chapter 3 :

Dante, now free of the vampire, walks away from the abandoned church, his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed and impassive, as he enters a busy street that leads to the festival grounds. As he walks, the sounds transform: murmurs become shouts, whispers fade away in favor of vibrant music, echoing through the streets like a heartbeat.

The crowd begins to thicken, pressing around him like a human sea moving to the rhythm of the party. The music is deafening, the bass resonating in the ground, bodies dancing in symbiosis with the euphoric atmosphere. Bright, colorful lights burst from every corner, illuminating smiling faces, extravagant costumes, and food stalls filling the air with a savory smell. 

Dante pauses for a moment in front of the rusty sign where the inscription "The Tomb's Entrance" is engraved in an almost sinister manner. The sign, although covered in artificial cobwebs and other macabre decorations, seems to be a silent warning to the souls who venture there. The contrast between the party in full swing and the dark atmosphere of the forest creates an eerie and heavy feeling.

In front of him, the forest is carpeted with black drapes, red and purple lanterns lighting the narrow paths that go into the darkness. Silhouettes of skulls, skeletons, and other frightening ornaments hang from the branches of the trees, forming a tunnel of macabre decorations. A few tents are visible at the entrance, where the participants gather, laugh and dance, their grotesque costumes blending in with the eerie atmosphere of the place.

Dante smirks, appreciating the irony of the situation. A holiday celebrated amidst symbols of death and darkness, when he knows better than anyone what true darkness is. He slowly walks under the sign, into the forest, his muffled footsteps almost inaudible under the music that resonates behind him. 

Dante sits on a worn wooden bench and surveys the scene around him. He is still, but his keen gaze takes in every detail. The whispers, laughter, and chatter intertwine with the nighttime sounds of the forest—the distant hooting of owls and the fluttering of bats flying overhead. To a normal ear, it would all blend into background noise, but to Dante, each sound is distinct. He hears conversations about relationships, jokes, and even the more serious discussions that escape into the night.

The camp before him is bustling, with young people dressed as supernatural creatures, enjoying the atmosphere, unaware that the darkness around them hides much more than decorations. The party is in full swing, but the underlying tension is palpable to someone like him, accustomed to perceiving what lurks in the shadows.

A slight smirk touches his lips , He listens to the erratic heartbeats, the heavy breathing of the slightly too-drunk party-goers, the hesitant steps of those who dare to venture further into the forest. His attention is fixed for a moment on a particular murmur coming from a group off to the side, their lowered voices discussing something far more serious than the party around them. 

Dante, still motionless on his bench, focuses his attention on the group of young people chatting not far from him. Their conversation, at first innocuous, turns to topics that pique his interest: the full moon, supernatural creatures, and more specifically werewolves and vampires. One of them, a young woman with blond hair, speaks with passion, as if she really believes in these legends. She tells how, in remote villages, people still whisper about apparitions during full moons, creatures hiding in the shadows, ready to spring forth.

Another, a more skeptical man, laughs softly, shaking his head, visibly amused by the idea that supernatural creatures could still exist today. "Vampires and werewolves? They're just good for horror movies. There's no truth to them," he says, a bottle of beer in his hand. Yet despite his casual tone, Dante can hear the uncertainty in his heart, a doubt buried behind the facade of skepticism.

A third, more discreet, speaks in a deep voice: "You're kidding, but there have always been strange stories around this forest. Some people have disappeared, and others... they've seen things. Moving shadows, eyes in the night. Do you think it's all a coincidence?"

Dante smiles slightly. They talk about legendary creatures with the carefree attitude of those who have never encountered one. To them, it's all just a game, a way to add some thrill to an ordinary evening. They discuss monsters and wild beasts, unaware that tonight they are much closer to the truth than they think.

He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers intertwined. A thought crosses his mind: should I give them a direct demonstration?, or kill them right away to confirm the existence of supernatural activity? 

Dante watches the scene with icy calm, his eyes piercing through the agitated crowd. The guy, who has just emerged from the forest, has managed to sow panic. His desperate cries echo in the cool night air, evoking an emergency that leaves no doubt: someone needs help, further away, in the heart of the darkness of the forest. Without hesitation, the group of young people stands up, their naivety evident, and rushes towards this mysterious call for help, driven by a mixture of worry and bravery.

Dante, however, remains motionless on his bench, a smirk on his lips. His refined senses capture much more than what these young people can perceive. The whisper of the wind through the branches, the irregular beating of the hearts around him, and above all, this insidious energy that hovers around the forest. He knows that it is all a decoy, a carefully orchestrated staging. He could stand up and intervene, but he prefers to observe human suffering. For him it is a theatrical spectacle. 

Dante watches the phone screen with an amused look, his eyes quickly scanning the discussions in the chat group called "The Twilight Wolves." The last message, sent barely a minute ago, immediately arouses his interest. "Guys, I got our prey, get ready to eat." He rereads the sentence with a smirk, understanding perfectly what is going on. These naive young people, having rushed to "help" someone in the forest, have just fallen into a trap carefully set by this group of nocturnal predators.

Dante knew that it was a trap orchestrated by supernatural creatures but not that it would have any connection to his research

Dante puts the phone back in his pocket, while running a hand through his long hair, a calm gesture despite the gravity of the situation. "My, my, what a coincidence," he murmurs in a low, mocking voice, as if he finds the situation amusing 

Dante moves slowly, each step measured, as he delves deeper into the darkness of the forest. The darkness that envelops the place would be impenetrable to human eyes, but to him, it is only an illusion. His eyes, gifted with supernatural perception, capture every detail with disconcerting clarity, as if he were walking in broad daylight. Every tree, every twisted branch, every leaf quivering in the light wind is visible in his field of vision, his senses heightened by the atmosphere of the forest.

The heavy silence is broken only by the rustling of nocturnal animals and the crunch of his boots on dead leaves. The air is cold, and the smell of damp earth floats around him, adding to the eerie aura of the forest. His instincts are sharp, like those of a seasoned hunter, able to detect the slightest disturbance in the environment 

Dante stands still, his heightened senses taking in every detail around him. Only a few feet away, the sounds of bone cracking and flesh tearing grow louder. The werewolves' transformation process is underway, every sound reflecting the brutality of the metamorphosis. Their human bodies warp, their bones break and reform, stretching their skin to reveal powerful muscles and claws. 

The piercing screams of humans tear through the darkness, mixing with the bestial howls of the transforming werewolves. Each cry for help is a desperate note in a macabre melody. The voices, full of terror and pleading, echo through the dense forest, desperately searching for a way out of this nightmarish night.

The screams are the echo of pure panic, cries of agony mixed with cries of despair. The captured, dragged from their festive surroundings, are now caught in a whirlwind of primal terror. Their voices rise, pleading for help that does not exist, as the reality of their situation is revealed in all its horror. 

Dante arrives in the blink of an eye, his movements so fast they are imperceptible. The wounded humans lie on the ground, their moans and cries mixed with the sounds of the surrounding forest. Their blood soaks into the earth, and it is obvious that they have been ambushed, their bullet wounds leaving no doubt that they were intended to be incapacitated before being delivered to the monsters' clutches.

Before Dante stands a titanic werewolf, nearly ten feet tall. Its thick fur and imposing muscles are a testament to the raw power it possesses. Its golden eyes glow in the darkness, and drool drips from its massive jaws, ready to tear the flesh of its next victim. Everything about its appearance inspires terror, but Dante, impassive, wears a smirk.

He lets out a dry laugh, amused by the situation, before declaring in a mocking tone:

"How about we have some fun, little dog?" 

The werewolf, caught in a blind rage, tries to strike Dante with his sharp claws. But Dante, with superhuman speed, is already gone. In an instant, he has moved behind the creature without even making a sound, his mocking smile still on his lips. With surgical precision, Dante violently strikes the werewolf's right knee. The cracking of bones echoes in the air as the beast, unable to bear the shock, kneels heavily, roaring in pain.

Dante, without wasting time, follows up with a punch of phenomenal power. The shock is so brutal that the werewolf is thrown several meters, crashing violently against the tree trunks, breaking several branches in its path. The ground shakes under the impact, and the creature lies on the ground, groggy, its massive body crushed by the relentless force of the blow.

Dante, straightening up nonchalantly, runs a hand through his hair, a smirk on his face. He observes the scene with a false nonchalance, his eyes shining with amusement. He lets go, in a sarcastic and falsely sorry tone:

"I mistook you for a frisbee... You send me sorry." 

Suddenly, five pairs of golden eyes burst out of the surrounding darkness, each belonging to a different creature. Some figures reveal themselves as giant wolves, massive and imposing, while others maintain a more human form, but just as menacing. The silence of the forest is broken by the cracking of branches under their feet and the low growls that emanate from their throats. Their presence gives rise to a palpable aura of danger, the ground seeming to vibrate under their weight.

One of the giant wolves, a creature with thick fur and black as night, advances slightly, its fangs gleaming in the moonlight, and cries out in a raspy, growling voice:

"It's rather brave of you to protect these strange humans."

Dante, hands in his pockets and a smirk still plastered on his lips, does not seem perturbed by the growing threat surrounding him. He shrugs slightly before replying in his usual mocking tone:

"Protect?"

He lets out a sarcastic laugh, shaking his head as if it were a ridiculous joke.

"No, I think you're mistaken. All I did was beat the crap out of one of your kind, that's all."

Dante gestures nonchalantly at the werewolf on the ground, still growling in pain, trying to get up. He adds with a hint of defiance, his gaze piercing each of the wolves present:

"And what I see is that none of you have the guts to come and save your mate's honor. Where are your famous pack instincts, huh?" 

The wolves stand frozen, hesitant to move, their instincts screaming at them not to come any closer to Dante. The air is thick with tension, and the growls in their chests fail to mask their confusion. Finally, one of the bolder wolves steps forward a little, frowning as he cries out,

"But what kind of creature are you? I can't sense anything coming from you, not even your soul. You seem like an ordinary person."

His voice is a mix of curiosity and frustration, his golden eyes staring at Dante with an intensity that betrays his disbelief. The other members of the pack look equally puzzled, wondering how someone seemingly powerless can dominate the situation with such ease.

Dante, impassive, slips his hand into his pocket, a smirk still playing on his lips. His eyes fall on the wolves in turn, analyzing them calmly before answering, his voice filled with that typical nonchalance.

"Well, after several millennia of existence, one learns a few things."

His voice is soft but carries a frightening truth, which resonates in the air like a silent threat. The wolves exchange worried glances, sensing that the man before them is not as ordinary as he seems.

"You see, supernatural creatures, like you, can usually detect the true nature of another creature through their senses." He slowly removes his hand from his pocket and points slightly towards the wolves. "But I have learned to hide that nature. To blur your senses, to mask my essence... It becomes a game, in a way."

He pauses for a moment, observing them, savoring their palpable confusion.

"And for your information," he continues, staring them straight in the eye, "I have no soul."

These last words are spoken with a disconcerting coldness, leaving a feeling of icy emptiness spreading in the air. One of the wolves backs away slightly, as if this lack of soul creates an invisible barrier between Dante and them. They do not understand what they have in front of them, an enigma whose darkness seems unfathomable. How to fight a being that does not seem to belong to their world, or even to that of mortals? 

Dante, his smirk still present, spreads his arms as if to make himself heard better, his gaze piercing each of the wolves facing him. Silence reigns, and even the forest seems to hang on his words.

"Even if there were several thousand of you," he says calmly, his voice carrying an indisputable authority, "you will never be able to beat me."

The wolves exchange incredulous glances. Some growl weakly, while one of them, more audacious, stands up slightly, his ears alert.

"How so?" he asks, his voice laden with doubt and distrust.

Dante slowly lowers his arms, but his smile widens, a carnivorous gleam shining in his dark eyes. He takes a few steps forward, closing the distance between him and the wolves even more. His footsteps echo lightly on the ground, as if he were one with the earth he treads. Then, with a theatrical gesture, he opens his arms wide, as if offering himself to the heavens.

"Because," he begins, his tone slipping gently into arrogance, "I'm an alpha compared to you." 

One of the wolves, still incredulous at Dante's intimidating presence, speaks up, trying to comprehend the immensity of the situation. "A wolf, even an alpha, cannot live for millennia. Even a hundred years is almost impossible. You must be a very old vampire." His words are tinged with palpable uncertainty. Dante, his eyes turning a bright red and his heavy growls echoing in the air, smiles slightly before replying, "Good deduction, but you are wrong about one thing. I am a hybrid. Half vampire, half werewolf. Except that I am the apex of both species." The moment he finishes his sentence, an invisible wave of power passes through the air, forcing the other wolves to kneel quickly without any protest, instinctively recognizing their inferiority to the being standing before them.

Dante's eyes flared red, like two hellish embers. At that precise moment, a deep, primal growl, like that of a giant wolf, emanated from him, echoing through the forest. The air seemed to be charged with an oppressive energy, and the wolves surrounding him, proud and fierce as they were, were instantly seized by visceral terror. Their bodies froze, unable to move. Fear was visible in their golden eyes, now dull under Dante's overwhelming aura. None dared to make the slightest movement, as if even breathing became a herculean effort under this dominating presence. Their instincts, however seasoned, betrayed them, forcing them to recognize the overwhelming supremacy of this hybrid being who surpassed them in every way. 

Dante, still wrapped in his menacing aura, declared imperiously: "From now on, you are my pack." The wolves, still petrified by fear, had no choice but to silently acquiesce, lowering their heads in submission. Their will broken, they could no longer challenge the dominance of this monstrous hybrid. But suddenly, a cry rose up among the wounded humans. One of them, his voice trembling with excitement, cried out: "A hybrid? The legendary Dante? He saved us!" His words awakened a surge of hope, and soon, the other humans, unaware of the danger of the situation, began to shout with joy, believing that they had been rescued by a hero.

Dante slowly turned towards them, his scarlet eyes piercing the darkness with a malevolent intensity. His lips curled back to reveal a row of sharp fangs, a grayish and black hue, . His grim expression instantly silenced the cheers of the humans. Their joy turned to terror as they realized their so-called savior was nothing more than a hungry and unpredictable beast. There was a palpable tension in the air. 

Dante, a sick smile stretching his lips, spoke in a suave and devilish voice, an intonation so inhuman that it froze the blood of the few humans still conscious. "Do you really believe that I saved you?" he whispered, his scarlet eyes burning with a predatory light. Silence fell, heavy and oppressive, as the humans understood the magnitude of their mistake. Before they could react, Dante added, with undisguised cruelty, "Go, devour them."

Without hesitation, the pack of werewolves threw themselves on the humans, obeying their new master. The heartbreaking howls of the victims echoed in the night as the creatures tore flesh and bone with unheard-of violence. The massacre was quick, bloody, a true bloodbath. Dante, impassive, sat nonchalantly on a tree branch, dominating the scene with a detached, amused gaze. From up there, he observed the destruction he had orchestrated, his fangs still visible in a carnivorous smile. For him, this scene was only a theater.