Demigods vs. Werewolves, Pt 2: An Instructor's Obligation
[Athan Eubelues]:
[Athan Eubuleus]
Athan and the seven other Faction Heads stood silently before the massive mechanical Dungeon portal, its gears grinding and hissing as the countdown ticked toward zero. In ten minutes, they would breach it. All came armored, geared, and ready for war.
Cole Seger, Head of the Heavenly Faction, looked every bit the mythic warrior he was. Clad in silver cuirass armor with a matching Corinthian-style helmet adorned with golden straw-like plumes, he stood motionless, a sentinel of discipline. Silver guards covered his legs and arms, and a massive red-and-silver hoplon shield was strapped to his back above a greatsword. Silver pteruges hung at his waist, and a thick rope coiled at his side. On anyone else, the outfit would seem archaic or cumbersome—on Cole, it looked natural. Arms crossed, he watched the countdown on the portal wall with serene resolve.
"Nine minutes," he said. "Then we retrieve the girl."
It was a statement, not a judgment. But Athan felt the weight of the implication anyway. Politics bled into everything here, even a rescue mission.
Athan loathed that part of his job. Despite appearances, he wasn't just a Peak Chaotic Stage cultivator. He could dogwalk every other Faction Head in a fight—of that, he was certain. But for now, the masquerade remained. He had a greater mission, and pretending to be lesser was part of it.
Predictably, someone took the bait.
"Maybe if Athan had kept better eyes on his protégé, we wouldn't be here," came the oily voice of Draco Jackson.
Athan didn't respond.
Draco wore only a silver breastplate over his tailored clothes, relying on speed rather than armor. Twin daggers hung at his hips, and sleek, winged silver shoes gleamed on his feet. His smart goggles shimmered faintly, their lenses constantly analyzing data. A speedster and a Chaos ranking one at that, Draco was as fast as he was annoying—and Athan had long since learned to tune him out.
"Now, now, Draco," said Rowena Rae, voice like poisoned honey. "No one could have known Corven Umbrovante would go rotten. Can't blame poor Athan for adopting a devil's spawn as his protegé without knowing the boy for the snake he truly is. It was his first protegé, after all."
Rowena, Head of the Nature Faction, wore lightweight armor designed for mobility. Her long daggers were strapped to her hips beneath a brown cloak pinned with House Rae's seal. Ginger hair spilled from beneath her hood, brushing against her breastplate. She moved like a huntress, and her tone was no less cutting than her blades.
"I could've seen it," sneered Madea Helios Jr., her voice laced with misandry. "A male turning violent after rejection? Predictable. Disgusting."
Madea, Head of the Mystic Faction and daughter of the legendary witch Madea, wore no armor—only an elegant green dress that contrasted with her wine-red violet hair. In one hand, she held a staff carved with ancient runes. Her beauty was undeniable, but it was the kind that hid fangs. Her magic? Lethal. She wasn't her mother or grandmother, Circe, but she wasn't far behind.
"There's no guarantee we've heard the full story," came the calming voice of Dr. Bruce Lee Bacchius. "Assumptions are unwise. We should wait until we have all the facts."
Clad in his signature lab coat over a lean frame, Bruce wore khakis and work shoes beneath his button-down shirt. Son of the goddess of wisdom, he radiated an aura of insight and reason. He was the unofficial older sibling of the Faction Heads—mature, measured, always thinking five steps ahead. Somehow, it worked.
"You always hesitate to reach a verdict, Lee," said Tommen Rizzer, grinning. "But that's why I respect you. Still… I hope there's more to this story than we've been told. And if not? I wouldn't mind testing myself against whatever beast lies ahead."
Tommen, Head of the Psychic Faction, was a martial artist and gifted psychic. He wore robes and a martial gi woven with enchanted stones and crystals, enhancing both his physical and mental prowess. His fists could shatter minds as easily as bones. Despite his strength, he was a thoughtful philosopher—a scholar-brawler hybrid Athan had come to respect.
"We'll know the truth when we speak to the students themselves," Athan said, finally breaking his silence. His tone was firm—measured but unwavering. As he spoke, a black crow fluttered down from the rafters, landing silently on his shoulder. The others stiffened—none of them had known Athan to have a familiar. The bird's abyss black eyes gleamed. "Whatever ploy has taken place… whatever betrayal or setup has led to this chaos… we'll uncover it. And we will hold the guilty accountable."
The others nodded. Even the most cynical of them felt the steel in Athan's words.
His determination was one that had even the other Faction Heads nodding in agreement. And, as the 9 minutes became 0, and the red portal opened, they entered the Dungeon, intent on succeeding in their quest to recover their students… Or what remains of them.
[Corven Umbrovante]:
As Pallas outstretched his clawed hand to Corven, Flicker teleported to a frozen Corven, before grabbing his master and teleporting them both to Celeste, who was still charging moonlight energy.
Flicker than looked at Pallas in disdain. Due to the connection Corven had with his Tainted, he could feel the rage and distaste the werewolf had for his former alpha at that moment. Corven would be much more shocked by this if he fully understood the pack mentality, especially among werewolves, where fierce loyalty to the acting alpha is naturally inherent. The fact that the "alpha" in question was a werewolf progenitor would've also reared some alarm bells.
"You have Striker's face, scent and powers, little one," Pallas looked at Flicker, slightly intrigued. "Even despite the inky makeover, I would know the rhythm of that heart anywhere… And yet, you look at me, your maker, with such contempt? Not at all like the boy I saved all those centuries ago and made into my first beta. I want to know why…," red eyes glowing as he spoke.
"I am Striker Lycaon no longer," Flicker said defiantly. "I am Flicker, servant of my Master."
Realizing something, Pallas looked at Flicker, then to Corven, and back twice more, before shaking his head. "I see. It's a shame… a shame that you lowered yourself to become a bitch to a brat! You can die with him!"
The werewolves charged at each other, their claws and muscled arms clashing in an epic dance. They bit and clawed and punched at one another. And, in that clash, one was proven vastly superior as the other barely put a dent in the other's hide from their claws, fangs and even fists.
Sadly, Flicker was not him.
Falling to his knees after the clash, Flicker had a claw-shaped wound across his chest and a hole where his heart should have been. Corven watched in horror as his most powerful Tainted was killed before him, paralyzed, unable to do a thing to help, even as Flicker fell, face forward, into the blood drenched snow.
"Well, that was anticlimactic," acknowledged Pallas, who had Flicker's heart in-hand, his own hand dripping with the blood of his former packmate. Then, to Corven's horror, Pallas raised the black heart to his mouth and swallowed it whole, with a resounding GULP! "Hearts tend to be stringy, so I thought it best to swallow it whole. I hope you don't mind my lack of manners… Actually, you're about to join him, so I guess it doesn't really matter, right?"
Pallas began casually walking their way.
Corven was paralyzed. He knew he needed to move, but he couldn't. And it wasn't like he could resurrect someone he Tainted — Those he Tainted with his Darkness are still living beings, just altered. Inly his shadow undeads could be resurrected at will, but he was too paralyzed to even bring them out.
It was then that Skyron, Asher, and a pack of four Tainted Peak Tier A werewolves arrived, lunging at Pallas in a coordinated ambush. For a moment, it looked like the tide might turn. They struck with everything they had — claws raked, fangs sank in, fists landed blows. A few even managed to stagger the progenitor. But not a drop of blood was spilled.
They were outmatched.
One by one, Pallas dispatched them with ease — clean decapitations that painted the snow crimson. Asher met the same fate as Flicker: chest torn open, heart consumed whole like a savage delicacy.
Then came Skyron. Pallas twisted the mount's neck with a crack, then drove his bloodied claw into the beast's chest, ripping out his wolven heart.
And that — that was the moment Corven could no longer watch.
He surged forward, summoning every remaining shadow wolf he had. Eclipse. Azurez. The field darkened with his wrath. His Greenfang armor materialized across his body, and his twin Greenfang daggers slid into his hands.
He knew this was suicide.
Flicker. Asher. Skyron. All Peak Tier A — Demigod level — and none of them had even scratched Pallas. Corven was still Legacy Rank. What could he do?
But he had to try.
The shadow wolves struck first, flanking Pallas from every direction. They were fast, coordinated, and relentless — snapping at blind spots, harrying from the edges. But it wasn't enough. One by one, they vanished in bursts of smoke as Pallas crushed, swatted, and tore through them.
Eclipse barely had time to roar before he was silenced — gone in a swirl of black mist.
Azurez got further — only for his head to be ripped clean from his body, heart still beating in Pallas' clawed grip.
Corven moved to join the fray—
—but suddenly, Celeste's arms were around his waist.
And just like that, the world shifted. Light enveloped his vision, and the last thing Corven saw before everything blinked away was Eclipse fading to smoke… and Azurez's lifeless body slumping in the snow as Pallas devoured yet another heart.