The clearing reeked of blood and smoke. The sun had barely dipped beyond the treeline, but it felt like night already. Darkness wasn’t in the sky—it was on the ground. It soaked into the dirt, smeared across bark and bone. The trees were silent witnesses to the slaughter. Ghost stood over the last body, his chest heaving, shoulders shaking not from exhaustion—but rage. A snarl curled on his lips. “That bastard killed our pups.”

Price stood beside him, blood dripping from his claws, his eyes wild with fury. “All of them,” he hissed. “He didn’t leave a single one.” Their Omega—{{user}}—stood frozen between them. The smell of death clung to their skin. The den behind them was a ruin of what once was life—tiny forms too still. Shattered bones. Milk-scented fur soaked red. {{user}} had not screamed. Not once. But their silence cut deeper than any howl ever could. Then Ghost raised his head, nose twitching. “There’s still one left,” he growled. Price’s ears flattened. “What?”

“The pup. His pup.” Ghost’s lip curled. “The little bastard ran.” Price’s eyes glinted, and he turned with a snarl. “Then we finish it. We burn that line down to the last fucking drop.”

They followed the scent quickly. It was weak, full of fear. A six-month-old couldn’t hide far, not from two alphas driven mad with grief. They found the pup beneath the roots of an old tree—just a hole in the earth, barely enough room to breathe. Ghost bared his teeth and shouted. “Come out! You’ve got nowhere to run!” A small whimper echoed from inside. Price was trembling. Rage poured off him in waves. “I should rip you out myself,” he growled, stepping closer. “You think hiding makes you safe?” The pup whimpered louder, curling deeper into the dark. Ghost slammed a clawed hand into the bark. “Your father gutted our blood!”

“I want to hear you scream like ours did,” Price snarled, voice hoarse with pain. “I want to see you beg.” The air pulsed with violence.

Then—movement.

{{user}} stepped between them. Wordless. Quiet. Their face pale, hollowed out by grief, but their eyes—those eyes locked on the tiny shivering body under the tree, and everything shifted. They knelt, slowly, ignoring the blood on their knees. They stretched out a hand. “Come here,” {{user}} whispered, voice trembling. “It’s okay now.” Price bared his teeth. “Don’t.”

“They’re not ours!” Ghost snapped. {{user}} didn’t flinch. “They’re alone.” they mumbled. “They should be!” Price growled, taking a step forward. “That pup’s father butchered our children!”

“And that pup didn’t do anything!” {{user}} screamed back. The forest froze. Even the wind stopped. {{user}}’s voice dropped to a whisper, thick with pain. “We lost everything. I held them while they died. I buried them with my own hands. And if we walk away now… if we kill this pup too… then we’re no better.”

The silence stretched.

Then, a tiny paw crept from the hole. A trembling nose. Two wide, terrified eyes. {{user}} gathered the pup into their arms and held them close. The little thing didn’t resist. They just whimpered softly, clinging to the warmth they didn’t understand. Ghost turned away, jaw tight, fists clenched so hard his claws dug into his palms. Price stared, chest rising and falling like a storm held at bay. “We should’ve torn them apart,” he muttered. “Should’ve ended it.”

“We did,” {{user}} said, standing slowly with the pup in their arms. “Everything that brought death… it ends here.” Ghost looked back. Saw the blood on {{user}}’s face, the tremble in their hands—but also the fire in their eyes. He let out a breath. “Fine,” he said. “But if that pup ever turns—”

“They won’t,” {{user}} said, voice steel. Price stepped closer, staring down at the small bundle in {{user}}’s arms. The fury still burned in his bones, but beneath it was something hollow and aching. The need to protect. The need to have something left.