The Taste of Death

Chapter 28

LOU RIVERS

With the blunt rejection of the Lycaon Cult, the palace has conducted a thorough investigation of the pack and was utterly shocked of the findings.

The Lycaon Cult is no more a small pack but a huge one. Members are carefully recruited from around the world. They are of noble bloodlines and from the elites of knights that were cast out: rebels— rogues.

They are members who harbor hatred, that are vengeful and feed in greed.

They are— dangerous.

The findings posted a threat to the empire. Hence, the emperor declared a decree to treat them as enemies of our kind and that anyone is allowed to kill members or affiliates of that pack whenever and wherever without going through trials.

But even with the decree from two centuries ago, the Lycaon Cult continues to grow to the point that one cannot even tell if a fellow pack member or a friend is an affiliate.

In addition to the mystery, there's their Alpha. He remained an unsolved puzzle up until today.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" The man asked the woman not taking away his eyes from us.

"They're kind of— you know— pups."

"Where else should I channel my anger?" The woman sharpened her gaze.

"Too bad, these pups had to cross my path."

The man chuckled, "How unlucky."

Another step forward from them and Marc once again let out a defensive growl.

"Oh, atleast he has some balls," the woman mocked.

"Wait a minute," the man again interrupted the woman.

"What if these pups are of a noble bloodline?"

"Heirs may be?"

"Huh," the woman huffed. "Of course they are."

"They emit that filthy aura of damned nobles," she said with disgust.

"Except that runt in the back," she pointed at me.

'woah'

"But what of it?" She continued. "We even killed a Rohan."

"What could a small fry nobles can do?"

My brows furrowed listening to their conversation.

"Correction," the man disagreed. "We did not kill them. We just watched them being killed."

"That's exactly what frustrates me—" the woman hissed, bulging her eyes to her companion.

"I craved to have a go—"

"... to see their blood gushing out caused by my blades but I haven't had the chance!"

"Ugh," she groaned. "Alpha just did not let me."

"Not even a single hit at the very least."

Turning back her attention to us with menace, "Now— these pups will have all my anger."

[*************]

I haven't noted the time of when the battle started or counted the time of how long has it been. Just that my friends were starting to show signs of exhaustion.

It was crystal clear—

It was so obvious that they do not stand a chance with their foes.

It was a pitiful sight to see.

The enemy werewolves were just toying at them while they—

... while they gave their best.

I could see their frustration and could even tell their minds as displayed by their actions. If only, if only they can land a good hit even just once then maybe— maybe they could let their enemies feel a little of their pain before they fall down.

It was a loss from the start.

With a hardened heart, I stood there watching—

I watched them fought one on one: the woman against Maggie and the man against Marc.

They were all in their wolf form, baring each others fangs, ripping each others flesh with their claws and kicking with their paws.

I stood there watching them fought to their death.

Well, the enemy werewolves just let me be on the side like I don't matter and when I moved to help, Marc forbade me. Instead, he mind linked me to run.

Obviously, I did not.

As the enemies did not give a damn fuck about me, I remained in my spot— watching, ignoring Maggie and Marc's pleas in the link for me to run away.

With the scene before me, I chose to stand still.

Aside from not giving my friends more burden: them— thinking of me just being in their way on the fight if I joined in— as the weak I am, I also wanted them to step on the doorstep of death.

'yeah'

I wanted them to taste it.

I was that cruel.

I want them to know how does it feel to be one step away from dying.

As young as they were, I want them to experience the reality of our kind.

For years of knowing them, as son and daughter of nobles, they were reliant: dependent.

Marc— as the son of the Head of the Knights of the Noble Blood Pack.

Maggie— as being favored by the emperor.

Though, they weren't oblivious to a werewolf's life but they were not mindful either.

Particularly, they do not know the extent of the danger of our world.

And I saw the happening as an opportunity for them to know that. To know by experience that outside someone's protection, they can only have themselves to rely upon.

Hence, I just watched and let them have it all— the reality; the cruelty of our world.

Then I heard Maggie yelped; her rib cage broke, her wolf rolled over the ground for a couple of turns and her opponent howl, howling victorious.

In exhaustion and with a beaten up body, Maggie shifted back to her human form. She was spitting blood, body limping and cuts all over.

She was crying too:

... crying in anger,

... in frustration,

... in fear,

... and most of all, in helplessness.

The woman against her was just mocking with glee at her, taking pleasure in her suffering.

With Marc, he was in the same state as Maggie or even more. Taking the human form, he was a bloody mess. His eyes were swollen and blood drooled down his jaw. His right leg was broken too.

Then he glanced my way and I could see in the peripheral of my eyes the wicked grin of his opponent as he followed Marc's gaze that was towards me.

The man then walked slowly in my direction, intentionally dragging his feet on the ground in every stride and my heart melted— as in a flash, Maggie and Marc, with so much difficulty, went to my side.

I was stunned— and at the same time, overwhelmed by their action.

The enemy werewolves though, just laughed at my friend's display of valor.

"Run!" Maggie yelled addressing me then leapt for an attack to the approaching man but was sent out rolling on the ground once again by the woman who intercepted midway.

Marc turned to me, his eyes were sorry, then he spurted a good lump of blood.

He smiled—

He smiled a smile of defeat.

After wiping the stains of blood in his mouth, he looked at me with pleading eyes, "Run Lou."

"Please, run—"

Then and there, the man, the enemy werewolf appeared right at his back.

I saw it—

I saw how he swung his dagger to nail it on Marc. And I saw my friend, Marc; he didn't bat an eye or move at all.

He just waited for the dagger to pierce through him while giving me his most genuine yet regretful smile.

By that time, I had enough.

'yeah'

I— had— enough.