James would not be able to see anything at all. "Michael whatever you are doing it not funny" He was not trying to get pack up on his first day as a werewolf. "Who says anything about it being a joke" James would feel a distortion in the air behind him, his ears picking up on the sound of something coming toward him, the sound it made as it parted the air molecule and move in the air picked up by his ears. His nose picking up the feint scent of iron.
James would move his body to the side just in time to avoid a projectile, it seem like a blood bullet just barely missed it mark. "That was close" He muttered, though he was still on guard, any second now, he might just lose his head. He would stand up again, looking around, his gaze trying to find his friend in this dense mist "Michael the hell!" James sounded annoyed, he almost died. "You almost killed me you bastard!" A chuckle could be heard from the smoke. "You're not James anymore," the voice continued, colder now. "You're nothing more than a filthy werewolf." While the voice carried hate, and James could feel hate from it, his senses were telling him that it was fake, and superficial at best. Before he could say anything about it.
The fog thickened further , pressing in until it felt solid. James couldn't even see the outline of his own hands anymore. He pressed his palms to his face—
Still nothing.
"Seriously?" he hissed. "I can't even see my own—"
Pain exploded through his side.
Another blood bullet slammed into him, punching through flesh and sending him spinning.
He hit the ground hard, breath ripped from his lungs.
Before he could gasp, the world moved.
Michael was suddenly there.
James barely registered the blur before something grabbed his wrist and twisted.
Crack.
Agony screamed up his arm as bones snapped out of alignment. James roared, swinging blindly with his good hand—
—and hit nothing.
A knee slammed into his stomach. The force lifted him off the ground before he was hurled backward like trash.
He crashed into a tree.
The trunk groaned.
James felt like shit, his body screaming at him to get up and fight, his left hand which had been snapped in half a second ago was healing at speed visible to the naked eye, the bones were snapping back into place.
**CRACK** As his hand fully healed, he looked at it, full regeneration in a matter of seconds, but yet that shit hurt like a mother fucker. "Michael this is not funny" He was getting annoyed, his eyes were turning a golden color, his fangs were slowly coming out, while he could sense his friend intention, and none of it included killing him. Getting his ass handed to him like that was begining to piss him off.
"You're dangerous," Michael's voice said calmly, circling him unseen. "Too dangerous. Werewolves like you don't get to live long."
Another impact—his other hand this time.
Crack. Crack.
James screamed as fingers bent the wrong way, tendons tearing. He tasted blood. His anger was growing with each and every single blow landed on his body. Yet as another blow came for his head, he raised his left hand and blocked it. "You getting very annoying" **CRUNCH** The sound of someone fist being crushed to fine paste could be heard, some of Michael bones could be seen sticking out his hand, his blood falling on the floor. James would pull Michael in, in order to rock his shit, however, the blood that were on their way to the floor, would change direction and rush toward James at full speed. James gaze would flick to them last second, being forced to let go of Michael as the blood narrowly avoided his vitals. Michael would jump away, and while James couldnt see it, he could hear the sound of Michael hands regenerating, the sound of bones regenerating, nerves being back in place, muscles spawning in, and skin being added on to it, in less than 5 seconds, Michael hand was as good as new.
"High potential," Michael continued. "Rapid adaptation. Sensory evolution. If I let you grow, you'll become a problem."
James tried to stand but he realise he couldnt, while he had manage to avoid his vital organs being struck, Michael blood had still managed to hit him, shit felt like getting hit by a shotgun, point blank.
A foot slammed into his chest and sent him flying again.
"Worthless," Michael spat. "You don't even know what you are."
James hit the ground and didn't get back up.
For a moment, there was nothing but pain. White-hot. Drowning.
His body felt broken—was broken. Arms twisted wrong, ribs screaming, blood soaking into the earth beneath him. His body begin to heal faster and faster, his rage supercharging his healing.
His breathing turned ragged.
No.
Something inside him snarled.
Not words. Not thoughts.
Instinct.
The fog didn't matter.
His senses were turning on.
His ears twitched as his hearing sharpened, pulling in every sound around him. Sight wasn't everything—not anymore.
The forest spoke again. Not in voices, but in vibrations. Footsteps compressing soil. Leaves bending under weight.
Air displaced by movement. Michael wasn't silent—nothing alive ever truly was.
James inhaled slowly, his nose sniffing the air. He could smell it—the faint trace of iron drifting through the fog.
The same smell he carried himself.
The same scent left behind when Michael had used his blood missiles on him before.
Now he could smell Michael's blood everywhere.
His eyes shifted, the world warping as his vision changed from normal sight to something else entirely.
Heat signatures bled into existence—faint glows painted across the darkness.
James swallowed.
The taste of the air told him distance. Direction. Height.
He couldn't see Michael. His body temperature was too low—unnaturally so—barely registering against the cold backdrop of the night. He had to rely on everything else.
And then he felt him.
Not with his eyes.
With everything.
There.
Three meters to his left.
Slightly elevated.
Poised to strike again.
Blood surged into his muscles. His body bulked up, veins rising thick along his arms. His teeth sharpened, pressure building in his jaw.
Power.
His spine straightened as he pushed himself to his feet—
—and James caught the punch aimed directly at his face.
"I can see you."
Michael frowned.
He tried to pull the same trick again, slipping away, but James wouldn't have that.
James flipped him, twisting his body mid-motion and hurling Michael through the air before attempting to slam him straight into the ground.
At the last possible second, Michael's body exploded into a swarm of bats, narrowly avoiding being crushed.
James froze.
He hadn't expected that.
Power began swelling harder in his veins, the full moon glistening overhead as James felt his body heat rise even further.
Fabric tore as his shirt ripped apart, his body swelling more, muscles stretching beneath skin.
Twenty blood bullets tore through the air toward him.
James slammed his leg into the ground.
The earth answered.
A massive boulder erupted upward, blocking all twenty attacks in a violent crash of stone and blood.
"Too slow."
James barely had time to react.
Michael was already behind him.
A sword flashed in the fog.
James felt it before he saw it.
The blade cut clean through his back muscles, leaving a massive gash across his spine. Blood spilled freely, splattering against the grass below.
"AHH— it hurt, you dick!"
James spun, swinging wildly, but Michael dodged the counterattack with elegant ease, landing several meters away as if untouched by the chaos.
James reached back, fingers brushing the wound.
It wasn't healing.
"Don't bother looking, beast," Michael said calmly.
"This blade is pure silver, dipped in wolfsbane. You will not be healing this."
James's eyes went white.
Fur exploded across his body as his form surged upward, bones shifting and stretching as he returned to his full height—ten feet of towering muscle and rage.
A howl tore from his chest, shaking the forest as he lifted his head toward the moon.
Michael paused.
Something wasn't adding up.
As the wolf howled, Michael finally saw it.
Four pairs of fangs.
That wasn't normal.
Werewolves—like vampires—had two pairs of fangs. Elder vampires had sharper ones, sometimes new forms entirely.
But the only kind of werewolf with four pairs of fangs were—
Alphas.