The weight of the moment hung heavy in the dimly lit war room, where the scent of ink and aged parchment mixed with the distant clamor of battle. President Abraham Lincoln sat rigidly, his weathered face lined with the burdens of war and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. The soft glow of the oil lamp cast flickering shadows, accentuating the deep furrows on his brow.
"It seems Adam has still chosen the other side," Lincoln murmured, his voice heavy with resignation. His sharp gaze settled on Jack Pete, the old steward of Howlett Manor. "Mr. Pete… is James truly ready?"
Jack Pete, a man of few but deliberate words, met the President's eyes with unwavering certainty. "I don't know for sure, Mr. President," he admitted. "But I believe in the young master."
The title lingered between them, carrying decades of history. Those who had served in Howlett Manor still called James by that name, a reminder of his origins, his upbringing, and the responsibility he shouldered. Jack himself had been among the few to witness James grow from a boy into something far greater—into a force of nature.
Lincoln exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. "Yes… I believe in him, too. But Adam… he's something else entirely. We know so little about what he truly is."
Jack's mind drifted back to years prior, when James had trained the family's warriors with a discipline so precise it bordered on obsession. He had seen firsthand how James molded men into soldiers, how he hardened them for the battles ahead. He had watched James push his own body to its very limits, his resilience almost inhuman. And yet, what was an extraordinary feat for mortals was merely the beginning for James Howlett.
The Transformation of James Howlett
For three days and nights, James had not rested. No sleep. No respite. His training was relentless, his every movement honed to perfection. The power coursing through his body was no longer just muscle and bone—it was something more. Something primal. His physical form had begun to shift, to evolve, his very bones strengthening in ways unseen before.
Victor Creed, who had always viewed himself as James' equal, understood the moment James emerged from his training that he no longer stood a chance.
James had surpassed him.
Victor had tried to follow in his footsteps, had attempted to grasp that same level of mastery. But his own nature—the relentless, untamed beast within—constantly held him back. Unlike James, Victor's power was tied to anger, to the endless hunger of his saber-toothed instincts. He lacked the discipline, the clarity. No matter how many times James attempted to guide him, Victor always fell prey to his own rage.
Meanwhile, Adam continued to grow stronger, his raw power unchecked, his attacks more vicious with each passing day. While James had honed his skill to counteract Adam's superior physical strength, he knew he was still at a disadvantage in sheer brute force. He would need to wait, to outlast Adam, until his moment came.
But time was running out.
The Battle of Blood and Bone
Victor's massive form was drenched in blood—not all of it his own. The vampires that had descended upon him had fought mercilessly, their talons raking deep wounds across his flesh. Though his regenerative abilities kept him standing, the toll of battle was undeniable. His movements slowed. His breath came ragged.
For the first time in his life, Victor Creed knew exhaustion.
The ever-burning fury that had driven him since childhood began to dim, like a beast finally growing weary of its own unrelenting rage. It was a strange sensation—foreign, yet not entirely unwelcome. For a fleeting moment, Victor felt something he had never truly known before: clarity.
Then, amidst the carnage, Adam's voice slithered through the chaos.
"Your brother is about to fall, James. How long do you think you can last?"
James did not respond. He blocked Adam's strike with the precision of a master, shifting his stance fluidly, his mind sharp despite the growing unease in his heart. Victor was fading. He needed to act soon.
Perhaps it was time.
Time to use that state…
Before James could fully commit to the thought, a sudden, guttural scream split through the battlefield.
Victor had changed.
No longer was he the rampaging beast, lashing out in blind fury. Instead, he moved with purpose. Every strike was calculated, every motion efficient. When a vampire lunged at him from the side, Victor didn't simply strike—it was as if he absorbed the attack, countering with an unseen force that pulsed from within him.
The vampire froze, black blood leaking from his eyes, nose, and ears. He twitched once before going limp, his lifeless body dangling from Victor's grip.
It was a terrifying sight.
One by one, the remaining vampires fell. They barely even touched Victor before their skulls were crushed, their bodies torn apart by an unseen force.
Across the battlefield, James allowed himself a small, knowing smirk.
"Your army is failing, Adam," he said coolly, turning Adam's own words against him.
For the first time since the battle began, Adam faltered.
Then, without warning, he stepped back.
A dark chuckle rumbled from deep within Adam's chest as he fixed James with a gaze that no longer held any semblance of humanity. His pupils expanded, swallowing the whites of his eyes in an abyss of inky black.
"You think I care?" Adam sneered. "They're not my brothers. They're just playthings I created to stave off loneliness."
Then, with a bone-chilling shriek, Adam convulsed violently.
His nails tore into his own flesh, his muscles spasming as his body twisted into something grotesque. His skin darkened to a deep blue-black metallic sheen, his frame expanding rapidly. Two grotesque protrusions jutted from his back, cracking and splitting as thick, leathery wings unfurled, spanning over five meters.
A hush fell over the battlefield.
In the distance, Vadoma, one of Adam's closest confidants, watched in horror. She clutched her hands over her mouth, stifling a scream. She had always known Adam to be powerful, but this… this was something beyond comprehension. Even she, a creature of darkness, felt an instinctive urge to kneel, to submit to the overwhelming presence before her.
This was not just a transformation.
This was something ancient. Something that should have never been awakened.
Adam's grotesque new form hovered above the battlefield, his wings beating slowly, his face a monstrous amalgamation of bat and beast. His voice came distorted, a harsh screech like metal scraping against stone.
"I had almost forgotten what it felt like to become this," Adam mused, his tone disturbingly calm. "No one alive has ever seen me like this… because, quite frankly, I despise it."
Then, suddenly, his expression twisted into pure, unfiltered rage.
"Because it is ugly!"
With a deafening roar, Adam dove toward James, his monstrous form a blur of darkness and fury.
James barely had time to react before Adam's clawed hand speared through his chest.
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