Two chains snaked around his waist following the words. Once again, electricity surged through his body. The current flowing from the links locked his muscles; his teeth clamped shut. His knees trembled, yet he did not fall. He wasn't resisting just to stay upright he was resisting so he wouldn't collapse before he was finished.
Another hunter pressed an electroshock device against him. Sean's shoulders convulsed. The shadow tried to rise from beneath his feet, but this time it was hesitant; it wavered, thinned, and fractured. Control was slipping. His breathing grew heavy, his chest sinking deeper with every labored gasp.
A bullet lodged itself into his shoulder. Then another. Blood fell to the earth like rain. Sean staggered but still managed to seize a hunter and hurl him aside. His claws were no longer as sharp as they once were as they tore through flesh. His movements were slowing, his reflexes lagging. Every step felt heavier than the last.
"It's not over..." he growled, but his voice cracked.
The shadow tried to rise one more time. Black veins flared along his spine, then flickered out one by one. Another shock hit him. This time, he dropped to one knee. When he lifted his head, there were only motionless bodies around him. Blood had mingled with water, staining the soil dark.
When the last hunter fell, the clearing drifted into silence.
Only Charles and Gerard remained.
Sean tried to pull himself up, but his body could no longer maintain its form. Bones creaked, claws retracted, and fur vanished. The shadow dissipated entirely. He had returned to human form—exhausted, bloodied, and broken.
Yet, his eyes were still fixed on them.
Gerard took a step forward, his expression cold. Charles remained on high alert, not daring to get closer.
Sean crawled toward one of the corpses on the ground. His fingers were stained with gore. His trembling hand reached for a pistol. Even as he gripped the weapon, his strength failed him; his fingers barely closed around the handle.
Without standing up, he raised the gun from where he sat.
First, he aimed the barrel at Charles. Then, slowly, at Gerard.
There was no wolf left in his eyes. No shadow. There was only the hollow stare of a finished man.
His finger settled on the trigger.
Gerard's expression didn't flicker. He was cold, steady, and resolute. He raised his own weapon, pointing the muzzle directly at Sean's chest.
"This ends here," he said in a low voice.
The trigger was pulled. A blast echoed.
The moment the bullet left the barrel, time slowed down... then came to a near-total halt.
Sean watched the bullet tear through the air toward him. It was heading straight for his heart. Every millimeter was visible the rifling marks on the metal, the way it caught the light as it spun...
And standing right behind the bullet was someone else.
A young boy. With his back turned.
Slowly, he turned his head. It was Sean as a child. The same features. The same jawline. But the eyes... the eyes were not human. They were pitch black. They didn't swallow the light; they pulled it inside. It felt as if there was a vast, bottomless void behind that gaze.
Sean's breath hitched.
The boy looked at him with a mocking smirk.
"Truly disappointing," he said in a calm, echoing voice. "Did you seal me away just to be this weak?"
Sean couldn't speak. His body was still frozen, but his mind was wide awake.
The boy raised his hand and caught the approaching bullet between two fingers. The slug remained suspended in mid-air.
"I'll help you this once," he said softly. "I hope we unite again in the future... my other self."
The words hung in the air. A moment of darkness fell.
And then, time began to flow again.
The blast echoed, but there was no hole in Sean's chest.
Sean gasped suddenly. The world had returned. There was a ringing in his ears. The forest was no longer the same.
Charles and Gerard had been thrown against the base of a tree a few meters away. They were covered in blood. Gerard, showing the weight of his years, had collapsed against the trunk, his breathing ragged. Charles was frantically grabbing his arm, trying to haul him to his feet.
"Father! We have to go!"
The surroundings... were even more different.
The hunters Sean had just killed were no longer on the ground. One by one, they had been hung by shadows. Thick, writhing threads of darkness bound their bodies to the tree branches. The corpses swayed, their faces appearing to be swallowed by the gloom.
The ground had turned pitch black. It wasn't soil anymore; it was as if a layer of frozen shadow had settled over the earth.
Sean stood up, trembling. His hands still held the pistol, but he didn't remember when he had fired. His eyes widened as he tried to comprehend what had happened.
"I... I didn't do this..."
But deep down, he knew. He hadn't done it. The other one had. The little boy. The pitch-black eyes.
Sean's gaze shifted to Gerard. The old man struggled to stand as Charles dragged him away. They were both alive, but gravely wounded.
Sean took a step back. Then another.
The forest didn't belong to him anymore. This darkness, these hanging bodies... this was not under his control.
His breathing quickened. He shook his head and turned, walking into the depths of the woods. He wasn't running, but he couldn't stay. He moved away, leaving behind a blackened earth, swaying shadows, and a night filled with the scent of blood.
Sean's phone vibrated as he moved through the woods with heavy steps. When he looked at the screen, he saw Stiles was calling. He hesitated for a moment, his fingers still trembling slightly. Finally, he answered.
"What is it?"
Stiles didn't even bother with a greeting. His voice was rapid, laced with panic. He blurted out that Jackson had escaped. He explained that they had to find him, that things were spiraling out of control.
Sean didn't respond.
A heavy silence hung over the line for several seconds, punctuated only by the wind howling through the trees. Stiles frowned.
"Sean? You there?"
Still, no answer.
"Are you okay? Did something happen?"
Sean closed his eyes. The images he had just witnessed were still echoing in his mind. The hanging bodies. The blackened earth. That black-eyed boy. There was a weight in his chest, but it wasn't physical.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was sharp, dripping with irritation.
"What am I supposed to do? You expect me to deal with him too? Let him kill whoever he wants. Go find him yourselves. I've got enough mindless bullshit on my plate without having to worry about that prick."
The words were harsh, his inner rage spilling out uncontrollably.
Stiles was silent for a few seconds. "Sean, we're just—"
Sean hung up.
Stiles stared at the screen in his hand, his expression grave and worried. Scott and Allison approached him.
"What happened?" Allison asked.
Stiles shook his head slightly. "It doesn't look like Sean's going to help. His voice… he didn't sound right. Like something happened."
Scott thought for a moment, his jaw tightening. "Let's handle the Jackson situation first," he said finally. "Sean wouldn't tell us even if we asked."
His mind was made up. As the night pressed on, their paths diverged; everyone was left to face their own darkness.
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