"Werewolf?"
Hoffa raised his head in disbelief.
Amid the flashing of countless pale or dark legs on the dance floor, a deep growl echoed from the second floor.
Through the gaping hole in the ceiling, a massive, two-meter-tall figure emerged with heavy steps. It resembled a black-furred wolf-beast with glowing green eyes and a blood-stained snout. Its chaotic fur and razor-sharp claws made it indistinguishable from the monsters Hoffa had seen in movies.
The only difference was its attire: a white suit stretched taut over its hunched frame. In its claws, it gripped a massive Thompson submachine gun.
"Die, Hagrid!"
With a snarl, the werewolf stood on the second floor and opened fire on the patrons below.
Rat-a-tat-tat!Bullets rained down, spreading chaos. The bar filled with screams as dancers and customers dove for cover. Many were struck down, writhing on the blood-streaked floor.
Reacting swiftly, Hoffa slammed his foot into the ground. The floor responded, rising into a stone barrier that absorbed the storm of bullets.
When the werewolf's magazine emptied, the bar had turned into a scene of devastation. Groans and soft cries of pain hung in the air.
Clutching his wounded chest, Norbert peeked from behind the stone wall and called out, "Drop the gun, Durant! I just want to talk!"
"We have nothing to talk about!"
The werewolf's voice was gruff yet clear. "I warned you not to interfere!"
It reloaded its weapon with chilling efficiency and pulled the trigger again.
Rat-a-tat-tat!
Flames spat from the barrel as the assault resumed. Hoffa and Norbert ducked behind the crumbling stone barrier. Hoffa crossed his arms, and three more stone walls erupted from the ground to shield them.
When the second magazine was empty, the sound of reloading came from above. Norbert signaled to Hoffa, who nodded and dashed out from behind the wall.
The werewolf spotted him, raised its weapon, and prepared to fire. But as its finger tightened on the trigger, the gun suddenly warped, transforming into a colorful snake. The serpent hissed, baring its fangs, and struck at Durant's throat.
"Shit!"
Startled, Durant flung the snake aside as if electrocuted.
Without looking back, he dashed through the shattered opening, scrambling out the window and down the fire escape.
Hoffa chased him to the second floor, leaping over the human-shaped holes Durant had smashed through the walls. Ahead, the dark figure darted out of sight.
Passing through the wreckage, Hoffa entered a dim, blood-soaked room. The stench of iron overwhelmed him. Five or six young women hung from the rafters, bound and struggling. A woman lay sprawled on a sofa, her abdomen slit open, intestines spilling onto the blood-slicked floor. Her feeble groans signaled the end was near.
The sight churned Hoffa's stomach, and he almost vomited. Steeling himself, he drew a dagger, crouched beside the dying woman, and covered her mouth. "It's okay now," he whispered.
Then, without hesitation, he thrust the blade into her heart, ending her suffering.
Freeing the other captives, he bolted after the werewolf. Leaping through a window, he climbed a rusted fire escape and reached the rooftop.
Durant moved with astonishing speed across the rooftops.
"Durant!" Hoffa shouted.
"Go to hell, wizard!"
The werewolf hurled a sheet of jagged metal roofing at Hoffa like a razor-sharp projectile. Hoffa sidestepped it, watching as Durant shrank into the distance.
"Damn it," Hoffa muttered. Glancing back, he saw Norbert struggling to keep up. Knowing the injured man couldn't follow, Hoffa made a decision.
With a flick of his arm, the dials on his glove spun, channeling magic through his body. Electricity crackled, and Hoffa's frame stretched taller, growing to 1.8 meters. He launched forward, doubling his speed. Each stride left deep dents in the tin roofs.
Durant turned and saw Hoffa rocketing toward him like a missile. "Who the hell are you?!" he growled.
Hoffa didn't answer.
Durant leaped from the roof to the ground, darting into a narrow alley. He planned to slip through the tight passage to the buildings beyond.
But the alley seemed to come alive. The walls on either side groaned, and with a thunderous crash, they closed together. The path vanished, leaving only a dead end.
Trapped, the werewolf turned.
At the alley's entrance, Hoffa landed with a crunch, shattering stone underfoot. Amid the dust, his glowing golden eyes locked onto Durant's.
"Good evening."
Durant examined his pursuer—a gray-haired, yellow-eyed teenager, around fifteen or sixteen years old, clad in a black leather jacket. Despite his youthful appearance, there was a cold precision in his gaze.
"I know who you are!" Durant sneered. "Gray hair, golden eyes... You're the one Hagrid's always talking about. Grindelwald's apprentice. Gone for a year, and you show up here?"
The werewolf's breath reeked of blood and decay. Hoffa's expression didn't falter. "Usually, those who bring up that name don't meet a good end."
"A bad end?" Durant chuckled darkly. His laughter turned to a snarl. "So, you're the famous Mr. Bach."
"And you're the East End Wolf, the cannibal of Paris," Hoffa replied evenly.
"Ha!"
Durant straightened, his bones cracking as his body grew to a towering 2.5 meters. His white suit stretched comically over his hulking frame.
"We all have our quirks," Durant growled, resting a claw under Hoffa's chin. "Shall I list your titles? Traitor, dropout, the mad Agmanis... Your reputation isn't so clean, kid."
"What I've done has nothing to do with you," Hoffa said coldly.
Hoffa swatted Durant's hand away and said calmly,
"I suggest you return the stolen goods to us. That way, whatever you've done has nothing to do with me."
"Hmm..."
Durant stroked his chin as if deep in thought. After a moment, he lowered his head and grinned. "But I'd much rather enjoy myself."
Boom!
With an explosive burst of strength, Hoffa was sent flying backward.
He crashed through the stained glass window of a nearby church, tumbled over a dozen times, and smashed through two beams before slamming into the wall and getting stuck there.
"You're not so impressive after all!"
Durant grabbed onto the ceiling like an agile gibbon and launched himself toward Hoffa, claws and fangs gleaming midair.
Still, Hoffa slowly climbed to his feet, his expression neutral. He cracked his neck, raised his right hand, and muttered, "Talico-Skita."
A transparent shield formed in his palm and quickly expanded. Durant, charging at full speed, slammed into the shield and was hurled backward, smashing into a statue of the Virgin Mary.
The shield dissipated, but the impact didn't deal any serious damage. Durant shook his head to recover, then lunged again, clawing at Hoffa with lightning speed.
Hoffa dismissed the shield and sidestepped the attack, swiftly landing a heavy punch to the back of Durant's head.
The blow was so forceful that Durant crashed into the floor, leaving a deep imprint.
Without hesitation, Hoffa pressed his foot against Durant's neck, climbed onto his back, and raised his fist to strike again.
Thud!
A single punch left Durant's head bleeding profusely.
A flicker of fear crossed the werewolf's glowing green eyes. With a sudden burst of strength, he raised his arms and broke free from Hoffa's grip.
As Durant stumbled away, Hoffa prepared to chase him down again.
But the bloodied werewolf raised his hands. "Wait!"
"What now?"
"I surrender," Durant said without hesitation.
Hoffa paused, his expression briefly confused. But Durant seized the opportunity, pulling a handgun from his waist and firing a volley at Hoffa before bolting.
The instant the gun was raised, Hoffa tilted his head. The bullets whizzed past, grazing his cheek.
As Durant sprinted away, two stone hands erupted from the ground and clamped onto his legs, causing him to crash to the floor.
"Dammit!" Durant snarled hoarsely.
Lying on the ground, he twisted his body and fired his handgun repeatedly.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
After five or six shots, the magazine clicked empty.
As the smoke cleared, Durant realized every bullet had struck a nearby stone pillar. The spot where Hoffa had been standing was now empty.
Before Durant could react, Hoffa's voice came from behind him, calm and measured. "Out of tricks?"
Durant turned his head, startled. The boy had somehow appeared behind him, standing there with an expressionless face. Hoffa reached down, kicked the handgun out of Durant's grasp, and asked coldly, "Still planning to struggle?"
The werewolf on the ground began to shift. His hulking, monstrous form receded, replaced by a scrawny, tattooed man in a blood-soaked white suit. His brown hair, drenched in blood, clung to his gaunt face. Deep-set eyes revealed exhaustion and defeat.
"Wizards... it's just so unfair," Durant muttered bitterly. "You're so young, yet you have such talent. Damn it, why does God favor you lot so much?"
"Favor?"
Hoffa chuckled self-deprecatingly but said nothing.
"Call it favor if you want," he added indifferently. "Now, where's the gun?"
"What gun? I don't know what you're talking about!"
Durant's voice turned manic. "I've got no grudge against you—I didn't even provoke you!"
"Don't play dumb. Aren't you afraid I'll kill you?"
Durant panted heavily and sneered. "I know you, Mr. Bach. You don't kill people, do you?"
"Don't change the subject. Where's the gun?"
"I said I don't know!" Durant barked.
Before he could finish, the stone hands gripping his legs sprouted sharp claws, digging into his flesh. Durant howled in agony. "Ahhh!"
"Don't act rashly—let's talk this out."
Hoffa halted his spellcasting and took a step back.
Durant pleaded, "Let me go first, and I'll tell you everything."
Hoffa shook his head mockingly, leaning against the alley wall with his arms crossed. "Fine, seems like I can't make you talk. Let's see if he can."
"Who?"
Durant, lying on the ground, froze in confusion.
"It's me, you fool!"
A voice thick with suppressed rage echoed from behind.
Durant looked up to see a short, stocky man with bandages wrapped around his chest limping into the church from the alley's entrance. He was supporting one arm and breathing heavily.
Durant's expression shifted to panic as he struggled madly. "Norbert!"
The injured man, Norbert, pulled a handgun from his pocket, sneering. "You're quite the escape artist, Mr. Durant. For a middleman, your legs are awfully quick!"
As Norbert spoke, the stone hands gripping Durant began to writhe like venomous snakes, creeping slowly up his body as if to swallow him into the ground.
Faced with the threat of being buried alive, Durant's demeanor changed. Lowering his voice, he said, "Norbert, whatever I've done, it wasn't my intention. Someone's been deliberately trying to sow discord between us. I have my own difficulties too."
"Oh, really?"
Norbert chuckled coldly. "Over a thousand alchemical weapons, fifty thousand francs' worth of ammunition—weapons we delivered to you last time. Where did you take them?"
"I told you, the shipment was hijacked!" Durant argued desperately.
"Bullshit!"
Norbert roared and kicked Durant square in the head.
"You disappear for three days with our goods, and when you show up again, you're the big boss of the East District. Do you take me for an idiot? Or have those missing Muggle girls failed to satisfy your appetite?"
Durant, his face pressed to the ground under Norbert's boot, was too frightened to reply. Hoffa, leaning against the wall, turned his head away, unwilling to watch further.
Norbert pressed harder with his boot, a gleeful glint in his eyes. "Steal from me, will you?"
"Let me go first!" Durant rasped.
Norbert lifted his foot slightly. Durant lay on the ground, blood bubbling from the corner of his mouth.
After catching his breath, he admitted, "I sold them."
"Ha!"
Norbert laughed in disbelief.
"And the money?"
"Money…" Durant struggled to speak. "Listen, Norbert, give me a week. Just one week. I'll pay back double what I owe you. If you kill me now, you'll get nothing!"
Bang!
The answer was a blazing hot shell casing bouncing off the ground.
A bullet tore through Durant's ear.
"Bastard!"
Durant cursed.
"It's a little late for begging now, don't you think?" Norbert growled, keeping his gun steady. "Who did you sell our weapons to?"
Durant's face twisted in hesitation, but the stone hands crawling over his body were mercilessly dragging him closer to the earth.
Finally, Durant surrendered. "The Imperial Wizarding Association—I sold them to the Imperial Wizarding Association."
Hoffa, who had been idly inspecting his nails, froze mid-motion.
Norbert's expression shifted drastically. He bellowed, "You're working for Grindelwald?"
"I'm not!" Durant screamed.
"I owe the Association. Every month, I rely on their potions to stay sane! That's all there is to it!"
Seeing the murderous glint in Norbert's eyes, Durant abandoned all dignity. "Listen, the buyers are in Paris right now. I can take you to them. We can ambush them, and when it's done, the money and the goods—all yours!"
Both men fell silent.
Durant forced a strained smile. "Screw the Wizarding Association, screw Grindelwald, right?"
"Merlin's beard," Norbert muttered. "You're the ultimate turncoat."
Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger.
Bang! Bang!
The alchemical handgun roared, its immense power reducing Durant's head to pulp, splattering the walls with gore.
(End of Chapter)
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