CHAPTER 2: THE ROGUE IN THE SHADOWS

It's been 10 years since the brutal destruction of my pack. For those past 10 years, my life has been a model of suffering—a living nightmare I can't escape. I'm now an adult, living as a rogue with grey morals.

If I've learned anything throughout these years, it's the fact that I needed to get stronger. I'm weak, huh? I'll slap that stupid smirk off your old face. I'll rip off your jaws and feed your brain to the swines and fishes.

My heart had turned cold, neglecting the joy of life. It was a revenge arc; nothing was getting in my way. I left my black, luscious hair down as I came out of the brook.

I need to get stronger—for Mom.

An innocent smile blossomed on my face but was immediately killed the moment I remembered and mentioned his name. Thorn.

And that bastard of a beta. I won't stop at killing you. I'll take your entire pack too. I grinned in a dour manner.

Count your days.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

I dressed up and continued my wandering. A rogue has no home—just kill, live, and keep trying your best to survive.

I was obsessed with getting the job done.

I entered a neighboring wolf town known as the Moonshard Pack, celebrated for its beautiful aesthetics, artistry, and charm. But I wasn't here for any of that. The main reason I was here was their traditional fighting festival.

I planned on participating because I needed the prize money. A rogue needs money too. Let's sign up and see how far I've come. The prize money was an illusion I'd created in my mind. I was obviously in it to see how far and how strong I'd become over the years.

At 22, I was in my peak. I should be unstoppable.

I'm unstoppable, I thought, cracking my fingers.

"Hey, look! It's that hybrid! I thought it was a myth. Wow, it's actually real!"

"Bro, don't point! He'll see us!"

"Come on, Jason. Don't tell me you're scared of that half-wolf, half-cretin!"

I could feel their eyes scanning my frame, taking in my six-foot-plus height. "It's quite huge... maybe 6'6," Jackson described.

I interrupted their discussion with my intentional approach. "Any of you know where to sign up? I'm walking away with the cash prize," I questioned.

Jason butted in. "Oh, shush! You think you're a whiz, huh? You ain't making it past the first round!"

"Look!" he said, pointing at a middle-aged woman. "Register and grant me the chance to watch a half-wolf, half-cretin like you lose as you howl in disgrace," he sneered in disgust. "Am I right, Jackson?"

"Jackson, come on, big bro. Don't bail now!"

"Let's see," Jackson said gently, his voice balancing between concern and apathy.

"I hope you two will be participating!" I snickered, my deep, gravelly voice intimidating them.

Of course, you— I don't really know you, and yet I thoroughly revile you," Jason shot back like a catapult.

"Good," I replied, tilting my head backward.

I headed to the woman and paid the registration fee.

"The fight is in two days' time. Prepare, young one," she said, her face gleaming in a mixture of concern, affection, and wisdom.

"Don't tell me what to do, Missy," I frowned, replying arrogantly.

I left the markets for the woods. As usual, the discrimination continued as eyes trailed my body.

"Hey, look, that's the rumored wolf hybrid guy. He's quite charming, I must say. Those eyes are dreamy!"

For once, it wasn't just resentment and discrimination but a mixture of both with a little touch of compliment.

The whispers were frankly annoying as I burst out in frustration. "So what?! I'm a hybrid, and I could possibly—and probably—destroy this whole pack if I wanted to. I'm not weak!"

I let out a loud grunt as I tugged my long black cape, signaling my exit.

"He talks big for a hybrid," they scoffed.

"Let's see if he can beat Alpha Cranel."

"Yes, let's see."

I ignored their remarks as the murmurs fell on deaf ears. My confidence was boundless for a 22-year-old.

I headed to the mountains to meditate, using the caves as my hideout until the awaited day finally came.

It was time. I headed down to the lake and rinsed my face, my hair coiling onto my scalp during the process, making it difficult to untangle. After a few struggles, I left it. Who am I trying to look good for, anyway? I scoffed to myself.

"Let's kick some wolves to the grave," I muttered.

"Dude, I can't wait for the tournament to begin."

"Me neither," another passerby said. The chatter grew louder as the scuttlebutt spread through the crowd.

"The hybrid."

That tag infuriated me.

Upon reaching the stage, I realized I was late. The winner of the first bout had already been declared. A tall, lean, muscular werewolf stood above his defeated opponent, his dark red eyes reminding me of him.

"Hey, you! Face me if you dare!" I yelled.

"Wow, such arrogance. Or is it bravery?" he questioned with a raised brow.

"Ahhh, let's find out. Get in here, now!" he growled, drooling like an animal ready to pounce.

I was interrupted by a dwarven wolfkind, probably the moderator. "The rules are simple. You can't kill your opponent; you can only make them unconscious or get them to submit. Is that clear?" he questioned, somewhat angrily.

I wore an evil simper on my face that screamed without me moving my mouth: I'll try not to kill him.

The dwarf's eyes widened as he muttered, "F-I-G-H-T!"

I entered the battleground with the confidence of a hundred gladiators.

"Go on, transform. Show me your werewolf state. Let's see you in action," my opponent goaded, the air thick with tension as a challenging smirk danced on his lips.

"I can't transform, buddy," I answered casually.

The roar of surprise from the crowd—and even my opponent—crashed over me like a tidal wave, a deafening testament to their shock. Faces contorted with disbelief as though they had heard an earth-shattering secret.

My opponent broke the stunned silence, yelling, "How disgraceful! You should just die. How pathetic could one be? How dare you even challenge me with such misfortune?"

He transformed back into his human form, his face plastered with a mirthless look.

"Out of pity, I will fight you in my normal form, just so you can stand a little chance. Now rejoice, for I have presented to you an oasis in the desert. Thank me by fighting with all your might, weakling!" he erupted.

"Fight you?" I questioned, laughing mockingly. "Transform back now, if you want to LIVE."

My expression enveloped the air with negativity as I rebutted.

"Hahaha, your funeral, son," he retorted, transforming back into his werewolf form and lunging into the air. Without wasting a second, he landed a devastating spin kick to my jaw and hammered away a barrage of punches, each blow heavier than the last.

The crowd's faces contorted with surprise and disbelief.

"How is he taking all the Alpha's heavy hits? Even in his werewolf form, no one should be able to survive that!"

"Oh, so this is Alpha Cranel, huh?" I smirked, wiping the blood from my mouth as I shook my head in a concoction of disapproval, disappointment, and embarrassment.

"Is that all you've got?" I asked, my face lighting up with excitement and pleasure.

The air thickened with tension, a palpable force pressing down on everyone present. The crowd gasped in utter wonderment, boos pressing onto my chest like a vengeful poltergeist.

"What? How are you still standing?" he questioned anxiously.

"What do you mean, how am I still standing?" I retorted angrily. "Are you that blind? Are you that slow? Are you that stupid? It's simple—I'M STRONG, WHILE YOU ARE WEAK.

"Now brace yourself. Don't die, old man. It's my DAMN TURN!"

Before the blink of an eye, I vanished, leaving Alpha Cranel and the crowd puzzled and bewildered.

"Where did he go?" Alpha Cranel questioned fretfully, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple, enhancing his already restless demeanor.

"Behind you, champ," my voice deepened with authority.

Fear imbued in him, he spun around in panic as I delivered a bone-crunching, soul-shattering blow to his face. The impact cut across the arena, leaving mouths agape in absolute horror. He was down on the ground, his face knotted with blood and saliva.

I ensured he wasn't dead by holding back.

"You are too weak," I shouted. "One hit? Really?"

The dwarven referee raised my hand as he declared me the victor and the new Alpha.

"Here is your winner and the new Alpha! What's your name, sir?" he gently questioned.

"Ronan Darkfang. Don't forget it!"

"Y-Yes, S-Sir... RONAN DARKFANG!"

Of course, I wasn't accepted. Their boos were as loud as beasts fighting over territory. I was hated, although I hadn't realized that this traditional fighting festival was the way to crown new Alphas. I didn't want it—I didn't want the burden attached to being the leader of a weak pack.

"I refuse," I declared, shutting down the boos with my voice.

Two boys in their late teens, probably 18 and 19 respectively, jumped into the battleground to check on the defeated man on the ground. It was Jason and Jackson.

"Papa, get up!" they pleaded in unison.

"He was weak. He is weak. That's why he failed. Follow his footsteps, and you'll suffer the same defeat," my voice crushed their disintegrated hearts.

"Quiet! We two challenge you! We will kill you ourselves!" Jackson yelled, obviously infuriated.

"Nah, kid. All it took was one hit from me to leave your pops immobile. Do you really think you guys stand a chance? Come on now, don't be foolish. At least train for like 50 years, then come back to me," I said as I left the arena, grabbing my prize money.

The crowd had never seen something like this before. I'm sure their disdain shot up steeply.

"But, but... you are the new Alpha!" the dwarf reposted as I walked by him.

"Coward! Come back here! Fight me! Fight us, you loser!" Jason and Jackson yelled as I blended into the background.

Ignoring their comments, I embraced my huge-impact win and walked out of the Moonshard Pack, clenching my fists in victory.

"I defeated an Alpha. I guess those years of self-training paid off," I rejoiced internally.

Days later, on my journey, I overheard a few passersby discussing the tournament that happened a few days back.

"That hybrid guy is too strong. I heard he landed Alpha Cranel on his back without even transforming. And yet, he refused the title as the Alpha of Moonshard Pack."

"I know, right? I hope we never come across him!" they laughed.

Speaking of Alphas, one of them said, "You know that war-crazed lunatic who destroyed a small pack? I think the Crimson something... betrayed his childhood friend in the process."

"Oh, that Alpha? He's the epitome of evil personified. What's with him, though?"

"I heard he'll be visiting a neighboring pack soon. Probably to form an alliance. Or maybe it's just one of his cunning tricks to destroy and rule over another pack again!"

They gossiped joyfully as they walked past me.

I smirked in delight.

ALPHA THORN!!! Destiny has brought us together once again.