68 CHPT 67: The Demon-Wolf, The Genius and The Listener.

Marco felt as if he sat under a building slowly filling with human bodies. Growing heavier by the second. Pushing him through the floor until he was a furbound pancake within the bank.

That's how heavy the Alpha's dominance was. That's all it was. His essence.

The same thing Marco used days ago when he marked Alison's home as his territory, Deucalion just used on him.

An advanced ability only available to Alphas— Deucalion somehow had in excess. It all started with the spark. That extra flare and heat that made them Alphas. It translated to everything. The animalistic nature of the transformation itself. The damage their claws and fangs did. Their ability to take in pain.

And of course, the bodily fluids used to mark territory. Used to impose ones will in a claiming manner.

Deucalion's will was heavier than anything Marco had ever lifted.

But that didn't make the lift impossible. That didn't make his will weaker. That didn't undermine his lived experiences.

It just challenged them.

He'd been an Alpha too long to not rise at the sight of one. It was instinctual.

Many things were instinctual inside the bank.

So he listened. And acted on his instincts.

They pulled him into the war Scott waged against Deucalion. He pushed like hell to reach them, feeling the hot drops of blood sink past his fur and weigh down his outer being.

Demon-Wolf versus Demon-Wolf.

They shook the grounds.

Scott's monstrosity was dwarfed in comparison to Deucalion's all too human malevolence.

If Scott had become the perfectly blended beast Marco worked him towards, then the Alpha of Alphas was the perfect blend of something both intelligent and sinister.

It was so clear in his movements.

As Scott dropped to all fours and slashed at the Alpha, he casually bobbed and weaved with his hands behind his back. Claws clicking like a ticker on a time bomb.

Counting down for Marco.

Scott was going to die if he didn't get up. Along with Deaton.

His mother was going to die.

He pushed into the marble earth. His claws dug into the hardness momentarily before his palms and toes cracked the ground. The voices stoked the fear in his mind.

"Get up…."

"Kill, Menes….Keep going. Avenge everyone."

"You hold the power of more Alphas than he'll ever command. Why don't you use us all? Stop using one at a time. Embrace every spark."

He could've laughed as the veins in his arms and legs bulged with effort. Even in death, his sisters outshined him with their intelligence and wit. They knew a power he wielded better than himself. And he'd had it for years.

"Get…. Up." He snarled as the markings running along his arm flared.

"Stay down, actually." Deucalion replied as he caught Scott by the muzzle and lifted him with one arm.

"You're doing amazing, Scott! Keep going." He slashed open his midsection. Purple-red blood splashed against his face like a liquid slaughter mask as he tossed the WereWolf.

If Scott died the rest would fall like dominoes.

Marco raged, slamming his head against the floor as he pushed.

"All of us…"

His family— his friends… his people's pleading voices echoed from the other side.

"How! Tell me how, dammit!" Marco's arms and legs broke through the floor and sent him back flat on his face.

"Listen…."

It was a simple reply. But profound. He'd spent all his years working towards the heavenly prospect of silence. But it was the hellish hum of his dead peoples that would grant his greatest peace.

Apparently….

He was out of options. And strength. First time ever.

So he tried it.

He tried listening.

He shut his eyes, and they opened his vision to a new world.

He stood in the sands of his homelands. Lion prints in the sand so deep the beasts had to be thousands of pounds. He recoiled at the sight, remembering his fathers horrific quadrupedal form, then he looked onward.

He faced a pyramid.

A pyramid loomed over him like a judging god in its own right.

Before the hundreds of Grey Lions that stalked its peaks. Before the siblings gods that hovered above it, walking on the sweltering mid-day winds. They looked just like the Grey Lions. Only they had golden skin. Standing at great heights bathed in sun kissed golden jewels and armor. Their eyes were like stars. Wielding weapons that could crash the economy of the modern world with all their beauty and power.

Marco bowed.

"Do you know who I am?"

"You are Anhur. I stand before you and your sister. Children of the almighty sun."

"You finally listen, Menes Louwe. Your people— we, have been waiting diligently for you."

Marco nodded.

"You've lost your way in these American lands. You forgot your purpose."

"I would never." Marco knew that more than he knew anything.

"Then why are you still here?"

Marco looked up, caught in the question and its validity before lowering his gaze.

Anhur suddenly sounded like he flew closer to Marco.

"Menes. We are one and the same you know. Our fate is mirrored. I see you when i gaze upon myself through my sisters beautiful eyes. You'd see the same if you listened. We are the same. It became as such when you took in the entirety of your people….. just as I spread it out across these lands. We are the same. With that being said you make a critical error."

"Enlighten me."

"You deny your truth. You are the worlds deadliest hunter not because you can kill, but because you can capture. You can return to your lands unscathed to stand before us. You can do just as I once did. You've avenged. Now return."

Marco exploded to his feet as the sands began to spiral and rush around him like he stood in the eye of a tornado. Bright yellow solar lightning blasted the earth beyond the sanded miasma. His people stalking the pyramids became a blur.

He missed them so much.

But—

"Wait! I'm not strong enough….. I—"

"As long as you keep listening…"

Anhur suddenly lunged at him, breaching the spiraling sands as he threw a golden spear so fast Marco blinked and found a steaming hole in his chest.

His breaths fell short.

His blood boiled.

He stumbled.

And then a spark snapped to life in the center of his wound.

The spark.

The Spark. Magic birthed by Zeus as a curse— co-opted and synthesized by Marco's ancestors when they hybrized with the Lycanthropes.

The Shifters Spark. The source of their power.

It looked just like the start to a fire.

And then it grew.

It spread out beyond Marco's wound and became a multicolored electrical flame that swallowed his whole chest and crawled up his neck with a mind-numbing heat.

His people watched from the pyramid.

"I'm listening."