The Curse Prince Domination

The village was a battlefield, chaos stretching in every direction. Flames licked at the thatched roofs, illuminating the night with a hellish glow. The air was thick with the mingling of growls, screams, and the sharp ring of steel clashing against clawed flesh. Werewolves—hulking, nightmarish creatures with matted fur and glowing eyes—rampaged through the streets, tearing through the houses of the villagers.

Amid the chaos, Desmond stood his ground, his leather armor smeared with blood—both his and that of the beasts. With practiced precision, he nocked a silver-tipped arrow and loosed it into the snarling maw of an oncoming werewolf. The creature crumpled mid-leap, its body convulsing as the silver burned through its cursed flesh. Desmond had no time to revel in the kill; another werewolf lunged at him from the side. He spun, drawing his sword in one fluid motion and meeting its attack. The blades sang as he parried, driving the creature back with a flurry of strikes before delivering a fatal thrust to its chest.

"Ray! What's the situation?!" Desmond shouted, his voice rising above the cacophony.

Ray, a burly figure wielding a bloodied club, was locked in combat nearby. He swung the club with brutal force, the wood cracking against the skull of a lunging werewolf. The beast staggered, and Ray took the opportunity to draw a dagger from his belt. With a swift motion, he drove the blade into the werewolf's glowing eye, eliciting a piercing howl.

"North and west walls have been breached!" Ray bellowed as he braced himself against the creature's dying thrashes. With grim efficiency, he raised his club and slammed it down onto the dagger's hilt, driving the blade deeper into the beast's skull. The werewolf collapsed in a lifeless heap. "The other hunters are evacuating the villagers to the south!"

Desmond cut down another werewolf, his sword gleaming with silver as it severed through flesh and bone. He finished the kill with a stab through the heart, the beast crumpling at his feet. "And Ruby?" he demanded, his voice sharp with urgency.

Ray wiped his brow, his face a mask of sweat and blood. "She's nowhere to be found," he replied, gripping his weapons tightly as another wave of snarling beasts closed in. "Robin and the Merrymen are holding off the rest, but these bastards just keep coming!"

Desmond cursed, his gaze darting toward the breached walls. This fight wasn't just survival—it was a delaying action to ensure the villagers escaped. Tightening his grip on his sword, he shot a glance at Ray. "We'll find her later. For now, we fight!"

Ray swung his club into another werewolf, crushing its ribs, but unease gnawed at him. "Desmond, something's wrong. These werewolves… they're weaker than the ones that broke through the walls."

Desmond nodded, panting as he wrenched his blade free from another fallen beast. "Yeah. Their movements are sluggish."

A chilling voice cut through the din. "Of course they are. These ones are just failed products."

Both men froze, turning toward the voice. A towering werewolf emerged from the carnage, its black fur glistening in the firelight. A jagged scar marred its face, and its one remaining eye glowed with cruel intelligence. This was no mindless beast; it radiated dominance, its presence suffocating.

"Long time no see, Desmond," the creature growled, its voice carrying a mocking edge.

Desmond's eyes narrowed, recognition flickering in his expression. He spat, gripping his sword tighter. "Tsk, you damn maggot."

The werewolf's grin widened, exposing jagged teeth. Without warning, it lunged, closing the distance in a heartbeat. Desmond barely had time to react, crossing his arms to block as the beast's massive fist struck him. The impact sent him flying, crashing through a house in a shower of splintered wood and stone.

"Desmond!" Ray shouted, but the werewolf's attention shifted. Ray charged, raising his club for a devastating blow, but the beast sidestepped with terrifying ease. A backhanded strike sent Ray hurtling through the air, landing hard with a groan.

The scarred werewolf straightened, its movements deliberate as it began to walk toward Desmond's crumpled form. With each step, its hulking frame began to shrink and shift. Fur receded, claws retracted, and in moments, the monstrous figure was replaced by that of a tall, muscular man. His long, dark hair framed his scarred face, and his eyes glinted with cruel amusement. Naked but unbothered, he clasped his hands behind his back as he approached.

"Desmond," the man said, his tone unnervingly calm. "Tell me where she is. After all, I went through so much trouble just to find her."

As the man approached, his attention was drawn to a figure with stark white hair emerged at the edge of the chaos, his piercing gaze locking onto the scarred man.

His words, loud enough to carry over the din, "Why is he… nude?"

The scarred man's smirk deepened, his voice smooth and dripping with amusement. "Transformation destroys clothes, young man."

______

Adam's pov

I locked eyes with the scarred man before me—Were, the Big Bad Wolf. His confidence oozed from every movement, his grin sharp and mocking. Desmond, battered but unbroken, stood up from the rubble. Dusting himself off as if the devastating blow he'd just taken was nothing more than an inconvenience, he faced Were with a cold glare.

"Were," Desmond growled, his voice heavy with anger, "you won't get Ruby. You've already taken her grandmother."

Were tilted his head, a twisted grin stretching across his scarred face. "A small price to pay for salvation," he said, his tone disturbingly calm.

"You're delusional."

"Delusional?" Were repeated, his tone calm and detached. "No, Desmond. What I do is not madness—it's survival. Our kin are dying out. The alphas, the heart of our species, were wiped out in the war. With them gone, we lost the ability to create more of us, to pass on the bloodline. The few packs that remain are scattered and weak, mere shadows of what we once were."

"And when we faced extinction, I offered a solution."

"Experimentation," Desmond spat, his fists clenching at his sides. "You turned your own kind into lab rats."

Were's eyes gleamed with malevolent pride. "Yes. Experimentation. But the others—those who cling to outdated traditions—they rejected my methods. Fair to all, rich or poor, I offered salvation, and they called me a madman." He sneered, his voice rising. "What I predicted has come to pass. Years have gone by, and now we stand on the brink of annihilation."

"Well congratulations," Gaston's voice cut in, thick with sarcasm. He hefted his sword and stepped forward. "You're a prophet. But you talk too much."

Without hesitation, Gaston lunged. His blade gleamed under the faint moonlight as it arced toward Were.

But Were was faster.

In the blink of an eye, he vanished, reappearing behind Gaston like a shadow come to life.

Leaning in close, his hot breath against Gaston's ear, he whispered, "Interrupting someone's monologue? How rude."

Before Gaston could react, Were delivered a devastating punch to his stomach. The hunter doubled over with a gasp, but Were wasn't finished.

Grip!!

Grabbing Gaston's face with one clawed hand, he slammed him into the ground.

Bang!!

The impact cracked the cobblestones, sending shards of stone flying.

"Now," Were said, standing upright and dusting off his hands, "where was I?"

Desmond's voice rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade. "At the part where you die!"

Raah!!

With a roar, Desmond charged forward, his fists swinging in a flurry of blows. Each strike was fierce, carrying the weight of his fury, but Were dodged effortlessly. His movements were precise, almost lazy, as if he were toying with his opponent.

"Desmond, Desmond," Were said with a smirk, sidestepping another punch. "Look at you. My very first experiment. A man imbued with the power of a werewolf, but still incomplete. No full transformation. No true strength. And now… you're fading."

"Shut up!" Desmond roared. His arm shifted mid-strike, transforming into a massive, clawed limb. He swung with all his might.

The blow connected. Were skidded back several feet, his boots scraping against the ground as he caught himself. For a moment, his grin faltered.

"Not bad," Were admitted, rubbing his arm where the strike had landed. Then his grin returned, wider and more menacing than before. "But not strong enough."

He spread his arms wide, his voice echoing across the street. "Behold at what I've achieved since then."

From the shadows behind him, figures emerged. Werewolves, larger and more menacing than the ones we'd fought before. Their hulking forms radiated raw power, their glowing eyes filled with malice.

"These," Were said, gesturing to the creatures like a proud creator showing off his masterpiece, "are my near-perfect creations. Stronger. Faster. Unstoppable."

Grrr!!

The pack growled in unison, their snarls vibrating through the air like a death knell.

Were's grin turned wicked as he lowered his arms. "Let the fun begin."