body only added to the intensity of the moment.

“You have a way of surprising me,” Astrid admitted her voice a soft, mesmerizing melody filled with genuine admiration. Her words hung in the air like an enchantment, and Orion found himself utterly captivated by her.

Orion’s labored chuckle sent a warm shiver down Astrid’s spine. It was a sound that resonated with a mixture of pain and resilience, a reminder of the challenges they had faced together. “Heh, surprised I could make you cry,” he said with a warm, genuine smile, his eyes filled with an unexpected kindness that touched her deeply.

At that moment, Orion’s vulnerability and the way he had managed to turn the situation around had left Astrid feeling strangely exposed. Her undead heart, though long dormant, now seemed to quicken with an unfamiliar sensation. She had been raised in a world of darkness and coldness, but in Orion’s presence, she felt a warmth she hadn’t known was possible.

Astrid found herself leaning closer, her lips a mere breath away from his as she whispered, “You’re not the only one who’s surprised.” Her voice was filled with a mixture of disbelief and enchantment, and the very fact that she had shed a tear over him left her in a state of wonder. “I suppose Astria was right about you, about your way of surprising those you meet, don’t you, newbie?” Her words were a subtle invitation, a dance of emotions and unspoken desires that hung between them, waiting to be explored.

The blissful serenity that had enveloped Astrid and Orion was shattered by a commanding voice that sent a chill down their spines. Alfred had issued an order to Rightfang, and his cold, killing intent filled the air like a suffocating fog. The atmosphere in the courtyard shifted from one of relief to one of palpable terror. No one dared to raise their heads as they felt the weight of Alfred’s displeasure.

Alfred’s unhappiness at the failure of the wolf was evident, and he made no effort to conceal it. His stoic demeanor had given way to a menacing presence that sent shivers through those who witnessed it. The very ground seemed to tremble beneath his feet as he approached the unconscious wolf.

Amid the looming threat, Orion found the strength to protest, weak though he was. Astrid and Rightfang rushed to his side, helping him up, their concern etched on their faces. Orion’s plea for mercy was unexpected, given the ordeal he had just endured at the jaws of the wolf.

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“No, don’t kill him,” Orion whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with earnestness. Despite his broken and battered state, he was pleading for the life of the beast that had nearly devoured him.

Rightfang was taken aback, unsure of how to react. He began to offer a whispered piece of advice when Alfred interrupted him with a chilling question that hung in the air like a death sentence.

“Why should I not destroy failure?” Alfred’s voice was a sinister cadence that echoed through the courtyard, and his cold gaze bore into Orion. “This is the world you are in now, Orion. Let this be a lesson to you. In this world, failure can equal death. You’ve learned one lesson from me already. I suggest you sit back and learn a second.”

The pressure radiating from Alfred was suffocating, and the wolf, still in a dazed stupor, began to whine in distress. The onlookers, too, felt the weight of the situation, and a sense of terror settled over them. Astrid’s excitement was palpable, her dark eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“It’s not your kill!” Orion protested, his voice strained and desperate. His defiance seemed to snap Alfred out of his bloodlust-induced trance. Alfred turned his unnerving gaze toward Orion, his curiosity evident.

“Pardon, not my kill?” Alfred’s tone was mocking, and his expression held a twisted sense of curiosity. “It is my mutt, after all. If it is not my kill, then who does it belong to?”

“My kill, my fight, my kill, my time,” Orion ranted, his voice growing weaker with each word. He could no longer support his weight, and Rightfang had to bear the burden. But Orion continued to whisper his protest, even as darkness overtook him, and he fainted.

Guards surrounded the unconscious wolf, Borr, who was now sprawled on the ground, still recovering from the impact with the iron-reinforced door. The atmosphere was tense as they debated what to do with the fallen beast.

Alfred, his demeanor uncertain, stood at a distance, his eyes fixed on the scene. His earlier bloodlust had been quelled, and doubt seemed to have crept into his mind. He watched silently as several guards approached the injured wolf, their expressions a mix of caution and apprehension. With deliberate care, they lifted Borr’s massive form and carried him away from the area.

“Clean this up,” Alfred ordered, his voice cold and detached. It was a vague command, leaving the fate of the wounded wolf hanging in the balance. As the guards obeyed, they retreated with Borr, their footsteps fading into the distance.

Alfred turned away from the scene and made his way back to the main mansion hall. His footsteps were measured, and his thoughts were inscrutable as he navigated the grand corridors of the imposing mansion. He moved with a sense of purpose, eventually arriving at a hidden entrance that led to an underground chamber.

The chamber was an enigmatic place, shrouded in secrecy. Its walls were adorned with crimson roses, creating an atmosphere that was both opulent and haunting. However, as Alfred entered, he found that a transformation had taken place.

The once-red room was now bathed in white. White roses adorned the walls, and white sheets covered the furniture, giving the chamber an ethereal and serene quality. Alfred approached a frail and withered elderly woman who lay on a bed at the center of the room.

“Alfred,” the woman said, her voice a mere whisper, her eyes filled with an ageless wisdom that belied her physical frailty.

“My lady, his first test was just concluded,” Alfred replied with a formal bow, his tone respectful.

The woman’s gaze fixed on Alfred, concern etched into her features. “You didn’t let your pups leave him too scarred, did you, Alfred?” Her voice quivered, revealing the depth of her worry.

Alfred moved to a nearby refrigerator and retrieved several bags of blood. “No, he managed to limit himself to only a flayed back before he snatched victory away,” he remarked with a nonchalant air as if discussing a mere game.

“Victory?” the woman inquired, her voice fragile as gossamer.

“Yes, victory and might I also add. Your meal will be prepared as you like it and brought shortly, My lady,” Alfred reassured her, his voice unwavering. He approached her with the bags of blood, connecting one to an IV line and gently feeding it into her neck.

With a surgeon’s precision, Alfred drew a sharp blade across his palm, coaxing a few ruby-red drops of his blood. He watched them fall, like teardrops from an ancient and enigmatic source, into the waiting wine glass. The glass itself seemed to shimmer with anticipation as it accepted this offering, cradling the essence of life within its delicate contours.

Gently, almost reverently, Alfred brought the glass to Lady Agniezka, who sat in a chair adorned with rich tapestries of crimson and gold. Her withered hand trembled as she took the sip, her once-majestic form now frail and delicate. The room, adorned with opulent trappings and bathed in soft candlelight, felt like a haven of secrets and timelessness.

“For an Old Ghoul, your blood has always had a nice kick to it,” Lady Agnieszka commented after savoring a shuddering sip, her voice tinged with a rare satisfaction. Her gaze, though weakened by age, still held a glimmer of curiosity.

Alfred responded to her with a simple, stoic laugh, a brief glimpse of warmth in his otherwise composed demeanor.

As the wine-red liquid flowed through Lady Agniezka’s veins, she couldn’t help but let her thoughts wander back to the events of the evening, her curiosity growing more insistent.

“How did the newborn manage to defeat the wolf, Alfred? Enlighten me,” she inquired, her tone now a blend of intrigue and authority as if drawing from the wisdom of countless centuries.

Alfred, ever the composed servant, replaced the now-drained blood bag with a fresh one. His explanation was both clinical and insightful, his words painting a vivid picture of the night’s events.

“Technically, my lady, he didn’t win,” Alfred began, his voice steady and even. “It was a matter of timing. As the mutt was about to strike, Orion’s ability activated. He fainted while using it, allowing him to technically move out of harm’s way.”

Lady Agnieszka regarded Alfred with an expression that seemed to suggest she knew more than she was letting on, a look of ancient wisdom and perhaps amusement. Her gaze held Alfred’s, and her voice carried the weight of years past.

“So he won, on luck alone, my most expensive pawn?”

Alfred’s response was thoughtful, his eyes hinting at a complexity beyond their years. “Perhaps...”

Lady Agniezka, ever the connoisseur of life’s mysteries, savored another sip from her wine glass, letting the taste linger on her ancient tongue. Her interest was unmistakable, her curiosity piqued.

“You have a different theory, Alfred?” she inquired, her voice like a whisper through the ages.

Alfred met her gaze, his eyes portals to a hidden world. “Only time will tell, my lady. For now, we shall observe our young pawn as he navigates this treacherous world.”

Lady Agniezka’s frail smile hinted at approval as she responded to Alfred’s words. “Train him hard, Alfred. The family games will be starting soon. Our family must participate this year, or we risk appearing weak.”

Alfred nodded solemnly, acknowledging her command with unwavering loyalty. “Of course, my lady. We shall ensure our young pawn is well-prepared for the challenges ahead.”

As Alfred continued to attend to Lady Agniezka’s needs, a call came through that her meal was prepared. With a gentle yet firm touch, he helped her to her feet, guiding her toward a hidden section of the mansion—a sinister place that bespoke of the family’s dark secrets.

The feeding room was a nightmarish spectacle, a chilling tableau of chaos and desperation. Aggressive criminals, both men and women, were corralled within, their faces etched with fear and despair. They bickered and fought amongst themselves, unaware of the impending horror that would befall them.

Slowly, Alfred led the frail Lady Agnieszka into this ominous chamber, a place that resembled more of a holding cell than a room of nourishment. The atmosphere was charged with a palpable dread as the prisoners eyed the newcomers with a mixture of curiosity and terror.

With a sudden and unnatural burst of strength, Lady Agnieszka lunged at the nearest human, her movements a blur of predatory grace. The room descended into madness as her frail form transformed into an embodiment of a vampiric frenzy. Blood-curdling screams echoed as crimson rivers flowed, painting the room with grotesque and gruesome imagery.

Alfred observed the macabre scene with his characteristic stoicism, his gaze revealing no trace of emotion. It was a stark reminder of the true nature of their existence, of the darkness that lay beneath their carefully maintained façade.

As the nightmarish feeding frenzy continued, the horrors within the hidden chamber remained concealed from the world outside, a testament to the lengths the family would go to protect their secrets and maintain their power.

As Orion’s consciousness flickered in and out, he found himself in a disorienting dreamlike state. Muffled sounds and voices surrounded him, but he couldn’t quite grasp his surroundings. Amid his mental haze, a voice broke through the fog, beckoning him.

“Dance with me!”

The voice was teasing, laced with sinister undertones that sent shivers down Orion’s spine. He felt as though he were being pulled into a surreal dance, one he had no choice but to partake in.

“Dance with me.”

With those words, Orion’s consciousness sharpened, and he slowly began to regain control over his senses. His vision remained blurred, but the sounds around him became clearer. The unmistakable hum of medical equipment and the sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air.

Orion realized that he was in a dark room, lying on a cold surface. Panic began to creep in as he tried to piece together what had happened. The memories of the wolf’s pursuit, his collapse, and Alfred’s sinister presence flooded back.

As his vision gradually cleared, he could make out the faint outline of medical instruments and monitors nearby. It became evident that he was in some sort of medical facility, though the purpose of his being there remained a mystery.

Orion’s heart raced in his chest, a wild stallion galloping through the vast, uncharted plains of his fear. He struggled to sit up, his muscles aching as if they had been pushed to their limits. The taste of fear lingered on his lips, like the bitter aftertaste of a nightmare that refused to fade. The voice that had called him to dance still echoed in his mind, haunting and enigmatic, leaving him with an unsettling sense of foreboding.

As his eyes darted around the room, his breath caught in his throat. He was alone, utterly and completely alone. The room itself was bathed in the cold, unforgiving light of day. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting long, eerie shadows that danced across the floor. The room was pristine, almost sterile, with its minimalist decor and neutral color palette. It felt more like a hospital room than a place of comfort.

Orion couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched, that unseen eyes were trained on him from the shadows. It was as if the very walls held secrets, secrets that whispered and murmured in a language he couldn’t understand. His skin prickled with unease, and he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, half-expecting to see someone or something lurking in the corners of the room.

Night had fallen outside, at least from what he could tell by the dimness that had settled beyond the window. The world beyond those curtains felt distant and alien, like a dream that had slipped through his fingers. But as he attempted to shift his weight and explore his surroundings, a sudden blaring alarm shattered the silence.

“Pawn, remain where you are now,” a mechanical voice commanded, its tone devoid of warmth or humanity. It was as if the room itself had come to life to issue an order. The word “pawn” echoed in his mind, a chilling reminder of his vulnerability.

Orion let out a weary sigh as he reclined into the unforgiving embrace of the bed, his eyes shutting against the harsh reality that surrounded him. Every muscle in his body ached as if it had been subjected to a relentless barrage of punishment. The dull throb of pain seemed to emanate from every corner of his being, a constant reminder of the ordeal he had endured.

His body bore the marks of his recent trials. Scratches crisscrossed his chest, souvenirs of the relentless pursuit he had faced. They were raw and painful, like the visible wounds of a soldier returning from a brutal battle.

But the true agony resided elsewhere—on his back. There, a large, grotesque scar marred his skin, a cruel testament to the violence that had been inflicted upon him. It seemed to pulse with pain, a living entity of suffering etched into his flesh.

Orion’s arm and leg throbbed with a deep ache, the bones within feeling like they had been shattered and reassembled in all the wrong ways. Every movement sent searing waves of pain coursing through him. But for all the physical torment, it was the scar on his back that haunted his restless dreams and tortured his waking hours.

Orion’s back bore the unmistakable marks of the ferocious clawing it had endured during his desperate escape. The long, angry scratches etched into his flesh were a painful reminder of the relentless pursuit that had threatened to consume him. These wounds, now visible on his back, were jagged and raw, marring his skin with their fiery redness.

The scratches extended across his back, their lines crossing and intersecting, creating a map of pain and struggle. Each mark told a story of a fierce battle for survival as if the very essence of his being had been etched into his flesh. They were a testament to his unwavering determination and the high price he had paid for his escape.

Despite the excruciating pain that threatened to engulf him, sleep was his only refuge. If he died, so be it. In this shadowy realm of secrets and enigmas, Orion had little choice but to close his eyes and hope that, come the dawn, he would awaken to a world less harsh and unforgiving than the one that had swallowed him whole.