Peter Hale halted just moments before ripping the life from his fleeing prey, his claws suspended mid-air, twitching with restrained violence.
The terrified victim bolted down the hallway, but Peter didn't chase.
He didn't need to.
His nostrils flared as he lifted his head, scenting the air.
Something far more interesting was here.
An Argent.
A slow, feral grin crept across his face as his red eyes gleamed in the dark. In his monstrous lycan form, Peter dropped to all fours and began stalking through the ruined halls of Beacon Hills High.
He remembered every inch of this place. Every hallway. Every door. Every shadow.
And the scent was getting stronger.
Then it hit him—like lightning in his veins.
Power.
His muscles tensed, rippling with sudden strength as the full moon bathed him in its glow. He could feel it, his body surging, swelling with newfound energy. The moon shouldn't be full. Not tonight.
But he didn't care.
Whatever had caused it, he welcomed it.
"Perfect," he growled, voice guttural and monstrous.
He was stronger now—faster. More savage than ever. Harder to kill.
And the Argents?
They would all die.
But first…
Their nieces would scream.
——
As for Allison—she held her breath, trembling beneath a desk with Lydia pressed beside her. From the narrow window in the classroom door, they saw it: glowing red eyes, like burning embers from the pits of hell, staring in.
Peter lunged toward them.
But before he could reach the door—BOOM!
A shotgun shell slammed into his face, bursting flame and smoke. He roared in pain, the sound monstrous and inhuman, as his head jerked violently from the impact.
Another shot. Then another.
Daniela stood firm in the hallway, eyes locked on the beast, unloading round after round into Peter's skull. Smoke curled from the shotgun barrel, but she didn't let up.
Not until the creature finally staggered back, snarling in rage, pieces of his flesh sizzling and flaking off his twisted face.
Click.
Out of shells.
Without missing a beat, she dropped the shotgun and drew her Desert Eagle in one smooth motion. Two sharp cracks rang out—both bullets striking their mark.
Right between his eyes.
Peter screamed, clutching at his face, blinded. He stumbled wildly, crashing into lockers, howling as his heightened senses spiraled into chaos—his ears ringing, his nose filled with blood and smoke.
Daniela turned, eyes burning.
"Run! Both of you! Stiles—you too!"
The girls didn't hesitate. Allison grabbed Lydia's hand, and Stiles followed as they bolted down the hallway together.
Daniela didn't watch them run. She stood her ground.
But Peter halted.
His snarls deepened, and his wounds—once savage and gory—began to mend. The bloodline of the Hales, fused with the full moon's wrath, was working its dark miracle. Flesh reknit.
The monster was healing.
His burning eyes locked onto her.
Now, he wasn't just going to kill her.
He was going to tear her apart. Slowly. Piece by piece.
———-
In the far corner of the school, Derek was pressed against the wall, his breath ragged. Beside him, Scott trembled under the weight of the full moon, his claws digging into his own shoulders, trying desperately—not to lose control.
And standing before them was Iván, or what was left of him.
He stood frozen, unmoving, but it wasn't shock that held him still. His mind was fractured, lost in a storm of power and instinct. And this… this wasn't any ordinary Lycan form.
What Derek saw now was something out of legend—
A Noble.
Stories he'd only ever heard in passing, half-whispered by his mother when he was a boy. Tales of werewolves beyond Alphas, beings of terrifying strength and royal blood. They were called Nobles.
The most feared of all.
Said to be direct descendants of Lycus—the original Lycan, the final form of the Alpha. A monster among monsters. And now, Derek understood why his mother always warned him: Respect the Adrastus bloodline.
Because one of them was standing right in front of him—bathed in moonlight, burning like fire incarnate.
But this wasn't Iván. Not anymore.
Something older had awakened. Something ancient that wore his shape.
And then, like a switch flipping, the creature moved—not with hesitation, but with the silent authority of something that had walked through countless centuries.
Towering over them, its burning eyes locked onto Scott.
The creature's gaze was unrelenting—piercing straight through him. Scott trembled, still battling the full moon's grip. The beast tilted its head ever so slightly.
Then without speaking, its voice echoed inside their minds. Not a single voice, but many layered over one another, cold and commanding like a hive of ancient spirits speaking as one:
"Your will… is strong."
Scott gasped as a wave of control flooded his senses. The violent urge to kill dimmed, his limbs shaking as he dropped to one knee. He instinctively bowed his head, resisting at first—then surrendering.
The Lycan's fire-bright gaze shifted to Derek.
Without hesitation, Derek lowered his head in respect. And the voice echoed again in his mind:
"Derek Hale… your blood remembers. Your kin once stood beside me in the old wars."
And with that, it spoke no more.
It turned slow, deliberate—its head snapping toward a new presence.
An Alpha.
——-
Iván's mother ran, leading the Alpha away—buying time. But it was too fast.
In an instant, it caught her, lifting her effortlessly as it opened its mouth
She struggled, but her eyes held no fear—only acceptance. She was ready to die, ready to see her husband again. But in those final moments, the faces of her children flashed in her mind.
"I love you," she whispered.
Before Peter could bite down, a thunderous roar echoed through the night, commanding, undeniable. It rolled across the land, shaking the very air, and every supernatural creature within miles felt it in their bones.
Peter froze, his grip loosening as the woman dropped to the floor. He turned, red eyes locking onto the source.
The Noble.
Revenge burned in Peter's heart. He felt unstoppable, empowered by the moon and the fury of his bloodline. Without hesitation, he lunged.
The two collided with a force that shattered the air, shockwaves ripping through the halls like a thunderclap. Walls split, glass exploded, and the very foundation trembled beneath them. A storm of fury and primal power raged as two Lycans—one consumed by vengeance, the other shaped by legend—clashed with earth-shaking might.
Peter struck first, his claws slashing through the air—only to be caught mid-swing. The Noble didn't flinch. With a single, fluid motion, it twisted Peter's arm and hurled him skyward.
It launched after him, soaring through the broken roof, their battle continuing high above before crashing down into the forest outside. Trees splintered. Flames danced around them as the Noble's aura ignited the ground, encircling the clearing in a blazing inferno.
Peter stumbled back, dazed. The flames parted as the Noble stepped forward, its voice not spoken aloud, but etched into Peter's mind, echoing like a memory carved in stone:
"Peter Hale… Revenge blackens your heart. Rage has made you blind, you spilled your own blood without honor."
Before Peter could react, the Noble vanished from sight, only to reappear behind him in a blink. Its claws pierced clean through him, impaling him mid-roar.
Peter screamed as the Noble lifted him into the air, holding him aloft in the full light of the moon. The firelight glinted off its fur, regal and terrifying.
"You are no longer worthy of my power," the voice whispered in his soul.
The moonlight pulsed. A glow erupted from Peter's chest, his essence, his power—ripped free as a burning crimson core. It hovered in the air for a breathless moment… then vanished into the night.
The Noble tilted its head toward the moon, then cast Peter's broken body to the ground. The Lycan form dissolved, leaving Peter barely breathing—defeated, stripped of his power.
Slowly, the Noble turned toward Derek.
A spark planted in the soul, a flicker of light ignited growing, surging—until it bloomed into flames.
Without a word, the Noble turned away, its presence still heavy with ancient weight. It walked through the fractured woods toward a cliff's edge, the wind carrying ash and moonlight around it.
There, beneath the glowing sky, its fur shimmered—turning from sunfire gold to a luminous silver. The fire in its eyes dimmed, fading from molten orange to deep crimson.
Then, with a final breath, the great beast collapsed.
The form shrank, shifted, until all that remained was a human teenager—Iván, lying still on the edge of the cliff, the full moon slowly retreating back to its original shape.