Gravewell burned.
The Hollow Pack struck at midnight.
All over the city, containment sirens wailed—a high-pitched shriek that screamed of too-late warnings and too-slow reactions. Downtown, bodies littered the street like torn pages from a horror novel. Hollow wolves—ferals bred from the blood plague—swarmed the eastern quadrant. Civilians barely had time to run before they were devoured.
This wasn't a strike. It was a purge.
And Salem Rayne was already soaked in blood.
He and Mara sprinted through the decaying subways, the tunnels lit only by flickering witchfire Mara conjured in her palm. Her breaths came in sharp bursts, her side bleeding from a claw gash that sizzled with cursed silver.
They had just come from Sector 9, where five Hollow wolves had ambushed a refugee group. Salem had left the last one hanging by its spine from a meat hook.
But the worst was still ahead.
According to Kellan's datachip, the Hollow Pack's den wasn't some back-alley dive—it was beneath the Obsidian Cathedral, an old church twisted into a sanctum of supernatural corruption. Rumors said it used to be a safehouse for runaway wolves… until something ancient was unearthed beneath it.
They reached the entrance—half-collapsed stairs leading into a gaping abyss. Blood trailed down. Bones littered the edges.
Mara gripped Salem's arm. "You sure you're not too far gone?"
Salem's golden eyes flickered dangerously. "If I was, you'd already be dead."
She smirked, pain in her eyes. "Still charming."
He touched her cheek for half a second. "Stay behind me."
They descended.
Inside the cathedral, ritual candles lit the massive nave in an unholy red. Corpses—half-eaten, crucified, or dissected—were nailed to pews and hung from chandeliers. Growls echoed off the stone, vibrating through the marrow.
Then, from the shadows, he emerged.
The Alpha of the Hollow Pack.
"Father Caine." A towering werewolf in ceremonial bone-plate armor, fur black as void, his eyes bleeding red tears. His body was covered in flesh-runes, glowing with dark energy. Behind him, dozens of ferals hissed, claws clicking like knives on stone.
"You came, Salem Rayne," he said, voice like oil on fire. "The prodigal mongrel returns."
Salem didn't speak. He just stepped forward, teeth bared.
"You rejected the old ways," Caine continued, stepping down the altar. "But you are Moonbitten. You are one of us."
"You're an abomination," Salem said flatly. "You used the blood of children to breed your pack."
"I gave the forgotten purpose!" Caine roared. "The humans hunted us! The Enforcers butchered our pups! I gave them vengeance!"
Salem's claws slid out with a slow, wet sound. "You gave them madness."
Then he charged.
The cathedral exploded in chaos.
Salem hit the front line like a war god. His claws punched through skulls. He suplexed a feral into the stone floor so hard it shattered. Another tried to leap—Salem caught its throat midair and tore it out with his teeth. Blood sprayed across the stained glass as the creature collapsed, twitching.
Mara behind him cast defensive spells—one feral leapt, but a wall of thorns shredded it mid-air. She screamed in agony as her wound flared, but she kept casting, throwing bolts of witchlight that disintegrated two more attackers.
Then Caine entered the fray.
He slammed into Salem with the force of a wrecking ball, sending both of them flying through the pulpit. Stone exploded. Salem rolled and flipped up, just in time to dodge a claw swipe that cut an iron beam in half.
They collided again—blades of bone and claw ringing off each other like steel. Salem ducked under a spinning backhand and drove both claws into Caine's gut.
Caine laughed and headbutted him. Salem's nose shattered.
"You think you're a savior?" the Alpha snarled, wrapping his arms around Salem and lifting him. "You're just like me. You love the blood. You crave the break."
He slammed Salem through the altar, shattering it into gravel.
Salem lay still for a moment.
Then... his eyes snapped open.
He roared—and let go.
His transformation completed—not a loss of control, but a terrifying embrace of it. His body became a silver-furred titan, veins glowing faintly. He cracked his neck once.
Then he rose.
Caine looked shocked for the first time.
"You shouldn't be able to—"
Salem didn't let him finish.
The fight turned.
Now Salem was the one throwing Caine through columns. He tore into the Alpha with relentless precision. Claw, bite, rip, repeat. Bones cracked. Limbs bent wrong. Blood painted the cathedral red.
Caine fought back with rage, but his blows grew slower. Salem's didn't.
He pinned the Alpha to the ground and began pummeling him—over and over—until the stone below cracked under the force.
Caine's jaw shattered. His eye burst. He tried to mutter something.
Salem roared and raised his claws for the killing blow—
"Salem!"
Mara's voice cut through the haze.
He turned—blood-soaked, panting, on the edge of feral.
She limped forward, face streaked in ash and tears. She reached him. Slowly. Carefully.
And she placed both hands on his face.
"Come back," she whispered. "You're not him."
Her lips pressed to his—soft, firm, real.
And the monster inside stilled.
When they pulled apart, Caine's body was gone. Vanished.
So were the rest.
Not a trace of the Hollow Pack remained.
Only the blood.
Outside, the sun broke over Gravewell for the first time in days.
Salem sat on the cathedral steps, bandaged, silent. Mara sat beside him, her head on his shoulder.
He finally spoke.
"What now?"
She smiled faintly. "We survive. We rebuild."
"Together?"
She took his hand.
"Yeah. Together."