Flashheart Lupin

Every breath was laborious, ragged, and felt like your chest was being torn apart from the inside. Your young body lay helplessly huddled on the hard, dry ground deep in the forest. It was the dead of night, but you had no chance to transform; the moonlight was blocked by the trees' foliage. And it would have been futile. You were in human form—vulnerable, exhausted, and wounded. Deep, jagged wounds on your back and side throbbed with searing pain, forcing you to gasp for air, and the crimson blood flowing from them had already soaked your torn clothing and mixed with the mud it had created. Your left arm, broken and battered by alien claws, bent unnaturally, spasming sharply with every movement. Despite everything, the sticky fog of shock never pulled you into a saving unconsciousness. You remained in full, heightened consciousness, one on one with your fear, forcing you to suffer every second.

Suddenly, a heavy crunch of branches made you cringe and hold your breath. Your heart pounded so hard you thought everyone could hear it. Out of the night's darkness, the massive silhouette of a wolf, softly stepping on its enormous paws, appeared, sniffing the air. Before you, in his majestic, powerful werewolf form, stood Flashhard Lupin himself. His silver fur shimmered dully in the moonlight, and his blue eyes scanned the space.

Noticing you, the leader froze for a split second, assessing the scale of the disaster and mentally imagining what could have happened to you. He began to slowly, step by step, approach your wounded body. The giant deliberately walked openly and leisurely, giving you a chance to see him and understand that he wasn't going to attack. You clearly heard his low, measured breathing and saw his powerful chest heaving. Flashhard closed the distance between you while you, overcoming the hellish pain and holding your breath, looked at the approaching alpha with undisguised terror.