The days following John's departure from Woodhaven were a blur of pain and exhaustion. Each step he took sent sharp pains through his cracked rib, his muscles screamed with every movement, but he pressed on, driven by the image of Mary's face and the memory of Daniel's lifeless body. He had no clear direction, no map to guide him, only the faint hope that if he kept moving, he would eventually find some trace of the creatures that had destroyed his life.
The forest that surrounded Woodhaven was dense and foreboding, the trees towering above him like silent sentinels. The underbrush was thick, making every step a challenge, and the deeper he ventured, the more the world seemed to close in around him. The light of the sun barely penetrated the canopy, casting the forest floor in perpetual twilight. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and decaying leaves, and every rustle, every snap of a twig, sent John's heart racing, his hand instinctively reaching for the knife at his belt.
But the days passed without incident. There were no signs of the creatures, no tracks, no howls in the night. Only the oppressive silence of the forest and the weight of his growing despair. He was beginning to question his decision, to wonder if he was simply chasing ghosts, when he stumbled upon the first sign that he was not alone.
It was near dusk when he found the clearing. The trees parted suddenly, revealing a small patch of open ground bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. In the center of the clearing was a fire, its flames crackling softly, sending up a thin plume of smoke that disappeared into the sky. And beside the fire, seated on a large, flat stone, was a man.
John froze, his hand tightening on the hilt of his knife as he studied the stranger. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, with a weathered face that spoke of years spent in the wilderness. His hair was dark, streaked with gray, and tied back at the nape of his neck. He wore a long, dark coat that was frayed at the edges, and beside him, propped against the stone, was a long, wicked-looking blade.
The man seemed to sense John's presence even before he made a sound. He looked up slowly, his eyes—dark and piercing—meeting John's across the clearing. For a moment, neither of them moved, the silence stretching between them, heavy with tension.
Finally, the man spoke, his voice low and rough, like the growl of a wolf. "You've been following me."
John hesitated, unsure how to respond. He hadn't been consciously following anyone, but the fact that this man had assumed he was made him wary. He took a cautious step forward, his eyes never leaving the stranger's.
"I didn't know I was," John replied, his voice hoarse from days of disuse. "I'm looking for… something."
The man raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And what would that be?"
John hesitated again, the words catching in his throat. He didn't want to reveal too much, didn't want to trust this stranger, but something in the man's eyes told him that he might know more than he was letting on.
"I'm looking for the creatures that attacked Woodhaven," John said finally, his voice firm. "The ones that took my wife."
The man's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted, a subtle tension that John couldn't quite place. He leaned back slightly, his dark eyes studying John with a new intensity.
"I see," the man said slowly. "And what do you plan to do when you find them?"
"Kill them," John replied without hesitation, the words filled with a cold, burning determination.
The man was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he continued to study John. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he reached for the knife at his side and held it out, the blade catching the light of the fire.
"If you're going to hunt these creatures, you'll need more than that little knife," the man said. "You'll need to know what you're dealing with."
John didn't move. He didn't reach for the knife, didn't step forward. He simply stared at the man, his mind racing with questions. Who was this man? How did he know about the creatures? And why was he offering to help?
"Who are you?" John asked finally, his voice low.
The man's expression darkened slightly, his eyes narrowing. "I'm someone who's been dealing with these creatures for a long time. My name is Elias."
Elias. The name sent a jolt through John's memory. He had heard that name before, whispered in the dead of night by survivors of the attack as they huddled together in fear. Elias, the wandering hunter. Elias, the man who knew more about the darkness that lurked in the woods than anyone else. Elias, the ghost who appeared when the world was at its darkest.
John's skepticism warred with his desperation. Could this really be the same Elias? Could this man, sitting calmly by the fire, truly be the one who had dedicated his life to hunting the monsters that had destroyed Woodhaven?
"How do you know about them?" John asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.
Elias's smile faded, replaced by a cold, hard expression. "Because I've been hunting them for most of my life. They're not just beasts, you know. They're something much worse."
John took another step forward, his eyes locked on Elias's. "Tell me."
Elias studied him for a long moment, as if weighing the decision to share his knowledge. Then, with a resigned sigh, he gestured for John to sit by the fire. "If you're serious about this, you'd better sit down. It's a long story."
John hesitated only for a moment before moving closer, his body tense, ready to spring into action if necessary. He sat down on the ground across from Elias, the fire warming his cold, aching limbs, but doing nothing to ease the chill that had settled deep in his bones.
Elias leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his dark eyes reflecting the flickering flames. "What do you know about Lycans?"
The word sent a shiver down John's spine, though he couldn't say why. He had heard tales of werewolves, of men who turned into beasts under the light of the full moon, but he had always dismissed them as just that—tales, stories told to scare children.
"Just what everyone else knows," John replied, his voice cautious. "That they're monsters, creatures of the night. But I never believed they were real… until now."
Elias nodded, his expression grim. "Most people don't believe until it's too late. Lycans are more than just stories, John. They're real, and they're dangerous. They're not just men who turn into wolves—they're something much worse."
John leaned forward, his attention fully on Elias now. "What do you mean?"
Elias stared into the fire, his expression distant, as if he were seeing something only he could see. "Lycans are ancient creatures, older than any of us can imagine. They were once human, but they were cursed, twisted into something else—something that's not quite man, and not quite beast."
John's grip tightened on the hilt of his knife. "Cursed by who?"
Elias shook his head. "No one knows for sure. Some say it was a punishment from the gods, others say it was a pact with something dark and evil. But whatever the cause, the result is the same—men who can transform into powerful, savage beasts under the light of the full moon."
John felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. The image of the Lycan King flashed through his mind—the towering, monstrous figure that had taken Mary, that had killed Daniel. "How do you kill them?" he asked, his voice tight with emotion.
Elias's gaze shifted back to John, his expression unreadable. "It's not easy. Normal weapons won't work. Bullets, knives, swords—they'll slow them down, but they won't kill them. Lycans have incredible healing abilities. They can regenerate from almost any wound."
John's heart sank at the words. If normal weapons wouldn't work, then how was he supposed to exact his revenge? How was he supposed to save Mary?
"There are ways to kill them," Elias continued, his voice low. "But they're not easy. Silver is one of the few things that can harm them—silver bullets, silver blades. It's like poison to them, burns them from the inside out. But it's not just the silver that matters—it's how you use it."
John's mind raced, trying to process everything Elias was telling him. "What do you mean?"
Elias leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. "You have to strike at the heart. It's the only way to make sure they don't get back up. But even then, it's risky. Lycans are fast, strong, and ruthless. They'll tear you apart before you have a chance to get close."
John's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white. "Then how do I do it? How do I kill them?"
Elias was silent for a long moment, his eyes searching John's face. Finally, he spoke, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. "You have to be willing to do whatever it takes. You have to be ready to face the darkness, to confront the monster within yourself. Because once you start hunting Lycans, there's no going back. You'll be marked, just like they are. You'll never be the same."
John stared at Elias, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew what he was asking for, knew the risks, but he didn't care. He had already lost everything. He had nothing left to lose.
"I'm ready," John said, his voice steady. "I'll do whatever it takes."
Elias studied him for a long moment, as if searching for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. When he found none, he nodded slowly. "Alright. But understand this—you're not just hunting them. They'll be hunting you too. And they won't stop until you're dead."
John nodded, his jaw set with determination. "I don't care. I have to do this."
Elias sighed, a sound filled with a mix of resignation and respect. He reached behind him, pulling out a small, leather-bound book—the same book Thomas had given him. Elias placed it in John's hands, his expression serious.
"Thomas gave you this, didn't he?"
John nodded, a bit surprised. "How did you know?"
Elias smiled faintly. "Thomas and I go way back. He's a good man, and he knows more about this world than most. That book contains everything you need to know about Lycans—their weaknesses, their strengths, how to track them, how to kill them. Study it. Learn it. It might just save your life."
John accepted the book, his hands trembling slightly as he opened it and flipped through the pages. The writing was dense, filled with diagrams and notes, all in Thomas's neat, precise handwriting. It was a wealth of information, more than he could have ever hoped for.
But even as he read, even as he absorbed the knowledge, a part of him remained skeptical. Could this really be enough? Could he, a simple farmer, really learn to hunt and kill these creatures?
Elias seemed to sense his doubts. "This isn't going to be easy, John," he said quietly. "But if you're serious about this, I'll teach you everything I know. I'll train you, prepare you for what's to come. But you have to be willing to put in the work. You have to be willing to face the darkness."
John looked up from the book, meeting Elias's gaze. "I'm willing," he said, his voice filled with a quiet determination.
Elias nodded, his expression grim. "Then we start now."
The training was brutal. Elias pushed John to his limits, testing his strength, his endurance, his will to survive. Every day was a new challenge, a new lesson in the art of hunting Lycans. Elias taught him how to track the creatures, how to move silently through the forest, how to set traps and ambushes. He drilled John in the use of weapons—knives, swords, crossbows, and, most importantly, silver.
John's body was already weak from his injuries, and the training pushed him to the brink. His cracked rib throbbed with every movement, his muscles screamed in protest, but he refused to give up. Every time he faltered, every time he felt like he couldn't go on, he thought of Mary. He thought of Daniel. And he pushed himself harder.
Elias was relentless, but he was also patient. He understood the pain that drove John, the need for revenge that fueled him. He had seen it before, in others who had lost everything to the darkness. But he also knew the danger of that anger, knew how it could consume a man, turn him into something just as monstrous as the creatures he hunted.
"Revenge can give you strength," Elias told him one evening as they sat by the fire, their bodies aching from the day's training. "But it can also destroy you. You need to find something else to hold on to, something that will keep you grounded. Otherwise, you'll lose yourself in the hunt."
John stared into the flames, his mind a swirling mass of emotions. He knew Elias was right, knew that the anger that drove him was dangerous. But he couldn't let it go. Not yet. Not until he had found Mary. Not until he had made the creatures pay.
"I'll find her," John said quietly, his voice filled with a cold determination. "I'll bring her back."
Elias didn't respond immediately. He simply watched John, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded, his voice soft. "I hope you do, John. But remember—this isn't just about revenge. It's about survival. And once you start down this path, there's no turning back."
John nodded, his jaw set. "I know."
The days turned into weeks, and slowly, John began to change. His body grew stronger, leaner, his movements more fluid, more controlled. The pain in his chest faded as his injuries healed, replaced by a cold, burning focus. He learned to move silently through the forest, to track the creatures by the faintest signs—a broken twig, a footprint in the mud, a tuft of fur caught on a branch.
Elias taught him how to fight, how to use the weapons that would be his only defense against the Lycans. They sparred with knives, with swords, with silver-tipped arrows. Elias was a formidable opponent, his movements quick and precise, his strikes deadly. But John was a fast learner, his determination driving him to master every technique, every skill Elias taught him.
But it wasn't just physical training. Elias also taught John the lore of the Lycans—their history, their weaknesses, their strengths. He told him stories of battles fought long ago, of hunters who had dedicated their lives to eradicating the creatures, of the secret society that Elias was a part of—a society that had existed for centuries, hidden in the shadows, fighting a war that most of the world didn't even know existed.
"They're called the Order of the Silver Cross," Elias explained one night as they sat by the fire, the book Thomas had given John open between them. "They were founded centuries ago, by a group of knights who had encountered the Lycans during the Crusades. They swore an oath to rid the world of the creatures, to protect humanity from the darkness. And they've been fighting ever since."
John listened intently, absorbing every word. The existence of such a society, of a group of people dedicated to hunting these creatures, gave him hope, a sense of purpose. He wasn't alone in this fight. There were others out there, others who understood the darkness, who had faced the same horrors he had.
"Why haven't I heard of them before?" John asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.
Elias smiled faintly. "Because they don't want to be known. The Order operates in secret, hidden from the world. They believe that the knowledge of the Lycans, of the other creatures that lurk in the shadows, would cause more harm than good. So they fight in the dark, protecting humanity from a threat most people don't even know exists."
John nodded slowly, his mind racing with questions. "And you're a part of this Order?"
Elias's expression darkened slightly, his eyes distant. "I was. A long time ago. But I left. I had my reasons."
John didn't press him for more details, sensing that it was a painful subject. But the knowledge that Elias had once been a part of such a group, that he had been trained by them, gave John a new respect for the hunter. Elias wasn't just a wanderer, a man who had stumbled into this life—he was a warrior, a man who had dedicated his life to fighting the darkness.
And now, he was teaching John to do the same.
The nights were the hardest. When the training was done, when the fire had died down and the forest was quiet, John would lie awake, staring up at the stars, his mind filled with thoughts of Mary. He wondered where she was, if she was still alive, if she was suffering. The thought of her in the hands of the Lycan King, of her being held captive by that monstrous creature, drove him to the brink of madness.
But he couldn't afford to lose himself in those thoughts. He had to stay focused, had to stay strong. He had to believe that she was still alive, that he could still save her. It was the only thing that kept him going, the only thing that gave him the strength to keep fighting.
Elias never spoke of the past, never asked John about his life before the attack. But John knew that Elias understood, that he had seen the same pain, the same loss, in others who had walked this path. He knew that Elias was trying to prepare him, to harden him for the fight ahead.
But no matter how much he learned, no matter how strong he became, John knew that nothing could truly prepare him for what was to come. The Lycans were powerful, ruthless, and he was just one man, driven by grief and anger.
But he didn't care. He didn't care about the odds, didn't care about the dangers. All that mattered was finding Mary, bringing her home, and making the creatures that had taken her pay for what they had done.
And with Elias's help, with the knowledge and skills he had learned, John knew that he had a chance—a small chance, but a chance nonetheless.
He would find her. He would save her.
And he would kill them all.