The monster did not roar when it charged.
That was the first sign something was wrong.
Both heads lowered in unison, jaws closing, eyes narrowing—not with rage, but with calculation. Its massive body moved with sudden precision, claws digging into the earth not wildly, but deliberately.
Blake noticed and.
His smile faded.
"Oh," he murmured, voice dropping. "You're learning."
The creature surged forward with terrifying speed, far faster than before. Blake braced, muscles tightening—but the impact still sent him skidding backward, boots carving trenches through concrete as both heads struck simultaneously.
Not randomly.
Perfectly aligned.
Blake slammed into a standing pillar, the structure collapsing around him as the monster followed through, claws driving into the rubble where his chest had been a heartbeat earlier.
Hunters shouted.
The wolf pack growled.
Blake exploded upward through the debris, fur dusted with concrete, eyes glowing brighter now.
"That's more like it he said."
The monster didn't answer.
It changed.
The flesh at the base of its neck rippled unnaturally, skin pulling tight, veins glowing faintly beneath the surface. The space between its two heads began to stretch—elongate—until something else began to form.
A seam.
A vertical line of dark, pulsing flesh.
The hunters froze.
Elias whispered, horrified. "That's not anatomy… that's—"
The seam split open.
A third eye opened between the heads.
Not biological.
Not natural.
It was wrong—too smooth, too aware. The eye rotated slowly, locking onto Blake with horrifying intelligence.
The moment it opened, the air bent.
Blake staggered.
Not from impact.
From pressure.
A crushing weight slammed into his mind, memories flashing violently—forest, blood, his mother's hands pulling away, the cold earth, the sound of crying—
Blake snarled and dropped to one knee, claws tearing into the ground.
"Sir!" one hunter shouted.
Marcus's face drained of color. "That thing… it's not just physical."
The monster spoke.
Not with sound.
With thought.
YOU WERE MADE TOO.
Blake's head snapped up.
"…What?"
The voice echoed inside him, layered, distorted, ancient.
BROKEN. ABANDONED. REFORGED. YOU AND I ARE NOT SO DIFFERENT.
Rage flared.
Blake surged forward, shaking off the pressure, leaping high and slamming both fists into the monster's chest. The impact cracked armor-like flesh and sent the beast crashing backward—but it laughed.
Both mouths twisted upward.
The third eye glowed brighter.
YOU FIGHT LIKE A BEAST. YOU THINK LIKE A KING. BUT YOU ARE STILL CHAINED.
Blake snarled. "I don't take lectures from mistakes."
He attacked again—faster, harder—claws tearing, fists shattering bone. He ripped into one shoulder, driving the creature to the ground, planting a knee on its chest.
The monster's blood wasn't red.
It was black.
And it moved fast.
The liquid crawled across Blake's arms, trying to climb, trying to bind.
Blake recoiled, tearing himself free, shaking his arms violently as the substance hissed and retreated.
The hunters stared in horror oh my.
"That that blood…" Torin whispered. "It's alive."
The monster rose slowly.
Its wounds closed.
Not healed.
REWRITTEN.
The third eye pulsed.
YOU STRIKE WITH FORCE. I STRIKE WITH EVOLUTION.
Blake's breathing slowed and hard.
His claws flexed.
"…You're not just a monster," he said quietly.
The creature tilted its heads.
"You're a weapon."
The eye blinked.
YES.
The realization hit Blake like a hammer.
This thing wasn't born.
It was made.
Experimented on.
Altered.
Something had taken a creature—maybe once natural, maybe not—and forced it beyond limits, just like the world had done to him.
The parallel burned.
The monster lunged hahaha again—but this time, Blake didn't meet it with brute force.
He stopped.
Closed his eyes.
The hunters shouted warnings.
The pack howled in alarm Awooooo
Blake didn't move.
The moment before impact had arrived—
—Blake shifted.
Not physically.
Internally.
The thunder in his chest changed pitch.
The storm he had always unleashed outward—rage, violence, overwhelming power—collapsed inward instead.
Compressed.
Focused.
His eyes opened.
They weren't amber anymore.
They were black.
The monster struck—
—and froze.
Its claws stopped inches from Blake's throat.
The third eye widened in shock.
Blake stood, calm, unmoving, one hand raised—not touching, not pushing.
The air itself held.
"What…" Elias breathed. "What is he doing?"
Blake's voice was no longer thunder.
It was gravity.
"I've been fighting like what the world turned me into," he said quietly.
The ground beneath them cracked—not from force, but from pressure.
"But I don't have to."
He stepped forward.
The monster was dragged with him, invisible force pulling its massive frame like a puppet.
Blake raised his other hand.
The monster screamed—all three mouths—as its own power was torn apart, the unnatural energy unraveling, exposed.
The third eye shrieked.
YOU CANNOT CONTROL THIS. YOU ARE TOO EMOTIONAL. TOO ANGRY.
Blake looked into it.
"No," he said softly. "I'm done being angry."
The force shifted.
Not destructive.
Directive.
Blake didn't tear the monster apart.
He restructured it.
The hunters watched in stunned silence as the black blood was forced back into its veins, the unnatural seams closing, the third eye screaming as it was compressed—
—and sealed.
The creature collapsed.
Breathing.
Alive.
Changed.
Blake staggered.
The power released all at once, slamming back into him. He dropped to one knee, one hand braced against the ground, breath coming heavy now.
The pack rushed forward—but stopped when he raised a hand.
The monster lay unconscious.
Not dead.
Marcus finally found his voice.
"…Blake," he said carefully. "What did you just do?"
Blake laughed weakly hahahaha.
"…I stopped fighting like a monster."
He looked at his hands.
They trembled—not with exhaustion, but with something new.
Control.
"I didn't know I could do that," he admitted.
The realization settled heavy in his chest.
This wasn't just strength.
This was influence.
Authority over transformation itself.
And that terrified him.
Because it meant one thing.
If he could change that…
…what else could he change?
The wind howled.
The forest responded.
And Blake realized—truly realized—that from this moment on, every fight would be different.
Because brute force was no longer his greatest weapon.
Choice was.