The night air was thick with smoke and ash as Elizabeth and Hannibal prepared for battle. The full moon cast an eerie silver light across the burning city, illuminating the destruction around them. Buildings crumbled under the weight of flames, and the screams of terrified villagers echoed through the streets.
Elizabeth tightened her grip on her sword, her knuckles white. She had seen devastation before, but this was unlike anything she had ever witnessed. The werewolves had grown more daring, more coordinated. Their attacks weren't random anymore; they were strategic, calculated.
Hannibal stood beside her, his expression unreadable. Despite the chaos, he exuded a calm confidence that both unsettled and reassured her. They had fought together before, their movements seamless, like two halves of a whole. Tonight was no different at least, not at first.
The battle began with a deafening howl that pierced the night. Werewolves emerged from the shadows, their eyes glowing with a feral hunger. Elizabeth sprang into action, her blade slicing through the air with precision. Beside her, Hannibal moved like a shadow silent, deadly, and impossibly fast.
Their teamwork was effortless. When Elizabeth was cornered, Hannibal appeared, dispatching the enemy with brutal efficiency. When he faltered, she was there to cover him. For a moment, it felt almost… natural.
But something about Hannibal was different. Elizabeth had fought alongside many warriors, but none like him. His strikes were too precise, his movements too fluid, almost as if he knew what the werewolves would do before they did.
As the battle raged on, Elizabeth found herself stealing glances at him. There was a strength in him that was mesmerizing, but also something unsettling, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.
The tide of battle shifted when the moon reached its zenith, casting its brightest light across the battlefield. It was then that Elizabeth noticed Hannibal had stopped fighting. He stood still, his head tilted back as if listening to some inaudible call.
"Hannibal!" she shouted, cutting down a werewolf that lunged at her. "What are you doing?!"
He didn't respond. Instead, his body began to tremble. At first, Elizabeth thought he was injured, but then she saw his skin rippling, his muscles contorting in unnatural ways.
"Hannibal?" she called again, her voice laced with unease.
He turned to her, and Elizabeth's heart stopped. His eyes, once dark and brooding, now glowed with the unmistakable yellow light of a werewolf.
"No," she whispered, taking a step back.
The transformation was slow at first, his hands elongating into claws, his teeth sharpening into fangs. But as the change took hold, his movements became violent, jerky. Bones cracked, skin stretched, and a guttural growl escaped his throat.
Elizabeth's mind raced. Hannibal her ally, her partner was one of *them*.
Before she could react, Hannibal lunged at her with inhuman speed. She barely managed to raise her sword in time, the blade catching him across the chest. He stumbled back, but the wound barely seemed to faze him.
"Hannibal, stop!" she shouted, desperation in her voice. "This isn't you!"
But the man she had fought beside was gone, replaced by a monstrous beast. He growled, baring his teeth, and attacked again.
Elizabeth fought with everything she had. Her blade struck true, slicing through flesh and fur, but Hannibal's strength was overwhelming. Every strike she landed seemed to do little more than anger him.
Finally, he managed to grab her, his claws digging into her shoulders. Elizabeth screamed as his fangs sank into her neck, the pain searing and all-consuming. Blood poured from the wound, and her strength began to wane.
She fell to the ground, her vision blurring as the world tilted around her. Her sword slipped from her grasp, clattering uselessly on the cobblestones.
As she lay there, her body growing cold, Elizabeth looked up at Hannibal. His werewolf form loomed over her, his yellow eyes glowing with a mix of triumph and sorrow.
In that moment, she understood. Hannibal had never been her ally. He had been playing a long game, gaining her trust only to betray her when the time was right. The werewolves weren't just mindless beasts, they were cunning, organized, and ruthless.
Her blood pooled beneath her as darkness crept into her vision. She felt the cold embrace of death approaching, but it wasn't fear that consumed her, it was anger.
*They used me,* she thought bitterly. *They turned me into a pawn.*
As her world faded to black, Elizabeth made one final vow. If she survived this if she somehow managed to cling to life she would stop them. She would end the werewolf scourge, no matter the cost.
And Hannibal… she would make him pay.