The warmth of his blood seeped over my hands as I kept my eyes tightly shut, clinging to the memories of him as the kind-hearted brother he once was. The weight in my hands grew increasingly heavy to bear. The sizzling sound of his skin filled the air with an unpleasant odor – perhaps the scent of death itself. Or maybe, it was simply the Demon Wolf relinquishing its hold over my brother's body at last.

My hands, numbed by the biting chill of the wind, trembled, no longer able to support the weight of his lifeless body. As I looked at him, his face, now returning to its human form, came into view. It was the face of a man who had dedicated his life to seeking acknowledgment. Ironically, it was only in his final days that the townspeople began to appreciate him, and yet, tragically, he transformed into a harbinger of death, claiming the very souls of the village he cherished the most.

I maneuver the shaft of the spear, letting it move in sync with his body as it gently falls onto the snow beside me. Gasping for breath, a scream erupts from the depths of my heart, a sound raw and unfiltered, releasing my deepest despair. At this moment, my anguish is as real as the cold air that surrounded me.

The rest of his pack retreats, now without a leader, wandering aimlessly toward the northern forest that borders the town. I knelt in front of him, my tears froze instantly as they poured out of my eyes. His blood spilling out of his body, stained the pristine white canvas around him, painting a scene that is as poetic as it was tragic.

⊱─━━━━⊱༻●༺⊰━━━━─⊰

Rising from my chair, I felt a sense of satisfaction with the conclusion of Lysander's tale. Peeling off my coat, I tossed it onto the table, the heat radiating from my body making me feel uncomfortably warm.

"So that's how it ends then? Murdering your own brother?... Big deal."

His comment grated on my nerves, but I met his eyes steadily. "I killed the Demon Wolf, not my brother. I provided him with an escape from his torment."

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

William gets up from the table, evidently preparing to depart as the storm outside abated, allowing the beams of the full moon to pierce through the aged glass of the windows.

"Well, that was a garbage story. But it kept us entertained, eh?"

The laughter from William's men at his comment is something I don't take lightly. With a deliberate gaze, I look over at Phillip and give him a subtle nod, a silent signal understood only between us.

"Thanks for the entertainment, old man. But next time you stick your nose into my business, I'll make sure it's your last."

However, their exit is abruptly halted as multiple bars suddenly lock the entrance door shut. Startled, William and his group spin around, their expressions shifting from amusement to confusion, trying to make sense of the unexpected turn of events.

"Is this some kind of joke?"

William walks closer to me. His eyes, now sharpened with curiosity, fixated on the scar on my shoulder.

"What's the story with that scar on your shoulder, old man?"

A vivid memory of that day replayed vividly in my mind, right at the moment I had taken my brother's life. I stayed in my position, gently removing the spear from Lysander's chest. Suddenly, I noticed a faint, cold breath escaping from his nose. Curiosity drew me closer, and in an instant, Lysander's eyes snapped open, blazing with the fiery red of the Demon Wolf's hatred. He lunged at me, pinning my hands to the ground as he bit deeply into my flesh. His body, weakened by the fatal wound from the spear in his heart, finally gave in. The encounter left a lasting imprint on my life, a scar I carry to this day – the mark of the Demon Wolf.

The transformation within me is silent and undeniable. I feel my fangs elongating, a primal change coursing through my body as my bones shift quietly beneath my skin. An uncontrollable drool escapes my mouth as I gaze upon what now appears to me as easy prey.

As William observed the bite mark left by my brother, his steps began to retreat backward cautiously.

"I think we can reach some sort of understanding, right?" William says, his eyes intently observing the transformation of my hands.

The group, gripped by panic, rushed towards the entrance door. They pounded their fists against the wooden door, their voices loud and desperate, calling for help. The sound of their fear-soaked cries and the noticeable anguish in their voices stirred something within me, feeding the beast that was now awakening inside.

Phillip stands beside me, contemplating the group of men, begging for their lives. His fingers elongated, his eyes turning into a deep red hue.

"Are you going to kill them all?"

"No. Just the asshole with the sword. The rest will be turned."

⊱─━━━━⊱༻●༺⊰━━━━─⊰ The End ⊱─━━━━⊱༻●༺⊰━━━━─⊰