In that split second, a rifle barked. The fragile truce shattered by a harsh punctuation that sent shock waves through both the human and werewolf ranks.

The soldier, his finger brushing against the trigger in nervous tension, had unwittingly discharged his rifle. The bullet, a tiny messenger of chaos, found its mark in the neck of a feral werewolf. A hollow groan filled the air as the creature crumpled to the ground, blood staining the asphalt. The gunshot shattered though bone and marrow. His face drained of color.

The world seemed to freeze for an instant. Antonio’s eyes flared, a mix of anger and sorrow. The werewolves, recoiling from the unexpected violence, bared their teeth, and a low, rumbling growl swept through the pack. Tension coiled tighter than a braided rope, the air thick with the scent of fresh blood and gun fire.

Antonio’s gaze shifted to the soldier who stood frozen, a realization dawning in his eyes. The moment was pregnant with consequence, the fragile truce now hanging by a thread. His muscles bunched, his jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed, yet he remained rooted in the spot. He didn’t roar, didn’t lash out. Instead, he stood rooted, a silent mountain amidst the tremors of his pack’s outrage.

“The world has always been filled with monsters,” Antonio’s voice cut through the charged air, each word measured. “It has never changed. We offered you a chance, a choice, and you’ve made yours.” Low, rumbling growls released a barely retrained rage. He raised a hand, not in fear, but in quiet authority over the enraged werewolf forces. The gesture is as sharp as a blade. His gaze, hot and unwavering, swept across the pack, silencing their growls. They flinched, their fury tempered by his silent command. The alpha’s will held them tethered to the precipice of violence.

Tensions escalated as the werewolves, fueled by a mix of anger and sorrow, paused mid-stride, their muscles coiled, paws poised to pounce. Once poised for retreat, now pivoted, their eyes blazing with anger. They only needed a target.

The soldier, frozen in horror at his unintended act, stared into the abyss of consequences. His mistake cracked the tension. Grappling with the weight of his unintended action, he stared at the fallen feral—a casualty in a war that seemed destined to persist. A fractured moment frozen in amber and honey. His hands trembled, his eyes widened in terror at what he inadvertently did. His jaw slackened in disbelief at his own actions.

“The world has changed,” Antonio’s voice carried the weight of the moment. “You can feel it. Smell it. See it. We were willing to offer you a choice, a chance for coexistence. But every choice has its price.” The soldier met Antonio's gaze. It was a silent dialogue, a desperate plea for understanding reflected in his widening pupils. Antonio held his stare, the weight of the moment pressing down on them both.

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Seconds stretched into eternity, the city holding its breath. Then, slowly, Antonio turned away.

Candace, Nia, Supatra, Jason, Lángrén, and Marisol bled out every emotion. Their thoughts tumbled like an avalanche. Sadness. Anger. Disappointment as the dissonant echo reverberating through the landscape.

Antonio, the Alpha, stood at the epicenter, his gaze fixed on the fallen feral werewolf. His eyes betrayed no hint of anger or retaliation.

Lángrén could not sew the swollen air with the hammered sound. Her family was now in true jeopardy, despite Antonio's olive branch to the humans. He promised a bloody nose. The bullet promised a genocide. She couldn't take her eyes off the fallen werewolf's blood staining the concrete. The crimson liquid looked like water laced with electricity, making every breath feel amplified.

Candace caught the swirling in her husband's eyes. His eyes flared with a silent intensity. Wherever his look landed, there was a prickle on the skin, deep in the blood, as if his nails scratched with the softest of touches. But this time, that feeling was hot razors against butter-coated paper. Chills rolled down her spin as she worried about the potential of his unleashed fury.

The ferals. The werewolves. Their instincts crying... demanding retribution in a collective rage. Bristling fur and teeth bared, awaited his command. Furious zealots yanked on the invisible chain that restrained them. Against their nature, they held their ground.

A low growl rumbled through the pack as Antonio, against the tide of their collective rage, raised a hand in a gesture of restraint. All the werewolves watched his raised hand.

His gaze held each werewolf captive.

Those who rebelled were swiftly cowed by Antonio's searing look. Submitting to his unspoken order. His authority held fast. Then, slowly, Antonio turned away.

Slowly, reluctantly, the werewolves complied with his command. Muscles tensed, feral eyes flickering with resentment and obedience, they began to disperse into the shadows.

Antonio’s calm presence amidst the mounting tension lent an air of suspense to the scene, as if the atmosphere awaited the unleashing of primal forces. The city, now a silent witness to an unexpected reprieve, stood at the intersection of violence and mercy. The werewolves reluctantly yielded to Antonio’s tempered leadership. The brink of carnage was averted. He had chosen restraint, not out of weakness, but from a strength born of millennia.

Each movement was measured, the snarls subdued but audible, a chorus of resentment at perceived injustice. The air crackled with suspense as Antonio, the harbinger of a new era, held his ground in the face of provocation. The humans, frozen in a tableau of disbelief, watched as the werewolves, angered but obedient, retreated into the shadows. The city and its inhabitants had been broken.

One by one, the seven began to disperse. Falling out along with the beastly forces. Marisol, then Jason and Supatra. A moment after Lángrén and Nia. Candace waited three heartbeats before she too obeyed her king, her husband.

Antonio turned, his eyes reflecting the smoldering cityscape. His silhouette carved from storm clouds followed his forces. One by one, the werewolves melted into the shadows, their retreat a ripple of frustration that echoed through the concrete canyons. All that remained was the soldier, frozen in the tableau of his own impulsive act, and the acrid tang of gunpowder clinging to the air.

Then it all went to shit.