The forest was a blur of shadows and moonlight as the man in the black coat sprinted through the undergrowth, his breath steady despite the two werewolves gaining on him. Their laughter was a guttural chorus of snapping twigs and hungry growls, their half-human forms bounding between the trees with predatory grace.

  "Hahahaha! You can't keep running, boy!" the first werewolf taunted, his muzzle split into a vicious grin. His claws dug into bark as he launched himself forward, closing the distance.

  "Die!" the second snarled, using a thick oak as a springboard to hurl himself at the fleeing man.

  At the last second, the man glanced back—then leapt, spinning mid-air as the werewolf’s claws tore through empty space. He landed in a roll, veering sharply to the right, forcing his pursuers to skid and scramble after him.

  "Tsk! Fucking nimble bastard!" the first werewolf spat, frustration creeping into his voice.

  The second narrowed his glowing eyes. "Something’s off. We’re faster, but he’s dodging like he knows our moves before we make them."

  "Heh! Doesn’t matter," the first growled, saliva dripping from his fangs. "We saw him snooping in the warehouse. If the boss finds out we let some human spy escape, we’re dead. That boy’s got to go."

  The chase led them to a clearing—a small, moonlit arena where the trees parted like an audience to a duel. The man stood motionless at the center, his back to them.

  Then, with eerie calm, he raised his pistol—a sleek, black Regalia—and fired three shots into the sky.

  "Scatter," he whispered.

  For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

  Then—the bullets exploded.

  A rain of silver shrapnel descended like hellfire, shredding leaves and embedding into flesh. The werewolves howled as their skin sizzled, the silver searing their enhanced regeneration.

  "A Regalia?!" one roared, stumbling back as smoke curled from his wounds.

  The man finally turned to face them, his coat flaring like a reaper’s cloak. "Wrong move," he said, his voice low. "You should’ve let me leave."

  The werewolves snarled, still standing but weakened. The man’s fingers twitched—his Regalia wasn’t done yet.

  Black lightning crackled across his body, sparking violently as the air around him distorted with raw energy. It wasn’t subtle—Arx had activated one of his Regalia’s abilities: Amplification. His speed surged, strength magnified, vision sharpened to near-predator levels. Even his weapon, a sleek black M1911-style handgun, thrummed with enhanced destructive power.

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  The two werewolves snarled, their muscles tensing before they lunged toward him. Arx met them head-on, weaving through their slashing claws and snapping fangs with unnatural precision. Each movement was calculated, each dodge executed with inhuman reflexes. He countered swiftly, firing point-blank shots into the wolves' sides, the muzzle flash illuminating his stoic face.

  One of the beasts lunged with a savage roar—Arx sidestepped, then fired three silver-tipped rounds into its chest. The creature staggered, howling in pain. The second took advantage, slashing downward with monstrous claws. Arx reacted in a flash, kicking its arm mid-swing, parrying the blow. He pivoted and shot twice into its shoulder, then spun low and delivered a vicious kick to its neck, sending it crashing into a nearby tree.

  “Guhah! H-How!? We’re supposed to be stronger than humans!” one of the werewolves growled, blood leaking from his mouth.

  “My Regalia amplifies speed, strength, and vision,” Arx said coldly, voice as flat as his gaze. “The moment you chose to chase me… you signed your death warrants.”

  “Impossible! No Regalia should be that powerful!” the other wolf shouted—but then his expression shifted, as realization dawned.

  “Revellion...” he whispered with a mix of fear and fury.

  The name struck a nerve. The Revellion family—infamous in the underground as werewolf hunters. A mafia clan feared by even the fiercest of lycanthropes.

  “Why the hell are you snooping around one of our warehouses?!” the injured werewolf barked, panic rising. He knew this could spark a war between their two families.

  BANG!

  A single bullet struck him square in the chest.

  He barely had time to scream before Arx closed the distance and kicked him brutally in the throat, then stepped on his neck with deliberate force.

  “Thirty-one humans dead. Bite marks. Claw marks. Bodies torn apart like meat in a butcher's stall.” Arx’s voice was calm, detached. “You really think I didn’t have a reason to kill you?”

  The werewolf coughed blood—and laughed. “Kufah... Faha… Those ‘commodities’? They were nothing but slaves. What are you, some kind of emissary of justice? Don’t make me laugh!”

  BANG!

  A gunshot rang out. His ear exploded in a burst of blood, making him shriek.

  “I’m a killer. Nothing more,” Arx said, eyes still unreadable. “But I don’t agree with your way of killing. Five of the victims were from our family.”

  The werewolf groaned, but chuckled again. “So that’s it, huh? You’re pissed because your precious little family got touched.”

  Then his grin widened, twisted, deranged. “Tell me, if food is laid out in front of you… aren’t you tempted to eat? Hahaha! We killed them because they were delicious. Women and children—so tender, so soft. I loved savoring them. Especially after I f—”

  BANG!

  Another shot silenced his filth, but it was too late. Arx’s face remained expressionless, though a shadow passed behind his eyes.

  The werewolf’s body convulsed—and then shifted.

  “Now I’ll show you the true power of a WEREWOLF!” he bellowed, muscles bulging, bones cracking as he transformed. His form grew monstrous, towering at nearly eight feet tall, fur bristling and claws gleaming. With a roar, he charged, slicing down trees like twigs with a single swing.

  “You humans cling to Regalia because you’re weak!” he shouted. “This is pure, primal STRENGTH!”

  He stabbed forward, impaling Arx—or so he thought. But the Arx he pierced dissolved into shadowy threads of a black coat, vanishing into the wind.

  “What the—”

  BANG!

  A silver bullet tore through his skull before he could turn around, dropping the beast instantly.

  Silence fell.

  The remaining werewolf, still writhing from the earlier shrapnel and bullet wounds, stared in horror. His heart froze as recognition set in.

  “Y-You… Impossible… You killed Melor like he was nothing... You’re… Lupo Solitario...!”

  Arx walked slowly toward him, pulling his black cloak over his shoulders.

  “Lupo Solitario? Is that what you call me?” he said, voice distant. “Some call me Il Fantasma. Ghost. Doesn’t matter. I only care about killing filth like you.”

  He loomed over the injured werewolf.

  “Talk. Why did you kill those humans?”

  The werewolf trembled, torn between fear of death and the wrath of his own kind if he spoke.

  Finally, he growled, “Respect… and retaliation. You kill one of us… we retaliate.”

  BANG.

  A final shot echoed through the trees.

  Arx turned and disappeared into the shadows, the black coat fluttering behind him like the wings of a reaper.