Chapter 1: Medical Malpractice Planting

The hospital reeked of antiseptic and wolf aristocracy. Emily clenched her fists as silk-robed nobles sneered. "Look at the human roach," one laughed, hurling a rotten pomegranate that exploded against her chest. Crimson pulp dripped down her scrubs like cheap wine.

The Wolf King's convulsions cracked marble floors. Emily's sleeve brushed a shattered vial—*Project Lazarus: Gene Fusion Trial γ-12*. Icy blue liquid seeped into her skin, spreading black veins.

"Nurse! The Wolf King is going down! We need you to crash him—NOW!" A nurse's frantic voice cut through the tense air. Her words were rushed, barely comprehensible in her panic.

Emily's heart skipped a beat. Her body froze as the reality of the situation hit her like a freight train. She didn't even have time to process before adrenaline surged through her, pushing her into action. Her legs felt heavy, like lead, but she forced them to move, running down the sterile corridor as if her life depended on it. Her breath came in short bursts, the sound of her sneakers slapping against the cold tiles echoing in the empty hall.

When she burst into the emergency room, her breath caught in her throat. There, lying on the bed, was Rahn—the Wolf King. The man who was known for his strength, his ruthlessness, now reduced to a vulnerable, almost pitiful figure. His muscular frame, usually so imposing, was limp and twisted in pain. His normally confident, predatory gaze was clouded by delirium. His face was a deathly shade of gray, slick with sweat. Every shallow breath he took seemed like it could be his last.

The smell of antiseptic mixed with something darker—something foul that seemed to seep into the very air. Emily's pulse quickened as she rushed to his side, her hands trembling as she grabbed for the nearest medical instruments. Her fingers were slippery with sweat, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. The room was suffocating, and it felt like time had stopped.

"Emily! What the hell are you doing? Get your ass over here and save him!" A senior doctor barked at her, his voice tight with panic. His hands were moving swiftly, but nothing he did seemed to help. His face was pale, sweat beading on his brow, and his eyes were wild with fear.

Emily's chest constricted. She looked down at Rahn, and for a moment, she didn't know what to do. His pulse was weak, barely there, and the medication they administered seemed to have no effect at all. His body was burning with fever, his skin slick with sweat. But it wasn't the fever that had her worried—it was the way his body was reacting. His muscles were seizing, spasming in violent tremors, as though some dark force was trying to rip him apart from the inside.

"Why the hell... why isn't this working?" Her voice cracked, barely a whisper. She shot a panicked look at the doctor beside her. "Did we screw up the diagnosis?"

"I... I don't know." The doctor's voice was shaky, and he wiped his forehead with a trembling hand. "The Wolf King's body is different. This could be some kind of specialized toxin, something we can't even begin to identify."

As Emily frantically administered the antidote, she noticed something strange. Rahn's pupils were changing. His once dark brown eyes were turning a sickly gold, his irises shifting until they resembled the eyes of a predator. His pupils dilated, becoming thin vertical slits, like a wolf's eyes under a full moon. His breath came in shallow, jagged gasps, and his chest heaved as though it was too much effort just to breathe.

Just as the atmosphere in the room became unbearable, Emily's gaze flickered to Rahn's face. His barely-opened eyes locked onto hers. A cold, feral gleam flickered within them. Then, without warning, he shot out his hand, gripping her wrist with terrifying force. His fingers felt like iron, crushing her in a vice-like grip.

"You... poisoned me, didn't you?" His voice was rough, hoarse, and dripping with venom, each word laced with dark suspicion.

"Poisonous filth!" The elder's slap split her lip. Rahn gripped her wrist, golden eyes narrowing at the spreading black veins. "You stink of Lazarus."

The room around them seemed to hold its breath, the silence thick and suffocating. No one seemed to hear her protests. The doctors and nurses continued to move around her, packing up equipment as if she wasn't even there, as though they had already decided her fate. The room began to spin, the walls closing in on her.

One of the doctors—a tall, sharp-featured man with a cold sneer—stepped forward, his voice sharp as a knife. "So, you're the one who did it, huh?" he spat, his words laced with disdain.

The harshness of his tone made Emily flinch. She tried again to pull away, her voice trembling with desperation. "I swear, I didn't poison him! Please, you have to believe me!"

But Rahn's eyes—those golden, animalistic eyes—never left her. The muscles in his body contracted, the tension radiating from him like a coiled spring. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, and the light overhead flickered ominously. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest, and Emily's skin crawled at the sound. It was a growl filled with hunger—filled with rage.

Rahn's lips curled into a cruel smile, his fangs glinting in the pale light. "Don't play dumb with me. You did this on purpose." His voice dropped to a low, menacing growl. "You think you can poison me and get away with it?"

A chill washed over Emily's entire body. Her stomach lurched, and the blood drained from her face. Was she really being framed for something she didn't do? The room seemed to close in around her, the walls growing tighter, the air growing colder with every passing second.

The door suddenly burst open again, and several figures in dark, uniformed robes stormed in. They were elders of the Wolf King's clan—his most loyal followers. Their eyes were hard and unfeeling as they turned toward her, their judgment already sealed.

"King Rahn," one of them said, his voice low and final. "We've confirmed it. She poisoned him."

Emily's breath caught in her throat, and her legs buckled beneath her. She collapsed to the floor, her vision blurring as the ground seemed to shift under her. She could feel the weight of the accusation crushing her, suffocating her. How could they do this to her? She didn't even get a chance to explain herself. The decision had already been made.

The moonlight outside the window, once soft and silver, had changed. It was now tinged with an unnatural red glow, casting an eerie, blood-like light over everything in the room. It felt like the very air itself was charged, as if the walls were pulsing with the dark energy of the situation. Every object in the room—every beeping monitor, every syringe, every instrument—seemed to tremble under the intensity of Rahn's pain, as though they too were affected by the poison.

Then, with a sharp crack, a glass vial shattered on the counter. The sound was deafening, like a gunshot ringing out in the silent room. The fragments scattered across the floor, the sharp shards glinting in the eerie light. Emily jumped, her heart racing in her chest, her breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps.

Rahn's eyes—those wolf-like eyes—snapped back to her, full of fury and disdain. His muscles tensed, his entire body shaking with a mixture of pain and rage. He looked like a man on the edge, like he was about to snap and tear everything around him apart.

"You'll regret crossing me," one of the elders sneered, his eyes boring into her with an intensity that made her skin crawl.

"Shut up!" Emily screamed, her voice raw and desperate. "I didn't do anything! You've got it all wrong!"

But her words were lost in the thick, suffocating air of the room. Rahn's growl grew louder, his entire body vibrating with anger, and Emily knew—deep down—that whatever happened next would be beyond her control.

The room felt like it was spinning out of control, the air thick with tension, and the energy crackling like a live wire. Every breath Emily took seemed to grow heavier, each heartbeat thudding louder in her ears. The walls seemed to close in on her, the faint hum of the fluorescent lights now deafening. It was as if the very atmosphere was alive, pulsing with an invisible force.

Then, just before Emily could make another move, something strange happened. Her hand—still tightly gripped in Rahn's unyielding iron-like hold—began to feel... lighter. The sensation was so surreal, so unnerving, that she couldn't immediately grasp what was happening. Her fingers tingled, as if they were losing their connection to her own body. The pressure on her wrist loosened for a split second, and in that moment, her mind went blank. She glanced down in confusion, trying to make sense of the sudden shift, but her vision blurred before she could process anything.

Was the room... getting darker? The lights flickered again, but it wasn't the usual malfunctioning—this was something different. The air grew colder, heavier, as though some unseen force was draining the very warmth from the space around her. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the walls, pooling like ink, as if they were alive and hungry.

A sudden, horrific realization struck her with the force of a thousand volts. The brand pulsed, draining poison into its core. Through blurred vision, she saw an elder's pendant—three claws matching the vial's symbol. 

The mark whispered: "You are the experiment."

Her stomach lurched, panic flooding her senses. She could feel the blood in her veins thickening, sluggish. It was as though the very core of her being was being siphoned off by something invisible, something ancient. Her throat tightened, every part of her body screaming for escape, but there was no way out—no way to stop it.

The mark, glowing faintly now, pulsed in rhythm with her weakening heartbeat, a sinister, malicious reminder that she was no longer in control of her own fate.