Annabelle stood in front of her friends, her teeth gritted as she watched her brother fight. She itched to jump in and help, but she knew she’d only hinder Jules. Living for decades in a world governed by the law of the jungle had honed her gut feeling, to the point it had become something akin to a sixth sense. That is to say, one glance was all it took to know she was no match for these two freaks—they would shred her to pieces in no time.

Thus, Annabelle could only watch as the werewolves cornered Jules, her heart in her throat. She prayed for the fight to end quickly, and prayed for her brother’s safety. That was all she could do, however frustrating it was. 

But regardless of how she felt, wounds multiplied on her brother’s body and blood splattered. Now, Annabelle could barely follow the fight, everything a blur of hazy colors. The beasts and Jules were mere shadowy figures, while furniture and corpses were overthrown out of nowhere and slashes appeared in the walls out of thin air. The sequence of events was happening too fast for her to keep track, leaving her at a loss.  

“Bastien,” Annabelle whispered after a while, “my brother will be alright, right?”

“He will, don’t worry.”

‘Liar,’ she thought with derision, ‘what a goddamn liar.’

Although Jules appeared to have gained the upper hand, something was off. Whenever she caught a glimpse of his face, his expression was always a little more detached, a little more apathetic. His pale gray eyes were getting colder as the light in their depths seemed to dwindle, gradually replaced by nothingness. It felt like he was now gazing at the world as a deity would, as if everything was beneath him. 

Is this man really my brother…? 

Doubts slowly crept on Annabelle, uncertainty sneakily making its way inside in her head. Even if she tried to ignore the grim thoughts, she could not help but fear the changes in her brother. As time went on, he looked less and less human. She felt it, too. Something was breaking inside him, and once it shattered, she knew there would be no turning back. And yet, she could do nothing about it. She—

“HAHAHA!”

The sudden hysterical laugh snapped Annabelle out of her thoughts. Her attention then fell on the female werewolf. She was crouching on top of a night table, a crazy smile distorting her face into something grotesque. Her pupils were so dilated that the iris seemed to have been swallowed, blackening her eyes. No matter how Annabelle looked at it, it was the sight of someone who had lost their mind. 

“This is so fun!” the werewolf growled, her features growing more beast-like. Strips of grayish fur spread on her cheeks while her ears morphed into that of a wolf's, climbing atop her head. A tail also sprung underneath her bathrobe. The human skin she wore was being stripped off, yet she didn’t seem to notice, too focused on her prey.

By her side, the man was in no better state. Fur spread on his arms and legs, his claws sharpening. His fangs then grew bigger, enough to cut into his lips and bloody his mouth and chin. His smile never faded, however. 

“It has been so long since the last time we had this much fun hunting! Right, honey?” he said.  

But to this, his mate did not answer. Instead, she pounced on Jules at such a speed that she seemed to vanish. The next instant, her hand pierced through the hunter’s lower abdomen, her arm passing through the tender flesh until it was elbow deep, tearing apart everything in its wake. Meanwhile, she sank her teeth into the crook of his neck and snatched a chunk of flesh. Her fangs cut through the muscles and bones like a knife, almost ripping off half of Jules’s throat. The bite thus left a gaping hole that rendered the windpipe and the collarbone visible. 

All happened in a mere instant, so fast that Annabelle couldn’t believe her eyes as her brother kicked the werewolf away. Once freed, Jules stumbled backward while holding his throat, choking on the blood that soon filled his mouth and windpipe. But even then, no emotion could be read on his face. He still appeared serene, as if he could not feel the pain.

“JULES!”

Annabelle’s scream resounded far and wide, piercing people’s tympans. At that moment, she forgot the werewolves could tear her apart in a heartbeat, and forgot about the teenagers hidden behind her. Her mind blanked as she rushed toward her brother, her body moving on its own. But before she could get closer to Jules, Bastien grasped her arm and yanked her back.

“LET GO!”

“Calm down.”

“YOU—”

“Your brother will be fine,” the demon interrupted, a somewhat calm but sorrowful smile on his lips. “Stay still, or you’ll get caught in the crossfire. Jules could never pardon himself if it were to happen, so please—”

“Stop spouting nonsense! Can’t you see he’s bleeding to death?!”

“Anna, he won’t stay injured for long.”

As if to back up Bastien’s claim, thin particles of white light started to gather and flicker around Jules, looking like butterflies. Before long, the wounds stopped bleeding, and the deep-red blood cracked, then slowly fell apart. Pieces by pieces, it turned into white ashes and disappeared, as if blown by the wind. The next thing Annabelle knew, her brother's wounds were healed, the previously torn skin now without so much as a blemish. 

“What the…?”

No one heard Annabelle’s shaky words, all of their attention focused on Jules. 

When the man finally lifted his head, his eyes had taken on bright silvery hues. They were ethereally beautiful—entrancing, even. However, no trace of humanity was left in them; they were cold and emotionless.  

Upon seeing these eyes, the werewolves tacitly jumped farther away from the hunter, their ears pressed flat against their heads. The once fearsome beasts were now trembling like a leaf, letting out faint, pitiful whines.

“You know,” Jules’s voice was icy and deep, “I swore to my father to never break the seal etched onto my soul, yet I just did. Now that you have made me break my oath, I hope you’re ready to pay the price.”

The words had barely left his mouth that the sound of torn flesh resounded, wings unfolding behind the man’s back. The feathers were long and delicate, white with hints of bluish-purple and silver hues. Magnificent. That was what they all thought at the sight, unable to look away.

“Uncomfortable,” Jules scoffed, coolly glancing at the things that had sprouted on his lower back. That was all he said on the matter, however, and quickly refocused his gaze on the werewolves, staring down at them as if they were ants. “Come here, playtime is over.”

The werewolves didn’t obey and retreated a little farther away. They shared a glance, then dashed toward the door; if they stayed any longer, they would die. They knew they had to flee, to run away as fast as possible. But now that the monster was awake, they were doomed no matter what. That, too, they knew, yet they could not help but entertain the hope that they’d escape, that they’d survive. But, of course, they couldn’t.

Jules was behind the two werewolves before they could even get close to the door, gripping their heads. He slammed them down onto the floor without batting an eye. The shock split their skulls open, brain matters littering the wooden planks. The sight made Iris vomit, but Jules didn’t seem to hear her. Or maybe he didn’t care. Whichever was the case, he didn’t spare the teenage girl a glance. 

After smashing their heads, Jules swiftly plunged his hands into the werewolves’ backs. He dug out their hearts the next instant, then crushed the still-beating organs. The hearts burst and blood dripped between his fingers, trailing on his forearms underneath the sleeves of his turtleneck. But, again, he didn’t seem to care and tossed the mashed hearts aside, just like garbage.

It was over. The werewolves were dead within a few seconds,  their bodies now lying lifelessly on the floor. Yet, no one rejoiced; everyone was silent, including Annabelle. She stared at her brother but didn’t know what to say. What could she even say? She had no clue.

When Annabelle finally mustered the courage to speak, Jules glanced at her, and the words she was about to say were swallowed back. The way her brother looked at her… It was as if she was nothing more than an insect, an unsightly cockroach, even. It made her take a step back, fear overwhelming her. 

Who was this man…?