Joe woke up disoriented, every nerve in his back flaring with pain. Dry leaves scratched at his neck, twigs dug into his spine, and the unmistakable sensation of being dragged gnawed at his mind. Every crunch of crushed branches beneath him sent another wave of dull ache rippling through his body.
He groaned, his mouth dry, head spinning. The air smelled of wet moss and damp rot. A forest. He was being dragged through a forest floor by someone—or something—he couldn't see clearly. His eyes fluttered open, vision hazy from the jostling, and above him was a dark canopy barely letting in the glow of the moon.
How the hell did he get here?
Who the fuck was dragging him?
And where were they taking him in this goddamn darkness?
Joe grunted as a particularly sharp root tore at his shoulder through his shirt. He tightened his core, willing his gym-honed abs to do something useful. Bit by bit, he raised his torso despite the ropes scratching his wrists and the bruises forming across his back. Leaves clung to his hair and skin like leeches.
"H-Hey... where are you taking me?" he croaked.
"W-Who are you?" he asked, voice cracking.
Still no answer.
He pushed forward, stretching his arm until his fingers brushed the shoulder of the figure dragging him. There was a jolt in the motion, a pause.
The figure turned its head.
Yellow glowing eyes met his, like twin lanterns in the void. A snout jutted out from the shadows. Not human. And in that moment—dripping with silence and primal energy—Joe felt something inside him click. Acceptance, maybe. Or fatalistic fear. Whatever it was, he knew.
He was fucked.
The creature turned forward again, continuing the dragging until, without warning, Joe was heaved up and thrown into a mound of dead leaves. He landed hard, breath knocked out of him. He scrambled upright, his wrists still bound. The ropes were tight, rough against his skin. Panic made his breathing quick and shallow.
His surroundings finally came into focus.
They stood in a perfect circle around him. Figures cloaked in long, tattered robes, motionless, as though they'd been carved from the shadows themselves. Each one stood at equal intervals, as if part of some sick, symmetrical ritual. Their faces were hidden under hoods, their hands barely visible. Strange symbols had been drawn into the dirt around the clearing—jagged, ritualistic, pulsing faintly with some unseen energy. A stench hovered in the air, metallic and moldy, like rotting meat mixed with burnt hair.
He saw bones strung together and hanging from trees, some sharpened like pendants. Old clothing flapped like flags above him. And near one of the trees, something small and pale—fingers. Severed. Still twitching.
Joe tried to move but found his legs bound too. He could barely shuffle in place. His breath hitched as the robed figures began a slow, synchronized chant, their words distorted by growls and inhuman gurgles.
Then one of them stepped forward.
He was massive—nearly seven feet tall, with broad shoulders and arms that swung slightly as he moved. The others began to murmur lowly, heads bowed. The big figure reached up and let his robe drop to the ground.
What Joe saw nearly made him piss himself.
A werewolf.
Fully shifted. Thick fur coated its frame, dark and coarse. The creature's muscles rippled with every breath. Its fangs gleamed in the moonlight, long enough to tear through a man in a single bite. Clawed feet dug into the soil, and its long arms hung like weapons by its sides.
Joe's throat clenched. His heart rammed against his chest. The werewolf walked toward him slowly, claws flexing with each step. Whether it was trying to intimidate him or simply preparing to end him, Joe didn't want to find out.
He struggled harder now, straining until the ropes dug red grooves into his skin. The monster approached and knelt down, lowering its face close enough that Joe could see every wrinkle in its snout, every strand of blood-stained fur.
The creature raised a hand and wrapped its clawed fingers around Joe's face.
His entire head was engulfed like a baseball in a giant's grip. The pressure wasn't enough to crush him, but it was close. Too close.
"You don't know the power you hold, do you?" the werewolf asked.
The voice was deep and intelligent, almost regal, and laced with disappointment.
"Such a waste. Your father would have been so disappointed to see you in such condition… a mere mortal."
Joe's eyes darted wildly.
Father?
"Fear not," the creature growled. "For I shall utilize the power for what it was destined for."
Then the other hand rose, claws extended.
It glinted under the moonlight, trembling with anticipation—or bloodlust. Joe closed his eyes, bracing for the end, heart pounding in his ears like war drums.
Just then, something shot from the trees.
A blur of silver and grey.
A snarl. A slash.
Joe heard a crack as the werewolf pinning him was flung backward with such force that it flew several meters before crashing into the ground with a thunderous thud.
He was free.
Joe tumbled backward from the sudden release, slipping through wet undergrowth and crashing hard into bushes. Thorns cut at his arms. His head spun from the momentum.
Before him stood another werewolf.
Slimmer. Leaner. Agile.
This one wasn't like the hulking beast that had been about to tear him open. It moved like smoke and shadow, eyes glowing a fiercer gold. Its fur had subtle curvature, shape. Feminine.
Joe's mind spun. His vision blurred. But from the way it moved, from the snarl that echoed, he could sense intent.
It was here for him.
To protect.
Then came the crash. He hit something—wood, solid and unmoving. His back cracked against a tree bark.
And everything turned black.