The air in the ruined arena tasted like ash and iron. Ronan's claws trembled as he stared down at Darius Graves—the Beta who'd poisoned him, stolen his throne, and left him to rot. The traitor's blood pooled beneath his broken body, staining the cracked stone floor. Ronan's cursed power hummed beneath his skin, a dark symphony begging him to finish the kill.
*"Do it,"* hissed the voice in his mind—Lilith's voice, velvet and venom. *"They'll never fear you if you show mercy."*
But mercy wasn't the problem. Ronan's reflection glared back at him from a shard of shattered armor nearby: eyes black as the Blood Moon's shadow, veins crawling like spiderwebs across his temples. The curse was eating him alive.
"Ronan."
Selene stepped forward, her silver dagger glinting in the dim light. Her moon-pale hair was tangled with dust, her healer's robes torn. She didn't flinch from his monstrous appearance, but her gaze lingered on the cracks spreading across his skin. "The Reapers will come. We need to leave."
"Let them come," Ronan growled. He kicked Darius' sword aside, the blade skittering across the stone. "I'm done hiding."
Darius coughed, blood bubbling on his lips. His obsidian wolf form had long since dissolved, leaving only a broken man. "Y-You think… this makes you Alpha?" he rasped. "You're… a monster."
Ronan crouched, gripping the traitor's throat. "And you'll live long enough to watch me burn your throne to cinders."
---
The Moon Reapers arrived at dawn.
Six riders atop spectral wolves materialized in the courtyard, frost crackling beneath their mounts' hooves. Their leader wore a mask of polished silver, carved into the skeletal grin of a crescent moon. Ronan recognized her voice—Commander Veyra, the same Reaper who'd hunted him through the Shadow Arena weeks ago.
"Forsaken," she said, her tone colder than the grave. "The Blood Moon's rot has marked you. Submit to our trials, or we purge this city to ash."
Selene stepped forward, dagger raised. "You'll do no such—"
"Trials?" Ronan cut her off, his voice steady despite the curse writhing in his veins. "What do you want?"
Veyra's mask tilted. "Prove you're more than a rabid beast. Retrieve a shard of the First Moonstone from the Hollows. Slay the cultist chained beneath your precious academy. Then… accept our mark."
Kael, leaning against a crumbling pillar with his ever-present smirk, snorted. "Sounds like they want a puppet."
"Or a weapon," Ronan said, staring down the Reapers. He didn't miss the way Veyra's gaze flicked to Selene—the unspoken threat. "Do it, and you spare Silvercrest?"
"We spare *her*," Veyra corrected, raising a gloved hand. Shadows coiled around Selene's throat like a serpent. "Refuse, and she dies first."
Ronan's claws dug into his palms. "Deal."
---
The Hollows stank of death and forgotten wars.
Ronan trudged through knee-deep fog, the skeletal remains of ancient Alphas jutting from the earth like broken spears. The First Moonstone shard pulsed ahead, its sickly green light cutting through the mist.
*"You shouldn't have come here, little king,"* Lilith purred. The demon flickered into view beside him, wearing Selene's face like a ill-fitting mask. *"The dead don't care about your crown. They'll feast on your fear."*
He ignored her, but the first Wraithwolf struck before he could blink—a spectral beast with jaws like shattered glass and eyes that screamed. Ronan barely dodged, cursed flames erupting from his fists. The creature dissolved, its death cry echoing as a memory flooded his mind:
*An Alpha kneeling in the snow, his pack slaughtered, a shadow with too many teeth whispering, "Kneel, and I'll spare your son."*
"What the hell was that?" Ronan hissed, clutching his skull.
Lilith laughed. *"Their memories. Every kill makes you a little less… *you*."*
By the fifth Wraithwolf, Ronan's vision swam with phantom blood. But the Moonstone shard glowed ahead, lodged in the ribcage of a skeletal titan. He wrenched it free—and the vision struck:
*A Forsaken Queen, her crown of thorns weeping black blood, impaling herself on the Moonstone. "The curse ends with me,"* she gasped. Behind her, a younger Veyra knelt, mask cracked with tears. *"Forgive me, my queen."*
Ronan staggered back, the shard burning his palm. *What did the Reapers do to her?*
---
Beneath Silvercrest Academy's crypts, chains rattled in the dark.
The cultist was a girl—no older than sixteen—her body fused with the writhing tentacles of an Old Blood parasite. She hung from the ceiling, wrists raw and bleeding. When Ronan entered, she lifted her head, milky eyes pleading.
"Kill me," she croaked. "But don't… let them find Elias."
"Who's Elias?" Ronan demanded.
"My brother. The cult promised to save him if I…" She gagged, black bile dripping from her lips. "They're beneath the city. Using children to—"
The Reaper's mark on Ronan's arm flared, Veyra's voice echoing: *"Kill her, or the healer dies."*
*"Strike first,"* Lilith whispered, materializing beside the girl. *"Mercy is for prey."*
Ronan hesitated—a mistake.
The parasite lashed out, a barbed tendril spearing his shoulder. He roared, shadowy flames erupting from his veins. The creature shriveled to ash, but the girl's body crumpled with it, her final breath a whisper: *"Elias… red hair… the abandoned church…"*
As she died, the parasite's remains slithered toward Ronan. He tried to burn it, but the curse *hungered*. Black tendrils burst from his skin, devouring the creature whole.
*"Oh, you'll make a glorious monster,"* Lilith cooed.
---
Back at Silvercrest, Veyra awaited him with a branding iron shaped like a crescent moon.
"The third trial," she said. "The Reaper's Mark. It binds your power… and your loyalty."
Ronan bared his teeth. "And if I refuse?"
Veyra nodded to the shadows. Selene knelt there, gagged, a blade at her throat.
"Do it," Ronan growled.
The brand seared his chest—agony and ecstasy fused into fire. But Selene's scream tore through the pain: "Ronan, your shadow—!"
He looked down. His silhouette writhed, tendrils of darkness clawing at the floor. Not his power. *Theirs.*
Kael's voice echoed from the doorway, urgent. "The Shadow Arena's gone. They're coming."
A knock rattled the chamber door.
Ronan wrenched it open. A boy stood there—red hair, eyes blazing with grief. "Elias," he spat. "You killed my sister. Now help me kill *them*."
Behind him, the sky burned crimson.
The Blood Moon had risen.