The rejected Alpha and the witch

The entire Crescent Quarter was enveloped in darkness. However, she had memorized the way after years of traversing it, so she no longer found it difficult. Nothing had changed much during her six years of absence. The deep shadows and eternal silence remained.

Every time she passed someone, they pretended not to see her, and she did the same. In Crescent Quarter, words were worthless unless they carried paramount importance.

Slowly, she knocked five times on a massive iron door before her. The knob seemed to hiss.

After a few seconds, the carved marks on the doorknob began to glow red, a sign that it had identified her. The knob twisted and rattled a few times before a hard thud echoed, and the door swung open, revealing a dark chamber lit only by red flickering candles.

She entered breathlessly, and the door closed behind her on its own. The air inside was suffocating, as if she were at the depths of the sea. The mounted candles flickered with her shadow.

"I have come as you summoned," she said solemnly.

The figures in front of her moved stealthily, blending effortlessly with the darkness, making it hard to discern their number.

Despite the shadows, her weary eyes caught five distinct shades of black. Silence followed until one of the figures approached her. She immediately lowered her gaze to the ground and dropped to her knees.

Clearing her throat, she said, "Nysander has fallen..."

A deep, rough voice rumbled with fury, its chill reaching her feet. It sounded like a dozen demons speaking in unison.

"But his letter has arrived," she added.

Silence stretched between them, indicating the letter's importance and their need to examine it.

A moment later, the figure finally spoke the words she never thought she'd hear.

"The Abyssal Wayfarer is back," he said lowly.

She raised her gaze, understanding that their plan must now be executed swiftly with the Key they needed finally returned.

"Bring the Night Howler," he ordered. "It will summon the beast we need."

His figure seemed to reach the ceiling, but the shadows and his black cloak concealed his face. It felt as though she were speaking to the night sky.

"We need the White Fang," a scratchy female voice whispered behind her. She dared not move, knowing it would show disrespect to their leaders if she met their eyes.

"Find the Cursed One," another low voice grumbled on her right, echoing around her ears. She could no longer identify how many were inside with her.

"Summon the Beast!" The roar sounded like hundreds of eerie voices whispering at once, repeatedly uttering the words 'Cursed Witch' and 'White Fang.'

She bit her lips and lowered her posture until she nearly kissed the cold, dusty ground.

"Consider it done, my Lords," she said against the silence.

The voices did not reply, and she exited the cavernous chamber. She now carried the replica of the Night Howler, greasy black and as small as a finger, resembling a whistle made from the bone of an unknown prehistoric beast.

Many men had been lost trying to obtain this artifact. As she held it firmly in her sweating hands, she foresaw their plan finally coming to life and the end of many lives.

"I must find the Cursed One, summon the Beast, and bring the White Fang to the Shadows," she whispered to herself, grinning. "And then this world will finally become what it should have been a long time ago..."

***

Knight Sin GrimDaleward

Knight wiped the dripping blood from his nose with the back of his hand. Pain was spreading throughout his body, but there was no time to dwell on it.

The late afternoon breeze seemed to pause after sweeping through the tall trees nearby. The thick branches squeaked, and the countless onlookers gasped around them.

"Duck!" Knight heard Josiah roar from the distance, trying to help his friend, Emmet, avoid Knight's swift and powerful punches.

But no matter how loudly Josiah shouted, Emmet moved too slowly. Knight's next fist collided straight into Emmet's jaw.

The sudden impact sent Emmet flying over the fence that surrounded them. The fence broke as Emmet landed headfirst into the ground with a horrible thud.

Emmet soon rose to his feet. He shook his dizzy head and, without hesitation, charged back toward Knight.

Knight was two years younger and at least a foot shorter than Emmet. Despite his workouts, no muscles seemed to emerge from his young body.

This disappointed his father endlessly, deeming him weak, but Knight's physical features did not stop him from moving with precise swings, deliberately attacking and kicking the approaching Emmet squarely in the chest.

Knight maneuvered his body effortlessly to dodge Emmet's jab, then advanced his right foot to kick Emmet in the thigh, further aggravating the bruise from the recent fall, making him stagger.

The bell overhead rang, and Knight returned to his defensive stance.

"Five minutes left," Knight thought.

Emmet was thinking the same, for before Knight could blink, Emmet had already pinned him to the muddy ground.

Emmet's nails swiftly turned into long, dark claws, digging into Knight's arm.

But Knight did not give Emmet the satisfaction of hearing him groan. He had anticipated this moment.