The Ghost of the Past

The Rise of the Moon's Chosen

Chapter 18: The Ghost of the Past

Marcos' scream spread through the abyss as darkness swallowed him whole.

Then—silence.

His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths as he stood frozen , gazing at the man before him.

Mongo.

His father. The legendary Alpha of the Blood Wolf Pack. The man who had died protecting the Lunar's Chosen.

Yet here he was—alive, standing tall, with glowing golden eyes.

"This isn't real," Marcos murmured , shaking his head. "You're dead."

Mongo's lips curled into a smirk. "Am I?"

Marcos clenched his fists. This is a trick.

A test. A nightmare. A hallucination.

Something was wrong.

---

The abyss trembled as Mongo took a step forward.

His golden eyes flickered—but for a split second, they flashed red.

Marcos' heart pounded. Red. Like the ones in the forest.

The realization hit him like a thunderclap.

This wasn't his father.

This was something wearing his father's face.

The shadows around them shifted and pulsed, twisting into deformed, writhing forms.

Marcos' instincts screamed at him to run.

But he stood his ground. He needed answers.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

Mongo chuckled. "You already know."

His voice distorted—deepening, twisting—becoming something monstrous.

The shadows exploded outward.

Marcos shielded his eyes, his ears ringing as the darkness howled.

Then—the voice came again.

Cold. Ancient.

"I have been waiting for you, Lunar's Chosen."

The air turned ice cold.

And Marcos finally understood.

This wasn't a nightmare.

This was a message.

---

The darkness drifted , and Mongo's face melted away—revealing something far worse.

A hulking figure emerged from the shadows. Red eyes burning. Black fur like living smoke.

And a presence so powerful, Marcos felt his knees buckle.

Not Fenrir. Something else.

Something… older.

"Who—what are you?" Marcos forced out.

The entity grinned, sharp fangs glinting in the void.

"I am the first."

"The Alpha of Alphas."

"The true king of the werewolves."

The shadows trembled around them, whispering his name.

TENEBRIS.

The Forgotten One.

The first werewolf. The beast who walked before the Moon's blessing.

The creature that even Fenrir feared.

Marcos' breath caught in his throat. No. That's impossible.

Tenebris stepped forward, his massive claws gleaming in the void.

"Your fight with Fenrir was nothing but a game, boy." His voice slithered through the darkness. "The real battle begins now."

The shadows lunged.

Marcos had no time to react.

The darkness swallowed him whole.

Pain.

Cold.

A roaring void of pure nothingness.

Then—

A single whisper in his mind.

"Wake up, Marcos."

His eyes snapped open—back in the real world.

And standing over him, her violet eyes wide with fear—

Was Astrid.