My steps were heavy on the packed dirt as I emerged from the edge of the forest. The smell of ozone from my battle against Elias still clung to my clothes, mixed with the metallic scent of my own blood.
I was returning to the real world. To the school lights, to the muffled music that had stopped, to my friends.
But before I could reach the lacrosse field, a scream tore through the fog.
"SOMEBODY! PLEASE! HELP!"
I stopped. My eyes narrowed in the darkness.
Out of the mist, running toward the parking lot but swerving as soon as he saw me come out of the trees, came Jackson Whittemore.
He didn't have the arrogant posture of a team captain. His suit was rumpled, his face bathed in sweat and tears, his eyes wide in an animal panic I had never seen in him.
And in his arms, pale as wax, was Lydia.
Her dress was soaked in blood on the side. Her head hung back, her neck exposed and vulnerable.
"NATHAN!" Jackson bellowed as soon as he recognized me, his voice cracking. He ran to me and fell to his knees on the grass, almost dropping her. He held her as if she were the only solid thing in the world.
"She's not waking up!" Jackson sobbed, shaking her slightly, her blood staining his hands. "Come on, Lydia... stay with me, come on! Please, don't do this... Nathan, do something! You're the magician, aren't you?! Fix her!"
I looked at Lydia. I saw the bite. I saw the marks of Peter's claws. She was cold, going into hypovolemic shock, but the pulse was still there. Weak, but there. Her fate as a Banshee was sealed, but she would survive.
Then, I looked at Jackson.
At his tears. At his belated despair.
And I felt a wave of disgust rise up my throat, stronger than any nausea caused by magic.
I didn't move to help. I stood still, looking down at him kneeling in front of me.
"Nathan, please!" Jackson begged, grabbing the hem of my mud-stained pants. "Help her!"
I kicked his hand away.
The movement was sharp. Jackson recoiled, shocked, looking at me as if I had slapped him.
"This is your fault, Jackson," I said. My voice wasn't shouted. It was icy, vibrating with exhaustion and the contained rage of months watching him screw up.
Jackson blinked, the tears stopping for a second from the shock.
"What...?"
"Seriously," I continued, taking a step toward him, forcing him to hunch his shoulders. "I told you last time that you were naive. That you didn't know what you were getting into. But now... now I'm changing that."
I pointed to Lydia's motionless body in his arms.
"You are a horrific human being."
"Nathan, she's dying!" Jackson screamed, trying to regain focus.
"She is paying the price for your ambition!" I roared, silencing him. "I warned you. I told you that you weren't seeing the whole picture. I drew it for you! I told you to stay away from the Argents, away from the Alpha, away from all this shit if you weren't sure. And yet, you made the same stupid mistakes as always."
I knelt in front of him, not to comfort him, but to look deep into those selfish blue eyes.
"I tried to be your friend, Jackson. I really tried. I gave you the benefit of the doubt when no one else did. But I don't know what your problem is."
I poked his chest hard, pushing him back.
"I don't know if it's this annoying rich kid insecurity where you need to be the best at everything... or the fact that you're simply a rotten human being who manages to push away everyone who cares about you."
Jackson was paralyzed, mouth open, the words hitting him like rocks.
"You pushed away your parents, the people who adopted you and gave you everything," I listed, relentless. "You pushed away people who were trying to get close, like me. You pushed away Danny."
My eyes drifted down to Lydia, and my expression softened for a second before returning with double the hardness to him.
"And you pushed Lydia away."
Jackson sobbed, pulling her tighter against his chest.
"I love her..." he whispered, weak.
"Love?" I let out a short, humorless laugh. "You used her. You treated her like a trophy, like an accessory to match your Porsche. She is the only person in this goddamn town who truly likes you, Jackson. The only one who saw something beyond this insecure asshole."
I stood up, looking at him with total contempt.
"I am a mage, Jackson. I understand spells, runes, impossible energies. But I swear by everything holy... I don't know what black magic spell you used on her to make a girl as incredible, as smart and capable as Lydia Martin... like a piece of shit like you."
Jackson hung his head, crying openly now, destroyed not just by fear, but by the brutal truth I had just thrown in his face. He had no defense. He knew I was right.
I sighed, wiping a hand over my blood-streaked face. The anger drained away, leaving only tiredness.
"Take her to the hospital," I ordered, turning my back. "And pray, Jackson. Pray she wakes up. Because if she dies... it won't be Peter's fault. It will be yours."
I started walking toward the parking lot, where the ambulance lights were beginning to flash in the distance, leaving Jackson Whittemore alone on the grass with the weight of his choices in his arms.
[...]
I walked to the Charger parked in the darkness, away from the ambulance lights. My hands shook, not from fear, but from a physical and magical exhaustion that penetrated to the marrow of my bones.
I opened the driver's door with a weak pull. The interior smelled of new leather and normalcy, an absurd contrast to the smell of blood and ozone that permeated my clothes.
I didn't get in. I just leaned over the passenger seat and opened the glove compartment.
There it was. A small reinforced glass vial containing a neon-blue liquid that glowed softly in the gloom. My emergency reserve. A concentrated mana potion I had distilled weeks ago, using the alchemical base I found in the footnotes of my father's grimoire.
I pulled the cork out with my teeth and downed the vial in one go.
The taste was horrible—bitter like medicine and cold as dry ice.
The liquid went down burning my throat and exploded in my stomach.
I took a deep breath, feeling the thermal shock spread through my veins. The pain in my muscles subsided a little. The fog in my mind cleared.
The HUD blinked and updated.
[MP: 950 / 5,500]
It wasn't much. It wasn't anywhere near my max. But it was enough not to die if I needed to light a match.
I wiped my mouth with my dirty shirt sleeve, slammed the car door, and turned back to the forest.
"No rest for the wicked," I muttered, running back into the trees.
I didn't need to use magical tracking. The tension in the air was so dense I could follow it with my eyes closed.
I ran through the bushes, ignoring the branches scratching my already cut face, guided by the raised voices and the unmistakable smell of wolfsbane and gunpowder.
I reached a smaller clearing, near the old Hale house.
The scene was a Mexican standoff about to turn into an execution.
The clearing was divided by an invisible line of tension.
On one side, Allison Argent kept her compound bow drawn, the string vibrating slightly against her cheek. Her eyes were watery, but her hands obeyed a newly acquired muscle memory, guided by the voice whispering in her ear like a serpent.
"Stay focused," Kate instructed, voice calm and didactic, completely ignoring the chaos around them.
In Allison's sights, Derek Hale was on his knees, panting, a silver-tipped arrow already embedded in his chest, black wolfsbane blood staining his shirt. Beside him, Scott was frozen. He wasn't looking at the weapon; he was looking at the girl he loved, his face twisted in painful disbelief.
Kate took a step forward, adjusting her niece's posture with a light touch on the shoulder.
"You got the heart. Now, take out the mobility," Kate ordered coldly. "The leg."
Allison didn't hesitate. She exhaled, and her fingers relaxed.
SWHISH.
The arrow cut through the night air with a lethal whistle.
"ARGH!"
Derek roared as the steel pierced his thigh, pinning him to the ground. The impact was dry and brutal.
Kate smiled, satisfied. She pulled a different arrow from Allison's quiver. One with a bulbous, strange tip.
"Now, the vision. Flash arrow."
Allison nocked the projectile.
Derek, recognizing the tactical ammo by the chemical smell, shouted in panic:
"SCOTT, CLOSE YOUR EYES!"
But Scott couldn't. He was trapped in Allison's gaze, searching for any trace of the girl he knew, unable to look away from the betrayal.
Allison fired.
The arrow hit a tree trunk two meters from the werewolves.
BOOM.
It wasn't a fire explosion. It was pure magnesium. A white, stellar, violent flash that turned the dark night into blinding day for a second.
Scott screamed, bringing his hands to his face, retinas burned by the flash. Derek, growling in pain, squeezed his eyes shut, but the damage was done.
Taking advantage of the targets' momentary blindness, Derek acted on instinct. With a nauseating snap, he broke the shaft of the arrow in his leg.
"Get up!" Derek groped the air, grabbed Scott's jacket, and pulled him with brute force. "Let's go!"
He dragged the blind and stunned teenager backward, stumbling over roots, retreating toward the protection of the burned house's porch.
The fog covered the clearing again as the light dissipated.
Kate didn't run after them. She walked slowly, with the tranquility of a predator who knows the prey is cornered. She looked at Allison, who was lowering the bow, shaking with adrenaline.
Kate draped an arm around her niece's shoulders, a twisted maternal gesture.
"See?" she whispered, proud, looking at the fresh blood on the grass. "Natural talent."
Scott stopped in front of her, ignoring the silver arrowhead trembling inches from his chest. His breathing was irregular, not from the effort of running, but from the absolute panic of losing her.
"Allison..." he began, voice choked, taking a cautious step forward. "I can explain."
Allison's face was a mask of pain and betrayal. Tears flowed, but the bow didn't lower.
"Stop lying," she whispered, voice fragile like glass about to shatter. "For once in your life."
"I was going to tell you the truth at the formal," Scott pleaded, words tumbling out, desperate. "I swear. I was going to tell you everything. Because everything I said... everything I did..."
Allison finished the sentence for him, with a bitter, humorless smile that hurt Scott more than any arrow.
"...was to protect me."
Scott nodded, grasping at that fragile hope.
"Yeah..."
Allison's eyes hardened. The glint of love Scott used to see there had disappeared, replaced by a cold void.
"Hum..." she murmured, shaking her head slowly. "I don't believe it."
The sound of crushing leaves broke the moment.
Kate Argent stepped out of the shadows, walking to her niece's side with her pistol resting casually on her shoulder. She rolled her eyes with theatrical impatience, as if watching a bad soap opera.
"Thank God," Kate groaned. "Now, do us all a favor and shoot him before I shoot myself out of boredom."
Allison's soldier mask slipped. She blinked, confused, looking from her aunt to Scott.
"Uh..." Allison stuttered, lowering the bow a few inches. "But you said we were just going to catch them."
Kate smiled. It wasn't a comforting smile. It was the smile of a predator teaching its cub how to bite the jugular.
"And we did, honey," Kate replied, with the cold logic of a butcher. "We caught them. Now, we kill them."
Without warning, without hesitation, Kate spun around and aimed the gun at Derek, who was trying to crawl in the dirt, wounded.
BANG!
The point-blank shot hit the werewolf in the shoulder, knocking him back into the mud with a muffled cry of pain.
Allison jumped back, startled by the sudden violence.
Kate looked at her niece, the barrel of the gun smoking in the cold night.
"See?" she said, shrugging. "Not that hard."
Before Allison could process the brutality of shooting Derek, or before Kate could fire at Scott, a hoarse, tired voice cut through the clearing's fog.
"Allison."
Everyone turned.
I stepped out of the shadows of the trees, walking with difficulty but with firm steps. My clothes were torn, there was dried blood on my forehead, and I smelled of burnt ozone and spent magic.
I stopped a few meters from her, ignoring Kate's smoking gun. My eyes met Allison's, who looked like she was waking up from a nightmare.
"When I told you at the dance that you were tough... that you were smart..." I shook my head slowly, disappointment heavy in my voice. "This isn't what I was talking about."
I pointed to the bow in her hand, to the rigid soldier stance.
"You weren't supposed to become this. You weren't supposed to be controlled by your family like a wind-up doll."
Allison opened her mouth, lips trembling, but no words came out. Her aunt's programming was cracking.
I walked until I stood between the hunters and the fallen werewolves. I placed my body as a shield in front of Scott and Derek.
Kate Argent huffed, rolling her eyes with impatience, but she didn't shoot immediately. She lowered the gun slightly, recognizing who I was.
"Get out of the way, kid," Kate warned, voice dangerously calm. "I have strict rules about not touching a hair on a Salt's head because of your father. Don't get involved in this."
I stared down the barrel of her gun without blinking.
"Can't do that," I replied dryly.
Kate laughed, a short, incredulous laugh. She raised the gun again, aiming right at the center of my forehead.
"Look, Marcus is scary, I admit. But your daddy isn't here right now to protect you, is he?" She cocked the hammer of the pistol. "Do me a favor and spare me the trouble of having to explain to your old man why I had to shoot you."
I felt the rest of my mana—the 800 points from the potion—humming in my veins. It wasn't much, but for what I was going to do, it was more than enough.
I smiled. A cold smile that didn't reach my eyes.
"You're right. He's not here."
My eyes glowed an intense blue for a fraction of a second.
"But I share the same blood as my old man, Kate," I whispered. "You should fear me too."
I raised my open right hand in a quick motion.
"Vector Attraction."
There was no sound of wind. There was only physics being violated.
The pistol in Kate's hand was ripped away with violent force, as if a giant magnet had been switched on in my palm. The gun flew spinning through the air and slapped with a dry crack into my open hand.
At the same time, with my left hand, I made a subtle gesture to the side.
Allison's compound bow was pulled from her hands. She yelped in surprise as the weapon floated away from her and stopped, suspended in the air beside me, obeying my silent will.
Kate looked at her own empty hand, then at me, holding her gun with my finger on the trigger. The arrogant smile disappeared.
I pointed her own pistol at her chest.
"Now," I said, voice hard. "Let's talk."
The cold metal of Kate's pistol weighed in my hand. Allison's bow floated beside me, obeying my silent will. I had control of the situation.
Or at least I thought I did.
"Talking is good."
The voice came from behind, calm and authoritative.
I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. The sound of a pistol hammer being cocked echoed in the clearing.
Chris Argent stepped out of the shadows of the trees, walking slowly until he stood beside his daughter, but his gun wasn't pointed at the werewolves on the ground.
It was pointed directly at my head.
Kate let out a laugh of relief, regaining her arrogance in the blink of an eye.
"Chris!" she exclaimed, opening her arms as if to hug him. "Thank God. The kid lost his mind. Shoot them! End this now!"
But Chris didn't shoot. He didn't even look at the wolves. His gaze was fixed on his sister.
"I know what you did, Kate," he said, voice low and dangerous.
Kate's smile faltered.
"What?" she feigned ignorance, but her eyes darted back and forth. "I did what I was told to do. I cleaned up the mess."
"No one asked you to kill innocent people," Chris retorted, taking a step forward, the gun shaking slightly in his hand, not from fear, but from contained rage. "There were children in that house, Kate. Human children."
Allison gasped beside him, looking at her aunt with renewed horror.
"You broke the Code," Chris sentenced, like a judge reading the final verdict. "Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent. We hunt those who hunt us. We do not murder families sleeping in their beds."
Kate snarled, the mask falling completely.
"I did what was necessary! Someone had to have the guts to..."
"Shut up!" Chris shouted, making his sister take a step back.
Silence fell heavy over the clearing. Allison's father took a deep breath, regaining the icy control of a veteran hunter.
He looked away from his sister and focused on me. His gun was still pointed at my face, but the killing intent had shifted.
"Lower that gun, son," Chris ordered, the tone not a threat, but a statement of fact. "You don't want this blood on your hands. And frankly, your father wouldn't forgive me if I let you do my family's dirty work."
He glanced at Kate with a mixture of disgust and deep sadness.
"We will deal with her," Chris stated. "Not you."
I looked at the pistol in my hand, then at Chris. He was serious. This was family business. An internal Argent trial.
I let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding and relaxed my shoulders. Kate's gun floated from my hand and fell onto the grass at Chris's feet. Allison's bow landed softly beside her.
"All yours," I said, taking a step back and standing in front of Scott and Derek again. "But if she tries anything..."
"She won't," Chris cut in, cold.
But before he could handcuff his sister, a guttural sound, coming from the depths of the forest, made the ground tremble beneath our feet.
"Maybe she won't get that chance..."
We all froze.
The giant shadow of the Alpha covered the moon.
Peter Hale had arrived to collect the debt.
The guttural sound stopped. The forest went silent for a second, until heavy, calm footsteps crushed the dry leaves.
Peter Hale emerged from the darkness.
He wasn't in full Beast form, that three-meter monstrosity. He was in human form, but his eyes glowed that intense crimson Alpha red, and his claws were extended.
He ignored Chris Argent pointing a gun at him. Ignored Kate trembling. Ignored even Scott and Derek, the wolves he came to hunt.
His eyes fixed only on me.
"So..." Peter said, voice casual, as if we were discussing the weather. "Elias failed."
I held his gaze, feeling cold sweat run down my back. I had 800 mana points and a body screaming for rest.
"Looks like it," I replied dryly.
Peter let out a sigh, shaking his head with mild, almost bureaucratic disappointment.
"A pity. But he already served his purpose anyway."
With a sharp movement, Peter grabbed the collar of his own designer shirt and pulled.
RIIIP.
The fabric tore, revealing his bare, muscular chest.
But it wasn't ordinary human skin.
Scott and Derek gasped. Chris Argent took a step back, lowering his gun in pure shock.
Peter's torso was covered in scars. But not from claws. They were runes. Complex magical symbols, branded into the flesh like hot iron, glowing with a faint purple pulse—the same color as Elias's magic.
"Master Level Physical Enhancement," I murmured, recognizing the script. "He turned his own body into a battery."
"The Maestro gave me the endurance," Peter smiled, showing sharp teeth. "And nature gave me the hunger."
Kate screamed, scrambling up from the ground with the pistol in her shaking hand.
"KILL HIM!"
That was the trigger.
"ROAAAAR!"
Scott and Derek didn't wait. The instinct for protection (and revenge) spoke louder. The two werewolves transformed completely, fur growing, fangs descending, and launched themselves at the Alpha.
BAM!
Derek hit Peter in the shoulder. Scott tried a slash at the legs.
Peter didn't even move. The runes on his chest glowed, absorbing the kinetic impact. With a backhand motion, he threw Derek against a tree like a ragdoll. Scott was kicked in the chest and flew away, landing at Allison's feet.
"Pathetic," Peter snarled.
He didn't want the wolves. He wanted the hunter.
Peter advanced, ignoring Chris Argent's shots ricocheting off his rune-enhanced skin. He went straight for Kate.
Kate tried to reload, panic stamped on her face, but Peter was faster. He raised his hand, claws ready to decapitate the woman who burned his family.
"DIE!" Peter roared, bringing his hand down.
But the blow stopped in mid-air.
Not out of mercy.
A dense, humming blue Flux barrier materialized between Peter's claws and Kate's neck.
Peter growled, pushing against the shield, and looked to the side.
I was there, hand outstretched, holding the barrier with pure willpower.
"Nathan..." Peter hissed. "Get out of the way. She deserves this."
I took a step forward, keeping the shield steady despite his runes pressing against my magic.
"Look, Peter..." I began, panting. "I don't care if she dies."
I looked at his claws, vibrating inches from Kate's throat, held back only by my trembling Flux barrier.
Peter snarled, saliva dripping onto my shields, red eyes burning with fury and confusion.
"She deserves to die, Nathan!" he roared, forcing his enhanced muscles against my magic. "She burned my family alive! You, of all people, should understand the need for cleaning!"
I held his gaze. My arms shook. I had less than 700 mana points now. The shield was cracking under the pressure of his strength runes.
I glanced back. I saw Scott getting up, face full of terror not for himself, but at the possibility of seeing Allison lose her aunt, or of seeing humanity lost in blood. I saw Allison herself, paralyzed, bow lowered, looking at the aunt who manipulated her with a mix of horror and pity.
I turned back to face the monster.
"Maybe she does," I admitted, voice hoarse.
I pushed more mana into the shield, making it glow intensely.
"But my friends care," I said, shrugging with a tired smile. "So... sorry."
"PEST!" Peter shouted.
With a roar that shook the trees, Peter gave up trying to pierce and struck.
It wasn't a claw attack. The runes on his right arm lit up in neon violet.
BOOM!
The physical impact shattered my shield instantly. The magical shockwave threw me backward like I'd been hit by a truck. I flew five meters, slammed my back against an oak tree, and fell to the dirt, winded.
"NATHAN!" Scott yelled.
Peter didn't waste time. He turned to Scott and Derek, who were now advancing together.
"You want to protect the murderer?!" Peter roared, growing in size, the transformation advancing to the full beast form, but now with glowing tattoos pulsing under the black skin. "THEN DIE WITH HER!"
The fight began. And it was a massacre.
Derek was first. He tried to flank, using speed. But Peter was faster. The agility runes on the Alpha's legs glowed, and he moved like a blur. Peter grabbed Derek by the neck mid-leap and slammed him into the ground hard enough to create a crater.
"You are weak, nephew!" Peter bellowed, kicking Derek in the ribs, breaking them with an audible snap. "You lack ambition!"
Scott came from above, roaring, trying to bite Peter's shoulder.
Peter didn't even turn. The runes on his back glowed and released a kinetic repulsion pulse—a cheap trick Elias must have taught him. Scott was thrown backward through the air, landing awkwardly at Chris Argent's feet.
Argent didn't hesitate. He raised his pistol and unloaded the clip into Peter's chest.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The silver bullets hit the target. But instead of piercing, they flattened against the steel-hard skin and fell to the ground.
"Iron Skin," I murmured, trying to get up, wiping blood from my mouth. "The bastard is a magical tank."
Peter laughed, ignoring the shots, and advanced on Scott, who was trying to stand.
"Allison!" I shouted. "The flash! Again!"
Allison, snapping out of shock, pulled the flash arrow.
"NOW!"
She fired.
POW!
The white flash exploded in Peter's face.
The Alpha bellowed, covering his eyes. The momentary blindness was our only chance.
"SCOTT! DEREK!" I screamed, concentrating the rest of my mana—400 points—into my hands. "TOGETHER!"
Scott, recovering his vision faster as a young Beta, saw the opening. Derek, driven by pure hate, got up ignoring the broken bones.
I cast.
"Flux Chains!"
I created loops of solid air around Peter's arms and legs, pinning him in place. His runes fought against my magic, burning my reserve at a breakneck speed.
"NOW!" I screamed, feeling my nose bleed from the effort.
Scott and Derek attacked at the same time.
Scott slid underneath, slashing the tendons of Peter's ankles with his claws.
Derek jumped, propelling himself off a tree trunk, and landed on his uncle's back.
Peter roared, breaking my magic chains with an explosion of brute force that dropped me to my knees, exhausted.
But it was too late.
Derek drove his claws deep into Peter's chest, tearing through the protection runes, tearing through magic skin, tearing through flesh.
"THIS IS FOR LAURA!" Derek roared.
And then, with a savage and definitive movement, Derek ripped out Peter Hale's throat.
Blood spurted, dark and thick, covering Derek's face.
The giant Alpha staggered. He tried to bring his hands to his neck, tried to activate a healing rune, but the damage was too massive, too fast. Elias's magic couldn't heal certain death.
Peter fell to his knees. He looked at Derek, choking, and then his red eyes began to lose their shine.
The power, the Alpha spark, left him like invisible red smoke... and was sucked into Derek.
Derek Hale raised his head and roared at the moon.
But his eyes were no longer blue.
They glowed an intense blood red.
Silence fell over the clearing. Peter's body, now shrunk back to human form, lay motionless on the earth.
Kate Argent, pale and shaking, was still on the ground where Peter had dropped her. She looked at the monster's body, then at the new monster that had just been born: the new Alpha.
Derek, panting, wiped the blood from his mouth. He looked at Kate. Vengeance still burned in him. He took a step toward her.
"No," Scott said, stepping in front of him. "It's over, Derek."
Derek growled at Scott.
"She killed my family."
"And you killed the murderer," Chris Argent intervened, walking until he stood between Derek and Kate, gun lowered but ready. "It's over, Hale. The Code was broken by her, and she will pay. But not with your teeth in her throat."
Derek looked at Chris, at Allison, at Scott... and finally at me, still on my knees, trying to catch my breath.
He knew that if he attacked now, he'd have to fight all of us. And even as an Alpha, he was wounded.
Derek huffed, turning his back on Kate.
"Get her out of here," Derek ordered, voice thick with new power. "Before I change my mind."
Chris Argent nodded, stern. He pulled Kate up from the ground forcefully, handcuffing her hands behind her back. Kate didn't resist; she was looking at Peter's corpse with a terror she had never shown before.
I looked at Scott. He was hurt, dirty, but alive. He looked at Allison, and the two exchanged a painful look, full of unspoken things.
I stood up slowly, feeling every muscle in my body protest.
Derek, panting, wiped the blood from his mouth and moved away from his uncle's body. Chris Argent, face impassive, pulled Kate from the ground with force, handcuffing her hands behind her back. She didn't resist, still in shock at the brutality of Peter's death.
Silence fell over the clearing, heavy and final.
That was when the sound of a V6 engine cut through the stillness, followed by the screech of tires singing on asphalt and then on dirt.
High beams swept the trees, momentarily blinding anyone looking at the clearing entrance.
Jackson's silver Porsche skidded and stopped sideways, kicking up dust.
The doors flew open.
Stiles and Jackson jumped out, almost tripping over each other.
"LET'S BURN THIS BASTARD!" Stiles screamed, voice cracking with adrenaline.
In Stiles' hands, and even in Jackson's trembling hands, were glass bottles full of yellowish liquid—gasoline or alcohol—with rags stuffed in the necks. Improvised Molotov cocktails. The "secret weapon" they had prepared.
They ran a few meters into the clearing, lighters ready... and stopped.
Stiles looked at Peter Hale's motionless body on the ground.
Then at Derek, with eyes glowing Alpha red.
Then at Chris Argent taking Kate away in handcuffs.
And finally at me, leaning against a tree, exhausted.
"Ah..." Stiles lowered the bottle, shoulders slumping. "Did we... miss the party?"
Jackson looked around, confused, holding his bottle as if it were something toxic he wanted to drop.
"I said we should have taken the shortcut," Jackson grumbled, trying to regain some dignity but looking relieved he didn't have to fight.
In the center of the clearing, completely ignoring the clumsy arrival of the "cavalry," Scott and Allison found each other.
They didn't say anything. No more lies, no secrets, no psycho aunts whispering in ears. There was only the relief of being alive.
Scott held Allison's face. She dropped the bow on the ground.
They kissed. A desperate kiss, smeared with soot and tears, illuminated only by the moon and the Porsche's headlights.
I stood there, watching everything from the periphery.
The cold night wind dried the sweat on my forehead. My muscles ached. My mana was almost zeroed out. I had just faced a Dark Maestro, dodged bullets, ripped guns from hunters' hands, and faced a rune-enhanced Alpha.
I had interfered. I had fought. I had bled.
But as I looked at the final scene...
Derek was the Alpha.
Peter was dead.
Kate was being taken alive by the Argents.
Scott and Allison were together.
Stiles and Jackson arrived late with Molotov cocktails.
A strange, cold sensation settled in my stomach, colder than Elias's magic.
Confusion.
I had changed the canon. I was sure of it. I saved Derek earlier. I stripped Elias's magic. I stopped Peter from turning Kate into a werewolf.
But the end result... the final "snapshot" of this season... was frighteningly identical to the original.
Had the universe corrected itself? Or were my changes so insignificant that the inertia of the story simply rolled over them like a tractor?
I looked at my empty hands, dirty with blood and soot.
"So much effort..." I whispered to myself, feeling a bitter taste in my mouth that wasn't the potion. "To end up in the same place."
I narrowed my eyes, watching Scott and Allison hug. The happy ending was there. But the doubt was now lodged in my mind like a splinter.
If I couldn't change the ending of season one... would I be able to stop what was coming next? The Kanima? The Alpha Pack? The Nogitsune?
Or was I just an extra actor with extra lines in a script that was already written in stone?
I shook my head, feeling the weight of exhaustion crush my shoulders. I didn't belong in that victory scene. I was the editor who cut the scenes, not the lead actor.
I turned my back on the celebration and started walking toward the darkness of the trail, where my car was parked.
"Hey... Nathan!"
The voice came from my right.
I stopped, but didn't turn completely.
Jackson had stepped forward a few paces, leaving Stiles behind. He was still holding the glass bottle with the rag in the top, looking ridiculous and out of place. His face was dirty, eyes puffy from having cried on the grass minutes earlier over Lydia.
He looked like he wanted to say something. Maybe apologize. Maybe ask what the hell had happened. Maybe just seek some kind of validation after everything I said to him at the edge of the forest.
"Nathan, wait," Jackson began, voice uncertain, losing his usual arrogance. "About what you said... and Lydia..."
I closed my eyes and sighed. I didn't have the energy to redeem Jackson right now. I didn't have the mana to fix his soul.
I raised my hand in a weak "stop" gesture.
"Not now, Jackson," I cut him off, my voice coming out in a hoarse, definitive whisper.
He opened his mouth to insist, but something in my posture—or maybe the dried blood on my forehead—made him stop.
I didn't wait for his reply.
I kept walking, leaving Jackson Whittemore behind with his useless bottle of gasoline and his unanswered questions.
I walked to the Charger, got in the driver's seat, and closed the door, muffling the sounds of the forest and other people's victory.
I turned the key. The engine roared, the only sound that made sense to me in that moment.
I shifted into gear and accelerated, leaving the "perfect" scene behind in the rearview mirror, while the dark road of Beacon Hills stretched out before me, full of monsters I knew were still coming.
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And that's a wrap on Season 1! It's been a long journey. I chose to stick close to the original script for the most part so far, but that changes now. From here on out, the story will diverge from canon. Expect characters to appear earlier, potential deaths, and some OCs joining the fray. I really hope you guys liked it—it was a lot of hard work. This finale alone was nearly 15,000 words, which is why I had to split it into two parts.