Everything seemed tinted with a strange hue, like the reflection of a blood moon. Darkness pressed in around him, the room fading into one eerie shade before his eyes. He could still see, but his mind was struggling to comprehend what was happening, his thoughts were becoming harder to form with every passing moment.
Powerless. That was all he felt. For perhaps the first time in his long, long life, the leader of the new Lycan race found himself in a position he never thought possible, to be so completely at the mercy of someone else.
He could hardly bring himself to look up.
His eyes, the eyes of an apex predator, eyes that had seen into countless darknesses, faced the most dangerous creatures be it myth or legend enough to make any man faint, were now trembling with fear, their pupils narrowing into thin slits as though desperately trying to disappear.
Mirroring them was a towering, impossibly tall silhouette, its entire form swallowed by an unnatural darkness that seemed almost impossible for this world. Only those glowing orbs stood out clearly, they were burning like a pair of stars set in an endless void, looking down at him the way some divine ancient being was looking down upon helpless mortals.
His mind was desperately trying to convince him that this was some kind of trick, that it had to be an illusion, but his instincts screamed otherwise. And they had never been wrong before, they were what carried him through more than a thousand years of survival.
Just moments earlier those very instincts had sounded their unmistakable warning to him. That a terrifying beast, that a monster was near, something more dangerous than anything he had ever encountered, however, when his eyes finally landed upon this "monster," they betrayed him.
It saw only what was on the surface. A small, almost fragile-looking boy whose slender frame he could reduce to broken bones with a single swing of his arm.
He was terribly wrong. His instincts had been right from the beginning. The boy was indeed a terrifying beast, a monster wearing a beast's skin seemed far more fitting for him than for the werewolf himself.
Thinking back to how arrogant he had been only moments ago, a deep sense of shame and fear washed over him.
Crunch…
Crunch—Crunch—
He had no means of resisting. The boy didn't move so much as a finger and his entire pack was already down on the floor.
Crunch—Crunch— Crunch—
Will he end up the same?
No. He didn't want to die yet. He still had his revenge to take. If he had to swallow his pride, beg for mercy, so what of it?
Crunch—Crunch—Crunch—Crunch—
At last, recalling the Lycan's towering, almost four-metre-tall form, he voluntarily changed back.
Gasp…
Immediately, a long, sharp breath of air rushed into his lungs, followed by another, then another.
He still remained on his knees, his posture that of a subject kneeling before their liege. His clothes had been torn away during his transformation, leaving him completely bare, as bare as the day he was born.
On the bright side, that tyrannical, mountain-like pressure seemed to have disappeared. The strange darkness also began to recede from his vision, and colour was gradually returning to the world around him.
"Get up…"
His body immediately went rigid.
Nevertheless, placing one hand against the floor, he obeyed the cold command and began slowly pushing himself up. Halfway, however, the hairs on his body suddenly stood on end again, followed by a strange sensation that disappeared almost as quickly as it came.
Something did happen. By the time he was fully standing, his clothes were now back on his body. The same clothes he wore before the transformation tore them apart were now completely restored.
Like a miracle... No. Magic.
---
Sometimes, the quickest way to make people understand reality is to slap them across the face.
Honestly, when Mavrick first arrived, he didn't intend to make things difficult for anyone. All he wanted was a bit of blood, after all. Not to mention he rather liked the character of this half-baked progenitor he remembered from the films.
Half-baked, because the man was not really the progenitor of the Lycan race at all. That honour belonged to William Corvinus, brother of Marcus Corvinus. This fellow, on the other hand, was simply the first of his kind able to revert back to human form, and so by extension, everyone he sired thereafter inherited that same ability.
Anyway.
"Arrogance. Pride. Two flaws that become particularly dangerous when one forgets their place. Wouldn't you agree, Lycan?"
Conjuring himself a chair, Maverick lowered into it slowly, one leg crossing over the other, an elbow settling onto the armrest, the side of his head resting easy against his fist.
Then his other hand moved in a lazy gesture, and a second chair appeared likewise behind Lucian.
"Sit." Maverick extended him the same courtesy. He was, after all, a very kind person. The sharp coldness that filled his voice earlier was gone as well, like it wasn't even there in the first place.
"I'd… rather remain standing, Lord Archmage."
Hm… did I overdo it? Mavrick wondered as he studied Lucian's expression.
That unruly arrogance was nowhere to be seen now. In its place was… a quiet sort of submission. Well, not quite.
"I insist…" Mavrick gestured again, inclining his head to the chair.
Lucian wasn't about to refuse twice, regardless of whether the gesture was genuinely meant as kindness or not.
"Oh, and not to worry." Mavrick smiled reassuringly to him. "Your pack is fine, like sleeping. They should be up in a couple of hours."
"I see…" Lucian murmured. Was he supposed to say thank you? The thought crossed his mind briefly.
With the tyrannical pressure no longer weighing down on him, his heightened senses were back online, and he could also tell that everybody was simply unconscious.
"Let's talk business, then…" Enough teasing, Mavrick decided to get to the matter at hand now.
Lucian perked up as well. It seems this untimely visit really wasn't about putting his entire pack to death.
"Quite simply, I just need some of your blood…"
Lucian frowned in confusion when he heard those words.
"My… blood?" he asked absently.
Mavrick inclined his head once.
"We are searching for a way to cure the curse of lycanthropy that afflicts my kind…"
There was no point in hiding the truth. In any case, the news would surface once the vaccine was made public. Mavrick was confident that the old bat and his teacher working together could at least improve the existing formula.
The mass-producible version of the potion his teacher Sarah developed with Greyback's blood as a primary source was still a cure, nonetheless. It's just that it turns the witch or wizard into a Squib, and the objective was to get rid of that side effect.
"…And we believe the answer, or at least a part of it, may be hidden within your blood."
"You understand we are two distinct species of werewolves, right?" asked Lucian.
Mavrick gave another nod. "That may be the case, but you are still werewolves, aren't you?"
Lucian very much wanted to scoff, but considering the other side had the bigger fists, he could only swallow those thoughts. Putting those skinny, hairless weasels in the same category as his kind was practically insulting his entire Lycan race. They were smaller, weaker, and not to mention, lacking the perk of immortality.
But, as long as it's just to find a cure for their species' problem, he has no qualms. However, what if this kid comes up with some crazy potions or whatever and finds a formula to resolve their own transformation? Unlike those mindless beasts, his kind embraced their beastly nature rather than detesting it.
He hesitated, but still bit the bullet and asked, "You just want to find a solution for your people and nothing else?"
Mavrick caught the flicker of contemplation in his eyes and smiled. He could guess what the fellow was thinking without even needing to read his mind.
"Nothing more," he replied matter-of-factly.
Lucian took a breath, a torrent of thoughts crossing his head, then at last inclined his head once. Again, the kid had bigger fists. He could only hope that by giving his blood, he wasn't handing a shovel to dig his own grave.
"Then how much do you need? Are you only interested in my blood, or do you need samples from my people as well?"
Mavrick lifted his head from his fist and rubbed his chin, then turned to look over his shoulder.
His brow twitched slightly.
The old bat was looking like he had just finished a long marathon, his face drenched in sweat.
"Cough… Severus." Mavrick pretended not to notice. "How about it?"
Snape cast Mavrick a brief, unreadable side-eye first, then only looked toward Lucian.
"The blood of the progenitor will suffice."
Mavrick was sure the old bat must have cursed him several times in that instant.
Lucian also observed Snape. A vampire… was his first impression, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Although his skin was as pale as those bloodworms, he didn't exude their disgusting smell.
"How much?" he asked. He didn't use the same attitude when addressing Snape, his voice returning to its rough, predatory tone.
"Seven vials."
So specific. Mavrick wondered. To keep some as a stash? Well, not that it matters.
Lucian's brows also knitted at the number, but considering there was a calamity backing him up, he didn't argue.
He raised his hand, outstretched it, palm side up.
"Very well, then. Get on with it."
Snape also didn't stand on ceremony. With a flick here, seven small empty vials were summoned from his storage ring and hovered in mid-air, then a flick there, his signature custom-made spell made a cut form on Lucian's arm.
Professional, Mavrick praised the old bat inwardly. It happened in a single motion, and the cut was also clean, neither too big nor too deep.
Lucian, meanwhile, had barely held his instincts from triggering his transformation. When Snape's magic was cast towards him, he felt that sense of danger again.
However, to his relief, it turned out to be just a cut. But then again, for his instincts to warrant danger meant that small cut could have, should the other party have wanted it, been not so small, and enough to threaten his life.
He couldn't help but once again refresh his impression of these magical people. After tonight, he would need to instruct his people on certain things, certain lines not to cross.
Blood oozed from his arm, but without dripping, it rose like it had a mind of its own, and in a thin, string-like line, it was directed to the vials.
And while Snape was doing his thing, Mavrick thought to indulge some of his curiosity.
His face once again wore a smile. "Given that you've been alive for, what, two thousand years… you must have come across some rather interesting things about this world, right?"
What's this kid on about now? Frowning, Lucian looked away from the strange magic working over his arm, back at Mavrick again.
"Interesting things? You'll have to be more specific…"
Mavrick pretended to search his memory. "Well, I recently came across some names that…" He paused. "Say that were conspicuously absent from the history books. For instance, Count Dracula…"
Meanwhile, from the corner of his magical sense he observed the werewolf's expression, and sure enough, there was a twitch.
Snape also kept one ear perked on the conversation.
The room fell silent for a moment. Mavrick made no attempt to hurry him, allowing the old werewolf to take his time.
At last, the Lycan spoke. "Count Dracula…" His expression grew distant, as if recalling some old memory. "That is indeed a name I haven't heard in a very long time."
Having said as much, he then gave Mavrick a peculiar look. "Strange. I would have thought an Archmage would know such matters..."
Mavrick's head tilted slightly to the side.
Lucian continued after a pause. "Isn't your sovereign on the same council as him?"
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