The wind shifted before dawn.
Ethan felt it first—Alpha Sense whispering danger across the treeline. The Operator felt it next, eyes snapping up from the workbench as the arc-tuner prototype gave a low, uneasy hum.
"They're early," Ethan said quietly.
The Operator swallowed. "They weren't supposed to start moving until sunset."
"They changed their plan," Ethan murmured, stepping outside, Shadow Cloak sliding around him instinctively. "Or they know someone is interfering."
The forest was too still. No birds. No small game. Not even the distant chatter of coyotes.
Only the faint metallic scent of silver riding the breeze.
The Panel opened without prompting.
---
PANEL — HOSTILE SIGNATURES DETECTED
Poacher Squad: 12
Weapons: Silver-lined traps, tranquilizer rifles, binding nets, modified chains
Backup Vehicle: Armored van (1 km out)
Intent: Sweep-capture of pack territory
Danger Level: High
Recommended Action: Intercept before contact with pack
---
Ethan turned to the Operator.
"Stay inside. Lock the door. Activate the signal scrambler if they get close."
The man hesitated. "Y–you can't take armed men alone."
"I'm not alone," Ethan said, eyes narrowing as he stepped into the trees.
He vanished into the forest.
---
THE FOREST — TWO MINUTES LATER
Ethan moved like a ghost, each stride amplifying his awareness of the terrain. The poachers trudged through the underbrush in staggered formation—professionals, not amateurs. Their boots left no deep prints. Their breaths were measured. Their scents masked under chemical blockers.
But the forest still betrayed them.
Ethan perched atop a thick branch as they passed beneath him, the moonlight slicing through the canopy in thin silver blades.
"Target zone should be north of the ridge," one whispered.
"And stay sharp," another murmured. "We lost the last signal shack. Someone else is messing with the readings."
Ethan dropped silently behind them.
A twig snapped.
Twelve rifles lifted instantly.
Ethan stepped forward.
"Looking for someone?" he asked.
---
ENGAGEMENT INITIATED
The first tranquilizer dart shot toward Ethan's neck. He twisted—just a subtle shift—and it whistled past him. Two more fired from the rear. Ethan flicked his fingers; Shadow Cloak rippled, absorbing the darts harmlessly.
Fear spiked in the squad.
"What the hell—?"
"Is he a wolf? He's not shifting—"
"Doesn't matter, take him down!"
They fired.
A rain of tranquilizers, steel nets, and taser prongs.
Ethan moved.
Not quickly—precisely.
He stepped aside from two darts. Tilted his head from three more. Snatched a net mid-air and yanked, dragging one poacher forward and slamming him against a tree.
CRACK.
Another aimed a silver-lined chain. Ethan kicked his knee sideways—hard. The man screamed and fell.
Three rushed from behind. Ethan turned his palm upward.
A shockfield burst from his Taming Space trait—low voltage, stun only.
The three collapsed twitching.
Seven left.
Their commander barked, "USE THE SILVER!"
Four men pulled new weapons—gleaming rods of reinforced silver alloy.
Ethan's eyes sharpened.
Silver didn't kill him.
But it burned.
And he hated pain.
He exhaled slowly.
"Fine," he said softly. "Round two."
---
THE SILVER LINE ADVANCES
The rods crackled with electric charge. Ethan sniffed the air—ionized silver dust. Designed to weaken wolf healing. Nasty.
He moved first.
Ethan darted between them, grabbed the first silver rod under the guard's grip, and crushed the handle—not enough to break the silver, but enough to break the weapon. The man stared at the ruined hilt before Ethan tapped his temple with two fingers and dropped him unconscious.
Two swung at him from opposite sides.
Ethan ducked, letting both rods collide—sparking violently—while he jabbed one in the ribs, twisting hard enough to wind him. A knee to the spine dropped the other.
Five left.
One pulled a remote detonator.
"Back off or the nets go live! I'll fry every wolf in this damn forest!"
Ethan blinked.
A slow smile grew.
"You really shouldn't have said that."
He vanished.
Shadow Cloak surged like smoke.
The commander barely blinked before Ethan appeared behind him, plucking the detonator out of his hand.
"Thanks," Ethan said casually. "I'll take that."
He smashed it under his heel.
The commander lunged in panic. Ethan palmed his face and shoved him into a tree. Hard.
Four remaining men panicked, firing darts wildly.
Ethan caught one dart between two fingers and flicked it back, tranquilizing its owner.
The next two charged; Ethan kicked one in the chest—he slammed backwards into a rock and didn't get up. The other swung a silver baton; Ethan sidestepped, seized his wrist, twisted—pop—and the man screamed.
The last one dropped his weapon and tried to run.
Ethan didn't chase.
He simply whispered:
"Panel. Mark him."
---
PANEL — TARGET MARKED
Status: Fleeing
Distance: 36 meters
Taming Pulse Ready
---
A pulse of invisible force rippled out and knocked the runner face-first into the dirt, unconscious.
Ethan dusted off his hands.
"Twelve down."
His breathing hadn't even changed.
---
THE REAL DANGER ARRIVES
Before Ethan could drag the bodies together, Alpha Sense screamed a warning—sharp, urgent, unmistakable.
Something bigger approached. Faster. Heavier.
Not wolves.
Not poachers.
A vehicle thundered over the ridge—steel plates reinforced with silver mesh.
The armored van.
Its engine growled with predatory purpose.
And there were more signatures inside.
Many more.
Ethan's eyes narrowed.
"So the real squad finally shows up."
He stepped forward, the forest parting silently around him.
The next fight would not be easy.
But he was ready.