Derek barely stood. Blood dripped from his lips, his nose, the corners of his eyes. His body was a ruin—ribs cracked, organs strained, muscles screaming. Eleven times blood rush had been too much. He'd known it would be. He'd done it anyway.
The Wolfens circled him. Ten versions of the same man, same face, same golden eyes. Some were smiling. Some weren't. The one with no face tilted its head again, like a bird watching something small and wounded.
Derek knew Wolfen was dangerous. He'd always known. Wolfen was smart, fast, ruthless when he needed to be. But Derek had never fought him. Never seen him go all out. He'd only heard stories—the Boars, the other universe, the things Wolfen had done when no one was watching.
He hadn't known how much he didn't know.
Only one of them had been kicking his ass. Just one. The one that looked like the Wolfen he knew—the golden eyes, the half-smile, the hands in his pockets. The one whose eyes were too bright. Too hungry.
He hadn't even touched the others.
Derek clenched his fists. His knuckles were raw. His arms were shaking. The people were watching now—they had come up to the walls, drawn by the noise, by the fire, by the screams. He saw their faces. Pale. Terrified.
They're watching me fail.
He let go of his anger. It wasn't helping. It had never helped. He breathed in. Held it. Let it out. Opened his eyes.
He leaned forward. Charged. The snow exploded behind him.
He slid low, under a blast of fire, under a reaching hand, and punched. The blow landed clean—square in the chest of the Wolfen with the Architect mask. The mask cracked. The Wolfen stumbled back.
Then healed.
Pulse? Derek's mind raced. They have Pulse too?
The ten Wolfens looked at him. All of them. At the same time. They moved at the same time. Ten fists, ten blasts, ten bodies—all hitting him at once.
Derek flew backward through the air, through the stone wall, through the homes behind it. He heard screams. Felt bodies fall. People were hurt. People were dying.
He lay in the snow, unable to move. His vision blurred. His ears rang. Fire crackled somewhere close. Screams. Shouts for help. People calling his name.
Derek. Derek. Derek.
His eyes were closing. It was hard to keep them open. The snow was cold against his back. Comfortable. He felt warmth spread through him—not from the fires, from somewhere else. Somewhere quiet.
He smelled flowers.
He was getting sleepy.
No.
His eyes shot open. His jaw clenched. His body screamed in protest—every bone, every muscle, every nerve telling him to stay down, to rest, to stop.
He got up.
Victory or death. Wolfen had never taught them to give up. He wasn't about to start now.
RAGE.
Blood rush. Thirty times. His body should have torn itself apart. It almost did. He could feel his heart stuttering, his blood boiling, his veins threatening to burst.
He charged.
The Wolfen with the too-bright eyes tried to block. Derek's fist took both his arms off at the elbows. They hit the snow, steaming.
The others shot fire at him—all at once, ten beams converging on his chest. His skin sizzled. Blistered. He didn't stop.
"Dominance Sphere."
Ten voices. Ten Wolfens. Ten spheres, perfectly synchronized, pressing in from every direction. Derek was trapped in a cage of fire and will and something he couldn't name.
They attacked in pairs. Two at a time, striking from angles he couldn't predict, couldn't block, couldn't counter. He took hits to his ribs, his face, his knees. He kept standing.
They shot dense fire beams at him—all ten, at the same time. Derek tried pulse amplification. Tried dominance rejection. Nothing worked. The spheres held. The fire held. His body was at its limit.
He stood there, breathing heavily, waiting for the end.
The heat vanished.
The cold returned.
Ice spread across the ground, across the fire, across the spheres. The Wolfens staggered back, their domains shattering like glass, their flames dying in the sudden, biting frost.
Selene Kane stood at the edge of the clearing, her white hair moving in a wind that touched nothing else. She looked at the Wolfens. At Derek. At the people on the walls, watching, waiting.
She walked forward. Picked Derek up like he weighed nothing. Carried him to the settlement, to the people, to safety. She set him down gently—more gently than something her size should be able to move.
Then she turned.
The Wolfens were regrouping. The one with no face was already healing. The one with the too-bright eyes had grown new arms.
Selene vanished.
The snow fell.
Derek lay in the settlement, surrounded by his people, and watched the ice spread.