When his eyes landed on the person who'd roughly grabbed him, a small, almost involuntary smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was Selene—the infamous Death Dealer from the Underworld movies herself.
The way she held him by the throat with such effortless strength, that fierce, icy glare cutting through the dim light—it was both terrifying and strangely mesmerizing. She looked every bit as lethal and beautiful as he'd seen on screen, like a living shadow carved from leather and cold steel.
Luke's mind raced for a split second. Selene's actually here. Despite the choking pressure cutting off his breath, he forced himself to stay calm. Panicking wouldn't help him survive this encounter.
She was just like in the films, down to the tight black leather outfit that seemed molded to her lithe form. The faint drizzle outside had made the fabric cling slightly, tracing the sharp angles and curves of her body—a dangerous combination of elegance and deadly purpose.
Her cold, piercing blue eyes locked onto his, full of calculated intent. But behind that ruthless glare, there was a flicker of curiosity—as if she was silently sizing him up, wondering who this unexpected intruder was.
Her lips parted ever so slightly, about to speak, but the iron grip of her fingers tightening around his throat reminded Luke this was no casual conversation.
Luke swallowed hard, a mix of fear and reluctant admiration swirling inside him. Now's definitely not the time to admire a lethal Death Dealer, he scolded himself silently.
Since Selene had appeared, Luke knew without a doubt: the Underworld conflict was no longer just background noise. The plot had fully kicked off.
He sighed inwardly. This shit has just gotway more complicated.
"Umm, I can answer all of your questions—if you have any for me," Luke said quickly, trying to keep his voice steady despite the pressure on his throat. His eyes flicked toward the door behind her. "But that guy—Michael—he's escaping. He's the real prize here."
He pointed sharply at Michael, who was trying to sneak away. His steps were light and cautious as he edged toward the exit like a cat trying not to knock over a vase.
Selene's eyes followed Luke's gesture, narrowing sharply as she locked onto the fleeing target.
Michael didn't hesitate. Without looking back, he broke into a full sprint, weaving through the apartment hallway and heading for the exit.
Shit, Luke thought, a sharp surge of frustration bubbling up inside him. Catching Michael was already going to be way harder than he'd expected.
His level-up, the power boost he'd been counting on—gone. Slipped right out of his hands like sand through fingers.
As Selene's grip tightened around his throat, cutting off his breath, a thought flickered through Luke's mind—a memory from the movie. Wait a second. Shouldn't the werewolves be attacking Selene right now? They came for Michael, yes, but why hadn't the lycans lunged at her first? She was the Death Dealer, after all—their sworn enemy, the bane of their existence.
Before he could puzzle it out any further, the answer came crashing in.
Hoooooowwwwwllll—graaawr! Hoowwlll!
A spine-chilling howl echoed from above, a raw, guttural sound that sent a shiver crawling down Luke's spine. It was deep, wild, and primal—an unmistakable call of the werewolves, cutting through the tense silence like a knife.
Selene's fingers suddenly relaxed their iron grip around his throat. Without a second's hesitation, she released him and took a swift step back, her eyes sharp and laser-focused. There was no time for questions, no time for doubts—the threat was here, right now, and she had to handle it.
Luke coughed harshly, gasping for air, his hands instinctively rubbing the sore spots on his neck. The sudden lack of oxygen left his head spinning, and his mind scrambled to catch up. But before he could even start piecing things together, Selene was already moving.
Like a striking panther, she slid her hands down to her hips. With smooth, practiced precision, she drew two gleaming guns. The cold metal caught the faint apartment light, glinting dangerously. Her fingers curled tightly over the triggers, ready for whatever came next.
And then—BOOM!
The ceiling above them shattered violently as if struck by a massive force. Chunks of plaster and wooden beams crashed down in a chaotic shower of dust and debris. Luke barely had time to dodge a heavy slab, the gritty fragments scraping past his skin.
Two massive werewolves burst through the gaping hole, landing heavily on the floor with earth-shaking thuds. Dust clouded the air around them. Their eyes glowed fiercely, wild and untamed. Jagged teeth, dripping with saliva, bared in savage snarls. Their fur rippled with raw power as a deep growl rumbled from their throats, filling the small apartment with a chilling menace.
Without hesitation, both beasts lunged at Selene, claws stretched wide and razor-sharp.
Roaaarrrrrrrr!
A long, furious roar ripped through the air—wild, furious, and unrelenting.
Selene didn't flinch. Her stance tightened, breath steady. She lifted her guns, aiming with deadly accuracy.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sharp cracks of gunfire echoed sharply through the cramped apartment. One silver bullet tore into a werewolf's shoulder as it twisted to dodge, while another ripped through the leg of the second beast.
Both snarled louder, pain barely slowing their relentless charge. Their ferocity seemed to grow with each step, eyes blazing with savage fire as they pressed forward.
But the silver bullets didn't seem to slow them much. If anything, they only made the werewolves more annoyed, like a mosquito buzzing in your ear you just want to swat away.
Luke remembered from his half-remembered movie lore—if these werewolves were fully transformed, one or two bullets might barely scratch their thick, bulky bodies. To really put one down, you'd have to empty nearly an entire magazine into them. Great. Just what Luke needed—an endless, furry nightmare with a thirst for pain.
Luke instinctively closed his ears, wincing as the deafening roars pierced his eardrums like a metal band practicing in his head. These creatures had zero volume control. Seriously, did they think they were auditioning for a horror movie soundtrack?
A blur of fur and claws lunged toward Selene. With lightning reflexes, she kicked a chair hard—it slammed into the werewolf's face, staggering it back like a well-aimed slap. Without missing a beat, Selene pivoted and fired rapidly.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Bullets hammered into the beast's head.
"As expected of Selene," Luke muttered under his breath, fingers brushing his chin like some overenthusiastic fight commentator. "Clean, efficient, no-nonsense. Wish I had half that style."
One of the werewolves suddenly peeled away from Selene, eyes locked on Luke like he was its next meal. It lunged at him, claws stretched out, sharp and deadly, aiming to tear through flesh and bone.
Rooar!
The beast's growl was low, hungry—it looked like it genuinely wanted to eat him.
'Why the fuck are you attacking innocent bystanders, you piece of dog shit?' Luke thought, his face a mix of annoyed disbelief and pure panic. One moment he was just standing there, admiring Selene's deadly beauty, and now this oversized furball was trying to make him lunch. He hadn't done a damn thing to provoke it.
A slow, sinking realization hit him: now he kind of understood why vampires despised werewolves as little more than mangy dogs. These things completely lost their minds once transformed—brain replaced by snarling instinct. Luke had been watching the fight quietly, and yet, for no reason whatsoever, this "dog" decided to attack him.