Before they simply stood back, watching from a distance away, hesitant and unsure, but soon—when it became clear that the body on the floor was not what they had assumed it to be—their hesitation shattered.
The head had clearly transformed into something that could no be called or related to a Werewolf.
The shift in their reactions was immediate. It was as though fire had suddenly erupted from the ground, licking at their heels, and they scrambled backward in a frenzy, their boots scraping against the stone floor. Some tripped over each other, gasping in shock, while others instinctively pressed themselves against the farthest wall, eyes wide with disbelief and fear.
The only person too stunned to move was Harned. His mouth hung open, lips parted but unable to form words, as if his voice had been stolen away. His eyes were locked in a glassy, unblinking stare, his breathing shallow and unsteady. There was a lost, almost childlike confusion written across his features as he remained rooted to the spot, frozen.
He couldn’t my believe that his son who he had just been mourning could suddenly start screeching like a banshee and a beast much worse than it.
Even as he stood there, he could only watch Jared—watch the way Jared’s expression remained set in grim determination, his movements sharp, calculated, and without hesitation. Jared simply moved his hand, the one that held the flame as he continued to touch the writhing head on the ground with an ease that spoke of experience, directing it toward every part of it.
The flames caught instantly, a burst of heat and light blooming in the dim space.
Jared had no intentions of taking any chances. His gaze did not waver, not even for a heartbeat, as the fire began to consume the twisted remains. He watched with a measure of comfort—comfort not born of joy, but of grim confirmation—that the body he had slain truly was the monster he had suspected.
The tension in his shoulders lessened only slightly, but his focus remained razor-sharp. He was beyond relieved, yet he did not allow that relief to slow his actions. Instead, he moved with urgency, ensuring that the fire spread faster.
His fingers twitched as though ready to reach for a weapon again, prepared to hack the charred body into smaller pieces if that was what it took to be certain it could not return.
The burning went on for a while. The air filled with a sickening stench—burnt flesh, acrid smoke—and the grotesque form began to release guttural, low moans. The sound was both pained and unnatural, a screeching whimper that scraped against the ears. The thing rolled violently across the ground, writhing in a desperate attempt to put out the fire, but every attempt failed. Sparks clung stubbornly to its flesh, the flames licking greedily at it no matter how it twisted or flailed.
Jared’s jaw tightened. He did not flinch. He did not blink. He simply poured more fire upon it, each flick of his wrist sending another wave of searing heat to engulf the creature. His face was grim, lips pressed into a hard line as he silently counted the seconds, ensuring the blaze left no chance for survival. He did not stop until it was reduced to nothing—until the body was nothing but blackened ash, scattered in a faint breeze that swept across the room.
The silence that followed was immense. It fell heavy over the gathering, pressing down like a weight no one dared disturb. No one spoke. No one even shifted their feet. All eyes were drawn to Jared, and yet Jared himself did not so much as glance at them. His gaze remained fixed on the ashes at his feet, sharp and searching, as though he half-expected them to stir, to rise, to twist back into the monstrous form he had just destroyed.
It was only after a long stretch of tense quiet that Jared finally lifted his head. His eyes swept the gathered faces, scanning, measuring, as if looking for something—someone—he might have missed. His expression was hard, unreadable, yet beneath it was the faintest glimmer of calculation.
The atmosphere shifted again, growing even more tense. Instead of sticking closer together for comfort, people began to subtly put space between themselves, retreating a step here, an inch there. The fear was clear in their faces; no one trusted the person standing beside them. Who could tell if the friendly neighbor or long-time ally was, in truth, one of those shape-shifting monsters?
"There’s no other monster amongst us!" Jared announced suddenly, his voice deep and commanding. The sharpness of his tone cut through the oppressive quiet like a blade. His words brought an instant, if fragile, relief. Shoulders eased, breaths were released in unison, though no one dared celebrate. For some, even a sliver of reassurance was enough, and they began to drift closer to one another again, banding together with tentative trust.
"What was that?" Clara’s voice rose, sharp with both horror and disbelief. Her wide eyes were still fixed on the ground where the ashes lay, as if the sight of them was burned into her mind. Her lips trembled slightly as she pressed on. "What kind of beast could that..."
"Not a beast! According to Zyren it’s a Zygon!" Jared cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument. His gaze locked briefly with hers, hard and unflinching, as if daring her to challenge him.
"Zygons are myths!" she shot back instantly, almost desperately, clinging to the comfort of disbelief.
Jared only shook his head. He turned away from her, his movements final, signaling the conversation’s end. "...Clearly they aren’t!" he muttered, his voice low but certain, letting the words hang in the air like a warning.
He strode past her without another glance, heading toward the front. As he walked, his form began to shift, muscles rippling beneath his skin as fur sprouted white and thick along his frame. His transformation was swift, almost casual, but it radiated power. This wasn’t a gesture for Clara—it was a declaration to everyone.
The eyes of the council members followed him, questions burning in their stares, unspoken but palpable. He ignored them all. His beast form loomed taller, fur bristling as he let out a deep, resonant roar that rolled across the gathering like thunder. His command was clear: transform. The others obeyed, their own forms shifting, until the clearing was filled with the sound of claws scraping the ground and the rustle of thick fur.
This was not merely for protection—it was a hunt. Jared intended to lead them quietly back to the city’s center, his heightened senses searching for the faintest trace of blood among them.
There has to be a better way to tell who is a monster than this! he thought bitterly. If I can’t, by the end of the month I could be surrounded by them... and never even know.
Throughout the journey back, his mind would not rest. His steps were steady, but each pawfall carried the weight of relentless thought. How to recognize them? How to strike before they could strike him?
By the time they reached the castle, Jared shifted back into human form, his expression darkened into a deep, foreboding frown. The scents he had picked up along the way gnawed at his thoughts—different kinds of blood, none of which he could confirm as innocent or damning. For werewolves, the smell of blood was nothing unusual. Many hunted and ate their prey raw; the scent clung stubbornly to their fur and skin.
Still, something made his ears prick, his instincts flaring like sparks in the night. His head snapped to the side. In an instant, he lunged, seizing a man by the neck. His grip was merciless, his voice a growl. "You’re one of them!"
The man’s eyes bulged in shock, hands clawing at Jared’s wrist as he struggled to breathe. "Al-alpha! Please!" he gasped, confusion and terror twisting his face.
Jared’s grip only tightened, preparing to snap the man’s neck.
"I-I’m a butch... No... ing wrong!" the man choked out, words fractured and weak.
Jared hesitated, frowning as he processed the words. If the man worked as a butcher, the blood made sense. And yet... that did not mean he wasn’t a monster in disguise. But killing him here, in the open, before a crowd? No. This would not be like Bavira. Not today.
With a frustrated huff, Jared released him, letting the man collapse to his knees, coughing. Without looking back, Jared stalked away, his thoughts grim. If I start killing people without proof, I’ll only spread fear. And fear is exactly what the Zygons want.
His voice rang out suddenly, sharp and commanding: "Send for a messenger! I have a message I want sent out!"
He had made up his mind. He would work with Zyren. They could settle their old rivalries later. For now, the enemy was clear... and far too dangerous for either one of them to face alone.