Blood Moon: The Dark Academy

Episode Two: The Dark Matron

Prologue Two: The Wolf

Thirty Years Ago

Marcus

I dashed across the rooftops, gasping for breath as the icy air whipped against my face, each sharp inhale a jolting reminder of the horror surrounding me. The rhythmic thud of my feet striking the shingles harmonized with my heavy panting, creating a bizarre cadence of fear and adrenaline.

Squinting into the distance, I spotted Volcan and Victoria ahead, shadows moving with purpose against the black sky. Even further ahead, looming ominously, was the Werewolf—a monstrous silhouette hunched over something at its feet.

As I caught up with Volcan and Victoria, a wave of dread washed over me; there, beside the werewolf's feet lay a fresh kill: the lifeless body of a young woman, not even twenty.

Victoria's curse slipped through clenched teeth like hot steam in the frigid air. With determination, she clapped her hands together; as she spread them apart, a shimmering silver spear emerged from between her palms. Her gaze was locked onto the beast, charged with a seething mix of hatred and sorrow. With a fierce grip, she drew back her arm and released the spear, which soared through the air, cutting through the night with a vibrant whistle before embedding itself into the wolf's left shoulder blade.

The creature recoiled, its skin sizzling as it howled in agony, ravenous eyes darting toward us. It clawed at the spear, yanking it free before snapping it in two, like a twig, the remnants dissipating into a glimmering cloud of vapor.

Unfazed, Victoria summoned another identical weapon with a swift clap, launching it again with an echoing battle cry. But the beast, now fully aware of our presence, swatted the spear aside with alarming speed, its impact resonating through the desolate town like a thunderclap. The spear clattered on a nearby rooftop, the sound echoing throughout the dark town. The massive wolf lowered itself onto all fours, foamy drool dribbling from its snarling jaws as it lunged toward us. Volcan lowered himself into a crouch, seeming to be preparing for battle with a steely resolve.

He tightly gripped his sword, closing his eyes as if centering himself in the chaos around us. I was immobilized by sheer terror, unable to tear my gaze away as the beast charged, its ferocity palpable. In an instant, the creature leaped high into the air, poised to land upon Volcan with the intent of tearing him apart. But before I could blink, Volcan's eyes snapped open. A flash of movement, and suddenly he was behind the beast, as if defying time itself.

The Werewolf crashed down onto the rooftop where Volcan had stood moments before, sending a shower of shingles flying like confetti in the wake of its violent descent. The monster's wretched whimper mingled with the cacophony, and I was stunned to see blood seep from its belly, glistening under the faint glow of moonlight.

Volcan stood tall, his blade now a dark crimson, dripping with the beast's blood. Had he really sliced it that swiftly? I could barely fathom what had just happened.

The Werewolf, still struggling to regain its footing, looked around frantically, as if searching for solace amid the chaos. For just a heartbeat, its eyes met mine, and I saw a flicker of humanity, a brief glimmer of desperation that tugged at my heart before it vanished, consumed by the monstrous rage once more. The beast crouched low, claws bared with malevolent intent, its focus shifting entirely to me.

My heart raced uncontrollably, pounding like a war drum in my chest, yet my limbs felt as heavy as stone, frozen in a paralyzing grip of fear. Silhouetted against the dim light, it surged forward with astonishing swiftness, its eyes glinting like shards of obsidian. I could see its sharp teeth gleaming as it curled its lips back in a menacing snarl, muscles rippling under matted fur as it descended upon me, a whirlwind of primal fury. Time slowed to a crawl; in those agonizing moments, I felt trapped in a nightmarish tableau, acutely aware of every detail—the acrid scent of its breath and the ground trembling beneath its powerful strides—yet utterly powerless to escape.