Kenneth sat across from Max in the dimly lit living room of the old ancestral home. The air was thick with unspoken tension, both of them staring at each other, waiting for one of them to break the silence. Frank sat nearby, arms crossed, his expression wary as he watched the exchange unfold.
Finally, Kenneth spoke. "So… what happens now?"
Max leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I rebuild," he said simply. "I lost my pack years ago. If I don't start one again, I'll be just as vulnerable as you are."
Kenneth frowned. "You mean you're looking for other werewolves?"
Max shook his head. "Not just werewolves. Humans too."
Kenneth tensed. "You mean turning people?"
Max nodded. "It's the only way to grow a pack fast enough to survive. And before you say anything, I don't do it lightly. Turning someone means taking responsibility for them. It means giving them a purpose."
Kenneth looked away, his jaw tightening. "That's not something I can do."
Max raised an eyebrow. "You don't have to turn anyone, Kenneth. I'm offering you a place in my pack. A chance to be protected. To belong."
Kenneth shook his head. "I don't want a pack. I just want my life back."
Max scoffed. "You think you can just go back to being normal? Wake up, kid. That life is over."
Kenneth's hands curled into fists. "You don't get to decide that for me."
Max exhaled sharply, frustration evident on his face. "I'm trying to help you, but you're too stubborn to see it."
Before Kenneth could snap back, Frank stood up, stepping between them. "Alright, that's enough." He turned to Kenneth. "Come on, let's go."
Kenneth hesitated before nodding. Without another word, he followed Frank out of the house, leaving Max sitting alone in the dark.
Back at Kenneth's house, the two sat in his small bedroom, the weight of their new reality pressing down on them.
Frank was the first to speak. "You know he's right."
Kenneth shot him a look. "Not you too."
"I'm not saying you need to join a pack," Frank said quickly. "But you do need to get stronger. If Max is right, and people are coming after you, then sitting around hoping for a normal life isn't gonna cut it."
Kenneth exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "So what? I just train like some kind of superhero?"
Frank smirked. "No. Like an apex predator."
Kenneth stared at him, and despite everything, a small chuckle escaped his lips. "You're enjoying this too much."
Frank shrugged. "Maybe a little. But seriously, we need to figure out how to make you stronger."
Kenneth thought for a moment before nodding. "Fine. Where do we start?"
Over the next few weeks, Kenneth pushed himself harder than ever before. He started with weightlifting, testing the limits of his new strength. What would have been impossible for a normal human—lifting twice his body weight—felt strangely manageable. By the second day, he had doubled that amount. By the fifth day, he was bench-pressing nearly half a ton without breaking a sweat.
Frank watched in awe as Kenneth continued to push beyond human capabilities. "Dude, you're lifting more than professional athletes right now."
Kenneth set the weights down, wiping sweat from his forehead. "And I don't even feel sore."
"Good," Frank said. "Then we move to endurance next."
Kenneth ran—longer and faster than he ever had before. His legs never burned, his breath never faltered. At first, he ran through the city streets at night, avoiding people. Then he moved to the woods, sprinting through the trees like a shadow. He trained in reflexes, speed, and control, testing how far he could push his body without losing himself to the animal instincts lurking beneath the surface.
One evening, he realized he had been running for three straight hours without feeling even the slightest fatigue. He came to a sudden stop, staring down at his hands. His pulse was steady, his breath even. He had transcended normal limits. But something inside him still felt off.
Despite his progress, he wasn't in control. There was a wildness in him, something clawing to break free. And he knew it was only a matter of time before it did.
Frank noticed it too. One evening, after an intense training session, he hesitated before speaking. "Kenneth… have you noticed anything strange? Like… urges?"
Kenneth looked up, breathing heavily. "What do you mean?"
Frank scratched the back of his head. "I mean… do you ever feel like you're about to lose control?"
Kenneth hesitated. "Yeah. All the time."
Frank exhaled. "Then we need a way to keep that in check before it becomes a problem."
Meanwhile, across town, Max moved through the dimly lit streets with a quiet purpose. He had spent the last decade surviving on his own, but that time was over. If Kenneth refused his offer, then he needed to find someone else—someone strong enough to join him, someone willing to embrace this life.
Then, he felt it.
A shift in the air. The scent of something wrong.
Max turned quickly, his instincts sharpening. He wasn't alone anymore. Figures emerged from the shadows, their movements too precise, too fast for ordinary humans. His eyes flashed blue—the unmistakable glow of an alpha sensing a threat.
The first attacker lunged. Max sidestepped effortlessly, grabbing the man's wrist mid-air and twisting it with brutal efficiency. A sickening crack echoed in the alley as the man howled in pain, dropping his blade. Max didn't stop. He spun and drove his elbow into the attacker's jaw, sending him sprawling into the brick wall behind them.
"Cute," Max muttered, flexing his fingers. "But you're gonna need more than that."
A second attacker rushed him, this one faster. Max barely dodged a silver dagger aimed at his ribs. He pivoted low, sweeping the attacker's legs from under him. The man hit the pavement hard, but before Max could follow up, two more figures closed in.
One came from behind, a heavy chain whipping toward him. Max ducked, his body moving with supernatural agility. He twisted mid-air, catching the chain before it could wrap around his neck. With a snarl, he yanked hard, pulling his attacker off balance. He landed a devastating knee to the man's gut, knocking the air from his lungs.
A sharp pain flared across Max's arm—a blade had grazed him. He growled, his muscles rippling as the wolf inside him stirred. His nails extended slightly, his breathing quickened. The attackers hesitated for a fraction of a second, sensing the shift.
"Cocky for a mutt," the sword-wielding figure sneered, though his stance betrayed caution.
Max smirked, rolling his shoulders. "Cocky? No. I just know how this ends."
He moved like a blur, closing the distance before the man could react. A powerful kick sent the sword flying from his grip. Max caught him by the collar and threw him, sending him crashing through a stack of wooden crates.
Another enemy came at him with brass knuckles. Max caught the punch with one hand, gripping the man's wrist so hard the bones cracked. The man screamed, but Max wasn't done. He twisted, sending the attacker flipping through the air before slamming him into the concrete.
Max's breath came out ragged, his pupils blown wide, the feral energy thrumming through him. He could feel his wolf side pushing forward, urging him to shift, to rip these enemies apart. His fingers twitched, his nails lengthening into claws for a brief moment before he forced them back.
But then—pain.
A sharp, searing burn tore through his shoulder. The unmistakable sting of silver. Max staggered, his body locking up as agony flooded his veins. His vision wavered, his limbs heavy. He had let his guard down for just a moment—enough for them to shoot him.
"Woah, that was tough," one of the masked men muttered, adjusting the brass knuckles on his hand.
"Of course he was tough, idiot," the sword-wielding attacker growled, clutching his ribs. "The guy is an alpha."
Max tried to push through the pain, but the silver was already doing its work, weakening him. He fell to his knees, panting, his vision flickering between human and wolf. The figures closed in, victorious.
"This is going to be easier than I thought," one of them said with a smirk, raising another silver blade.
Max let out a guttural growl, but his body refused to move. His muscles trembled as the poison from the silver pulsed through his bloodstream. He fought against it, but it was like trying to lift a mountain with broken limbs. His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision blurring, the streetlights above becoming nothing but hazy glows.
One of the masked figures knelt beside him, pulling out a vial filled with a thick, silver liquid. "You alphas think you're invincible." He chuckled darkly. "You're not."
Max bared his teeth in defiance, but his limbs betrayed him. The figure pulled a syringe from his belt and plunged it into Max's neck. A fresh wave of agony crashed over him, his veins burning as though liquid fire had been injected into him. He let out a strangled growl before his body gave in completely.
His vision darkened. The last thing he heard was a voice—low, amused.
"Take him."
Then, silence.
Back at Kenneth's house, he sat on his bed, exhausted but restless. He could feel something in his gut—an unease, a warning. He didn't know why, but suddenly, Max's words from earlier echoed in his mind.
You won't be alone for long.
Kenneth had no idea how right Max was. Because at that very moment, the war had already begun.