The man known as Leon Chen had entered the battlefield. Normally, whenever he appeared, he wore the pristine white-and-gold jacket of the White Rose, an unmistakable uniform that carried both respect and authority. But today, his look was different.
Instead of the emblematic colors, he wore a black leather jacket scuffed from wear, paired with ripped black jeans. The change gave him a completely different presence, less like a high-ranking officer and more like a member of some hardened biker gang.
The werewolves, however, didn’t hesitate. His arrival didn’t slow their assault. They continued to hurl projectile weapons from all sides, steel and sharpened bone cutting through the air.
Chen inhaled deeply, gathering mana into both fists until the energy seemed to coil and churn within his forearms. Then, at the exact moment the attacks reached their peak speed, he thrust his arms outward.
From behind, Austin was facing his own pressure. He slammed his foot down hard, channeling his Qi into the ground. The earth responded immediately, a jagged column of rock rising upward at his command.
On one side of the battlefield, two enormous whirlpools of water formed in the air at Chen’s will, their spiraling currents shimmering in the light. On the other, Austin’s stone wall locked into place with a thunderous crack. Between them, they intercepted every projectile in a perfect pincer of defense, water swallowing some attacks whole, stone shattering the rest.
When the barrage ended, the werewolves were left blinking in surprise. Not a single strike had made it through.
“There’s only two of them!” Broodie’s voice rang out, sharp with anger. “Just because one more showed up, do you think it’s going to change anything?!”
From above, a werewolf lunged, a blur of muscle and fur. It came down hard, fist swinging straight for Chen’s head.
Chen stepped into the attack rather than away from it, tilting his head just enough for the strike to glance past. In the same fluid motion, his fist shot upward from his waist, slamming into the werewolf’s stomach. Spirals of water coiled around his arm as he struck, twisting and snapping forward with the force of a breaking wave.
The werewolf was sent hurtling backward, spinning through the air before it hit the ground.
But Broodie hadn’t been wrong, their numbers were overwhelming, and they were far from unskilled.
Two more came at Chen simultaneously, claws slashing downward from above. He swung both arms out wide, his forearms expanding with a coating of swirling water that shaped itself into broad, curved shields. The claws struck and skidded harmlessly along the barrier.
A third werewolf appeared almost instantly, this one wielding a weapon. It was the length of a short club, but instead of a blunt tip, it bore the heavy head of a hammer.
With a snarl, the werewolf swung it with everything he had. The blow connected squarely with Chen’s stomach. The impact exploded outward in a shockwave, dust lifting from the ground in a violent burst.
Chen staggered back a step as more claw strikes followed, forcing him to guard against multiple angles at once.
From his position, Austin grit his teeth. He wanted to help, but he was locked in battle with his own group of werewolves, each one pressing him hard.
Leon Chen was no ordinary fighter. He was a powerful ally, one of the strongest still active from the White Rose organization. As Assistant Chief, he held one of the top three positions in the entire group, second only to a handful of individuals in special, almost mythical roles.
Leon Chen’s strength and reputation were well-earned. Anyone who had fought alongside him knew it, especially those who had been present during the battle against the One Gang. In truth, there was a very real chance Gary would never have defeated Harvor without Chen’s help. That was the level of power he brought to the battlefield.
It wasn’t just raw talent or training that made him formidable. Flowing through his body was the power of a mythical beast, a creature feared and revered in equal measure. But Chen’s beast was no ordinary legend. It was a lesser dragon known as a Bixi.
Bixi were not classified as true dragons, their stature and might placing them closer to the level of wyverns. Yet they were still a force to be reckoned with. In Chen’s case, the origin of his Altered powers came from the remains of one such beast, discovered generations ago on his own family’s land. The story of the Bixi had been passed down within his household for years, a proud piece of family history.
Bixi were famed for their near-impenetrable defense. Their hides could withstand incredible punishment, strong enough to block even a direct strike from Harvor himself. However, as strong as that defense was, Chen’s abilities were most effective in one-on-one combat. In a chaotic, large-scale battle one, his strengths were harder to fully capitalize on.
Still, his hardened body and resilience meant he could last far longer than most.
“Hey!” Austin called out between blows, his voice tight with urgency. “If you’re here as part of the White Rose... did you bring the whole army? Is every member here?”
The idea alone was enough to spark a flicker of hope. If the White Rose had arrived in force, maybe, just maybe, they could turn the tide.
A sudden pulse of water exploded from Chen’s position, surging outward in a controlled burst. The wave smashed into the nearest werewolves, shoving them back several paces. It wasn’t enough to seriously injure them, but it bought precious breathing room.
“No,” Chen replied flatly. “Only three of us agreed to come.”
“Only three?!” Austin’s disappointment was plain, until a deafening thud cut through the battle.
A shadow dropped from above, landing in the dirt with the weight of a falling boulder. When the dust cleared, a man stood there, unshaken. He wore a tight, sleeveless gym shirt that revealed a pair of massive, broad shoulders and arms built like steel pillars. His very stance radiated authority and dominance.
Even Broodie, who had been barking orders with confidence moments before, froze. The arrogance in his expression faltered.
“That’s...” Broodie’s eyes widened. “That’s the Chief himself. Don Tinge, the head of the White Rose organization!”
His voice dropped, as if speaking the name required caution. “A man said to possess... the same power as one of the kings.”
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