Chapter 1

LOU RIVERS

A heavy rainfall poured down unceasingly from the heavens. It sounded like a buzzing angry bees as it tapped the roof where I stood under.

I stood not far from the trembling weaker werewolves, soaked in the rain just outside their den. Their teeth grind from the cold and from fear of the rumbling thunder and vein like lightning as they kneel down on the muddy ground of the earth.

I watched their suffering.

I watched the terror sucked their every breath, how their eyes speak their terrified mind, how their jaw tremble in so much dread and how their every muscle screamed to flee but never did.

I heard their cries.

I heard their whimpers despite putting a hand on their mouth to stifle a scream, how fast their heart pounded in their ears and how their chest heaved in an uneven breathing.

And with all that— I DID NOTHING.

'yeah'

NOTHING

'not a single thing'

I also heard how a few members of the pack laughed at their sufferings.

I stood with those laughing mammals up in a lighthouse, hovering down those pitiful runts.

Yes, they're runts.

In this time, omega is no longer the word but runt— and no longer just one but a few.

A runt is significantly weaker and smaller than the others; the lowest member of a pack.

Aside from being usually the last to eat, a runt serves as the stress reliever of the strong, either physically and emotionally; the bullied.

Since I stood along the one's laughing — then I'm no runt but not an alpha either and definitely not laughing.

I am— average.

An average werewolf as they perceived but in actuality, I'm not. I am more than average, way more than the alpha of alphas, more than the ruling head of each country, even more than the Emperor.

I am— Lou Rivers, the Canis Lycaon.

The name Canis Lycaon: the one, the chosen, the special, the cursed, the omen, are just among the meanings.

One should be thrilled and tremble in fear at the name —

… but they don't know that I am. No one knew except my father, Alfonso Rivers.

I hid who I am.

I live in a façade of an average werewolf, just enough not to be picked upon. But lies within me is the power that every werewolf fears.

They wish the Canis Lycaon to never be born, to never exist at all.

A laughable thought— when some oppress the weak but they fear the existence of the Canis Lycaon, the cursed, the omen, the strongest among them all.

Where will I place the saying— "Don't do what you don't want others to do to you" ?

'hahaha'

'laughable'

'tsk'

Another strike of lightning lit up the night sky following the raging thunder.

The runts shrunk, wrapping arms around themselves like trying to share their little onz of strength, uplifting one another.

Such a pitiful sight to see.

But who to blame?

… the self proclaimed strong and laughing members of the pack?

… the Alpha and Luna for their ruling?

...the runts for being born weak?

…the Moon Goddess for not blessing equality?

… or me who just stood and did nothing when I can do something?

Again, who to blame?

When in this world, the strong preys the weak—

... and I'm definitely no saint.

'tsk'

I turned my heels and left the horrible sight.

I had enough of the stronger werewolves' laughter, had enough of their belly out laughs like it's an amusement. And it seemed, the suffering of their kind gives them so much momentary happiness.

Before retreating to my room, I snuck out a portion of meat from the packhouse to the runts' den, enough for them to devour after their agony under the rain and atleast ease their hunger and might relieve a little of their pain.

… or maybe they could say, it's not a bad day after all when they see the meat I brought them.

I let out a deep breath.

A few runts may not want to live anymore but I saw a few as well that internally fighting and holding on.

Holding on for their dear life, waiting for something impossible— salvation.

Well, they could just run away but they knew that it's futile, insane and foolish.

Werewolves are territorial.

Trespassing another's land could lead to one's death and no one to blame but the trespasser themselves.

There's a treaty and that has been one of those written agreement, signed by the alpha of each pack in the lands. Unless one has reasonable excuse for fleeing and trespassing another's territory then they might live.

'huh'

'reasonable excuse'

... and what could it be: oppression, abuse?

... who will believe?

... who will testify?

It would be unlikey, that the Alpha or anybody in the pack would admit their crimes.

So that is why, the runts are smart enough to endure the life of long suffering and hope for a miracle to happen than die a horrible death.

'tsk'

I ran my gaze around the runts' den. It's a miserable place, lifeless, rundown.

I laid down the meat I painstakingly snuck from the packhouse for them.

May it gave them a little hope to live on, giving them the thought that not all werewolves are like those laughing assholes in the lighthouse.

I believe that everyone's existence has a purpose, reason regardless of rank.

I also believe that each individual, a human or a werewolf, is unique in a way.

Just never lose hope—

So one must live and to never give up as long one's breath has not run out.

A certain werewolf may be physically weak compared to others but who knows, maybe they're mentally strong or they're excellent in other areas of life.

Oppressing the weak without assessing where they excel other than brutal strength just because they're werewolf is futile, unacceptable.

I am against the idea that has been passed on from thousands of years; the strong having tremendous physical strength and having an aura that oppresses others.

This preconceived notion leads to the runts' oppression.

Physical strength won't define a werewolf's value, in which most think so, and definitely not for me though.

And I will slap that belief of mine to all the werewolves in the world in the days to come.

I will make the runts twist a smirk to the self proclaimed strong.

I will watch how the strong be played and toyed upon by the one's they'd been oppressing on and on.

Surely, it will be a sight to see.

For now, I'm just paving the ground to that reality.

And saving those few runts' from a while back and starting a bloody battle with the entire Blood Zone Pack is too early for that, surely a tactless idea.

So, I shook the thought away as an old memory begun to resurface too.

Yeah, a memory.

A painful memory that I long have buried deeply in the darkest part of my heart but still finds it's way to taunt me and inflict a feeling of regret and of pensive sadness.

'ugh'