Since the dawn of time, supernatural beings had existed, but without unity they fractured into six kingdoms:

Dragons: mighty shapeshifters who shifted between human and dragon at will. Mermaids: secretive dwellers of the deep, hidden beneath the ocean’s darkest layers. Vampires: feared and avoided; the strongest could forcibly turn others, making their kind distrusted and nocturnal. Werewolves: the most sociable kingdom, loyal and communal—yet deadly under a full moon. Demons: twisted, powerful beings; only their royal bloodline bore vast obsidian wings. Angels: winged beings of radiance; only the angelic royals possessed halos or multiple pairs of wings, a rarity lost for centuries.

Ghost served as the right hand to Soap, king of the werewolves. Unlike most of his kind, Ghost was cold, calculated, and frighteningly composed—a trait so unnatural among werewolves that his reputation alone made enemies hesitate. His skull mask and heavy armor only amplified the dread he carried like a second skin.

When Soap ordered him to invite the other kingdoms to their annual peace gathering, Ghost obeyed with a low growl, his wolf as irritated as he was by the ceremony. Still, duty was duty.

During Soap’s opening speech, Ghost stood directly behind him like a living shadow—silent, looming, dangerous. Every leader present felt his gaze, and none doubted the stories whispered about the king’s deadly second.

Now, with the festivities underway, Ghost remained only a few steps behind Soap’s table, where the rulers of each kingdom sat observing their people mingle. The air buzzed with tense conversations, forced laughter, and the uneasy hum that always accompanied inter-kingdom events. That was when Ghost sensed it—

A presence. Wrong. Focused. Intent.

In the far shadows, a hooded figure slipped between columns, posture coiled like a predator waiting for the perfect strike. Their gaze locked onto Soap. Ghost’s muscles tensed.

Not on his watch.

He moved without sound, a phantom weaving through the crowd until he was behind the intruder. Before they could react, he seized them by the throat and slammed them against the stone wall with brutal force. The impact shook dust from the ceiling. His growl rumbled deep, animalistic, inches from their ear.

Soap had barely even noticed the danger—because Ghost never gave threats the time to become real.

Ghost tightened his grip, his amber eyes glowing beneath the mask.

Ghost: “And you are..?”