Spilled blood

Vengeful Spirit

23 September, 2024

On a chilly night, the wind howled through the darkened landscape, tousling the inky strands of her hair and revealing the piercing coldness in her eyes—eyes that mirrored the danger she embodied. She stood at the edge of a small, winding river, entranced by the distorted image mirrored in the water. As she gazed into its depths, her reflection morphed into that of a wolf—her wolf. It was an imposing creature, cloaked in the same blackness as the shadows around her, its eyes hollow and dark, glinting with a fierce intensity, while sharp canines glimmered like knives. The transformation had taken root in her life years ago, intertwining her fate with that of the beast.

Every time she cleansed herself of the blood that clung to her skin, she found solace in that moment of reflection. The murky water became a portal to the duality of her existence, a reminder of the primal force that lay within her, waiting and watching, just beneath the surface.

The blood she spills in her quest for revenge.

Because 15 years ago, this woman has lost everything but her life.

Her pack was decimated. Her family was killed right in front of her eyes.

And she has lived the past 15 years drowning in hatred. And revenge was the only thing that kept her alive.

And it was for revenge that she had trained so hard, and she became someone whose name brings terror to everyone who hears it. So much terror that it became taboo to even speak her name.

Her name has long become another word for death.

But why was she known as the personification of death itself?

Perhaps it was because she killed so many.

Humans, hunters, vampires, werewolves, witches... there were just so many of them. The woman killed all those she deemed unworthy of breathing the same air as the rest of the world. Murderers, rapists, terrorists... so many of them.

She was known as both death itself and a hero. But very few actually considered her a hero.

To many... to most, she was known as a blood-thirsty criminal, and people prayed to never cross paths with her. Not in this life or any other.

Or maybe she was known as the personification of death itself... because of the cruel way she killed so many. Because very few were granted the blessing of a quick death.

Because this woman is not just any other average werewolf.

This woman was granted power by the witches. And she used that power to t*****e those most deserving of death.

She always announced her arrival a few days before taking action.

Because she liked seeing her targets tremble in horror.

And she always put up a barrier around her targets.

Because she liked seeing their pathetic attempts to get away. Like trapped little mice.

And she tortures her targets.

Because she enjoys hearing their pleas and agonized cries.

But there is only one thing she truly loves... crossing the names on her list.

This woman is a hunter, and only the spilled blood of her prey can quench her thirst.

After fighting for her life and training like hell for a few years, Keira spent the last 8 years eliminating her past enemies.

Because Keira remembers, vividly and with unyielding resolve. She recalls every face that dared to approach the Blueblood Clan with malice, every sneer and scowl etched into her memory like the most notorious of portraits. Each name that her father, a man burdened by the weight of his own anger, spat out in a fit of rage is etched in her heart, laced with a bitterness that has only grown with time.

From the moment the attacks began, she never wavered in her quest for answers. Keira’s investigations, fueled by a fierce determination, only expanded her list of enemies—a long roll call of those who thought themselves untouchable, those who believed they could escape retribution. She meticulously documented every detail, every connection, piecing together the web of deceit, and her list grew to encompass those who had wronged her family in both profound and subtle ways.

Two years ago, through countless hours of research and silent observation, she finally uncovered the identity of the mastermind behind it all—the one who had orchestrated the chaos that shattered her world. It was a moment she had anticipated with a heart racing with both dread and exhilaration. She chose to save him for last; after all, she wanted this final confrontation to mean something more than mere vengeance.

Keira wanted them all to know what she was capable of—she wanted the big names who thought themselves above everyone else to feel the cold grip of her resolve. She meticulously planned her actions, ensuring that they understood that no sanctuary, no corner of this Earth would offer them protection from her wrath. Every step she took now was not just for her own closure, but to deliver a message: she would not be dismissed, and she would not rest until justice was served.

She wanted them to live in fear and paranoia, knowing she was coming for them but having no idea when.

And now, Keira is starting with those big names she saved for last.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Number 20: Andreas Maxwel.

32 years old, born and raised a rogue.

Joined the Crimson Clan two years ago... a week after I killed his childhood friend and accomplice.

The one who dragged the bodies out.

Crimson Clan is a world-renowned pack, a formidable force whose strength and resources place them at the pinnacle of werewolf society. In human terms, they are akin to royalty, revered and often feared by those who dwell outside their ranks.

Keira stood at the threshold of their territory, contemplating the irony of her situation. How could such an esteemed pack accept a disgrace among them? How could they allow someone so tainted to walk alongside their noble lineage? The questions gnawed at her as a deep-seated frustration built within.

In a different scenario, Keira would have swiftly established a barrier around the Crimson Clan's territory, a clear declaration of her presence. She would have given them precisely three days to renounce their association with the man she sought and return him to her. Failure to comply would have been met with her fierce resolve; she would fight off anyone who dared obstruct her or seek to shield him from her wrath.

But this was no ordinary situation, and Keira had no intention of unleashing her fury upon the Crimson Clan. After all, they were more than just another pack to her. The Crimson Clan had nurtured her mother, and her grandparents had lived, thrived, and ultimately laid to rest in their sacred grounds. For Keira, stepping into their territory was a solemn act of connection, not a declaration of war.

With determination, she crossed the invisible line marking the boundary of the Crimson's land and paused, allowing the weight of her heritage to settle around her like a cloak. Almost immediately, a group of werewolves emerged from the shadows, their stout forms surrounding her like sentinels. Their deep growls echoed through the air, menacing and fierce, warning her not to advance any further, or they would not hesitate to tear her apart.

Keira felt the wolf within her stir, a strong creature fiercely protective of her. The instinctive urge to assert dominance surged within, igniting her anger at the blatant disrespect being shown. The wolf longed to assert itself, to remind these pups of their place in the grand hierarchy, and Keira often found solace in letting her wolf take the reins. Yet today, out of respect for her beloved grandparents resting nearby, she resisted the urge for violence and aimed for a peaceful resolution instead.

With arms crossed defiantly, she awaited their response, willing the palpable tension to dissipate. She had no intentions of harm. Gradually, the growling subsided, and one of the wolves shifted, effortlessly transforming into a tall man who faced her with a mix of authority and curiosity.

Not caring that he looked ridiculous trying to seem intimidating while being butt-n***d.

And he was small... that's what Keira thought... but it was sad, so she didn't even want to laugh.

“How dare a rogue enter our territory? Are you tired of life, wild girl?”

Taking a deep breath, Keira steadied herself, recalling her resolution for peace. The hostility emanating from the wolves did nothing to quell her rising anger at their treatment. The man, emboldened by his pack's numbers, glared down at her and barked, “Answer me!” His voice was laden with a growl, laced with condescension.

Yet, there was a deeper layer to his command. Wolves thrive within a strict power hierarchy, and as a pack member, he presumed he could command obedience from her—a rogue. But Keira was far from ordinary. She was not just any rogue; she was the daughter of an Alpha with deep roots in the lineage of power that spanned generations. Her wolf was special, imbued with strength that none other could command.

“Do not ever attempt to command me again,” she replied coolly, her voice steady as she felt the power resonate beneath her skin. “I may be patient, but my wolf is not.” The man stared at her, confusion washing over his features as he struggled to comprehend how a rogue could stand defiantly against him. What he failed to recognize was her strength; she had been deliberately masking her true abilities to avoid alarming the surrounding wolves. Because when people feel threatened, they tend to attack. And an attack on Keira would've had a b****y end. And it wouldn't have been her blood.

“I am not here to pick a fight with you. I want to speak with your Alpha,” Keira stated, her voice firm and unwavering.

The man scoffed, his expression incredulous. “And what could a rogue possibly have to discuss with our Alpha? You are delusional,” he replied dismissively. “I’m allowing you to leave without causing trouble. Walk away while you still have the chance, wild girl.” With a derisive laugh, he turned his back to her, waving his hand contemptuously.

Keira remained calm under the steady pressure of her wolf’s simmering impatience, but the tension in the air only heightened. And then, as patience wore thin, Keira allowed her wolf to unveil a fraction of its power—a subtle breath of her aura that rolled out like a wave, exerting dominance that quickly swept through the assembled pack members. They fell to their knees, incredulity replacing their earlier bravado.

Just as the oppressive silence settled, another werewolf dashed into the scene, a new presence that cut through the hostility like a knife. “Come with me, please,” he said, his voice a calm contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded. Despite his guarded body language, he maintained steady eye contact with her, speaking with an implicit respect that intrigued Keira.

His demeanor conveyed recognition of her worth, a courtesy that resonated deeply with her. And, without uttering a word, she followed him, curiosity mingling with a sense of cautious hope as he led her deeper into the heart of the Crimson Clan’s domain.