CHPT 21: Hunters Throughout the Ages, Hunted Throughout the Dark….

Hours passed in a blur. Marco's eyes burned— the tips of his fingers long gone dry by the hundreds of times he'd flipped through the thick animal skin pages of The Huntsman Codex.

Going through it all was like stepping through time— watching as the word Hunter changed and shaped the next generation. Some worse than others— some long dead. Victims to ingenuity and the cruelty of violence.

Like the Wolf-Guard. Knights of the early Middle-Ages in Europe that came into power after slaying a royal guardsman that was doubling as an Alpha WereWolf operating under the title of "The Marrok". Apparently a well known name in the western world. Only the stories were nothing like the depictions he'd found in the Huntsman Codex….

The Marrok was a sly man and even deadlier Monster on par with the Beast of Gevaudan and with enough followers to run Europe from the shadows beside the clueless and naive king.

Even with this great achievement, they fell— as many others did. As many others have. Only, the Wolf-Guard didn't just fall due to its lack of knowledge on Shifters as a whole— it was absorbed. Absorbed by a much more well equipped and dangerous association of Hunters known as Warlocks.

Men and Women blessed— or cursed, with ancient magics from a twisted and perverse darkness he hoped to never dabble in. It empowered their armor and twisted their physical forms with magically infused etchings called Runes. Their origins were born from the shadows— much like their power. But one name he found often was of a woman they seemed to view under a religious light they referred to as "Lady Le Fay".

Warlocks weren't like the classic Hunter. They had power others lacked— along with a sick set of ideals and deadly efficiency. And after absorbing the Wolf-Guard, they took their knowledge, equipment and suitable Knights and became even stronger.

And it seemed this method was one they enjoyed. Traveling across the globe where high concentrations of shifters roamed. Every so often, an entry made by a different Shifter pack mentioned them— from all over. South America, The Middle East, Russia. You name it. They entered, mighty and powerful like a dragon. A dragon that had come to consume all opposition in sight.

Dozens of other Hunters he'd read about, lived a century or more before dying at the hands of beings that could only be the Warlocks. Always growing— always consuming. Always killing. No code, no rules.

There was only one other organized group of Hunters that organized in a similar fashion. No rules, no tact, no reason. Just murder— only this group also had a pension for skinning and selling parts of each of their kills for profit.

Their name was a simple one. And Marco knew it like the word was branded to his skull. In many ways it was.

Poachers. They were everywhere back home. Marco knew better than others— hell, it was his born duty to oppose them. It was his families line of work. Feline-hybrid shifters descending from a pantheon entirely different from the WereWolves of the North. Their history— knowledge. It led them into the bloody and violent Anti-Poaching Units of South Africa. A job they'd done for centuries over. A way to keep connected to their inner animal and respect the place where it all started.

Their whole lives revolved around protecting the wild and fending off The Poachers. They did so for a long time.

Until that night. So much was different. So much chaos. So many unforeseen events and mistakes. The night he'd lost his family and his mothers mind.

As he read over the page, his finger tips grew to claws and his eyes burned gold.

The whole reason he'd even come to Beacon Hills was because this was where they'd led him. They massacred his family— tore their skin from dead bones and sold it like tapestry. They sealed their fate on that night.

He'd been hunting the hunters for a year straight. And just now, as he sat under the Moonlight beams gleaming through his window, he'd begun to question why they'd come. He'd begun to question the reasoning of it all in a real way. Truly, why had they come here...when two other well equipped hunting groups were stationed here.

Were they all looking to collaborate? The Poachers, The Warlocks and The Argents? Something that's never been heard of— something that could very well exterminate every shifter on one half of the planet.

Or. Was this the Warlocks most recent escapade for power and expansion through cannibalistic consumption.

Either way, all he knew was two things. He'd kill whatever stood in the way of the Poachers. Good or not. And if the three Hunting groups were teaming up for some hellish slaying event, that would mean, he'd have some very new enemies.

Unfortunately. The latter sounded plausible. The Warlocks…..their magic. It would explain why Gerard was able to lift Marco's two hundred plus pound case with a single hand….

It would also explain Scott's hand.

The future suddenly looked even more grim than it already had.

And being the final omega of his race only made things worse.

But, it also meant one other thing. If Gerard was leading his family into dealings with the Warlocks, he was going back on his code.

The Argents were in for a big change….

He closed the book, looking up with glowing eyes that matched the color of the slowly rising sun. He'd spent the whole night reading, thinking, considering possibilities and outcomes in between bouts of intense research.

He wasn't even surprised. His mother said he often obsessed over things. He wasn't tired either. In fact, he was more awake than he'd been in a very long time. His eyes were opening— at least that's how it felt.

He rose from his bed, limbs awakening and skin as hot as new flames.

He needed to train, and he needed to watch the town of Beacon Hills. The town full of Hunters, Shifters and everything in between like young women with otherworldly sensory skills and men with knowledge and talents that outshined even his own.

As he headed for his door, he looked down at his arm, wrapped in the cloth bathed in mountain ash. He pushed against its restraints, flexing his arm. He could feel the pale markings heating his skin.

"Maybe I'll need you sooner than later. Sisters…..guide me like the Sun above. My enemies have grown in number. I will need to as well…"

And with that, he left, hefting his massive guitar case over his shoulder as he began training. Harder than ever.