Max walked into his home as the evening settled into a gentle hush. Despite the vast wealth his family had accumulated over generations, they never indulged in excess. They lived modestly, valuing simplicity over grandeur.
"Welcome home, big bro!"
A blur of red hair rushed toward him—Louis Silverwood, his youngest sibling. At seventeen, she had blossomed into a striking young woman, her slender frame and soft brown eyes carrying a beauty that shone even in the dim twilight. She had lived with him ever since the tragedy that took their parents. Their eldest sibling? Disowned. The disgrace of the family.
Max ruffled her hair absentmindedly, letting out a tired sigh.
"How'd the meeting go?" she asked.
"Horrible as always. Those old farts never fail to piss me off," he muttered, rolling his shoulders.
Louis smirked. "Well, that's because they have more experience than you."
"Tch."
Before he could argue, small feet thudded against the floorboards.
"Daddy!"
His son, Maximilian Junior—barely ten, yet already trying to act tough—came bounding toward him. His wife followed, greeting him with a warm embrace.
For a moment, the world felt normal.
The house had long since fallen silent, the moon casting long shadows against the walls. Max sat alone in the dim living room, his fingers drumming against his knee as his thoughts twisted into knots.
His encounter at the graveyard still clawed at his mind. That vampire—he knew the one he was talking about. The Montgomery's guardian. But how did he tie into the Church? What if it had been a trick? A Skinwalker, trying to manipulate him? But something about the encounter felt real…
Too many questions. Too many unknowns.
His eyelids grew heavy, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him—
DING! DANG!
The security alarm shrieked. His breath hitched. It was way past midnight, he couldn't think of anyone that'd come visit him at that time.
He rushed to the door, pressing his eye against the peephole. The porch was empty. Nothing moved in the moonlight.
Then, something shifted.
A dark silhouette slithered into view, standing just beyond the threshold. The faint glow of a crest etched itself across its exposed chest.
Max's stomach dropped.
He knew that mark.
His ancestors had recorded every faction, every threat the world had ever seen. This one… A Skinwalker Noble.
Then—
A scream.
Louis.
Max spun, his feet pounding against the floor as he sprinted up the stairs. His blood roared in his ears. He slammed into her door, forcing it open—
And froze.
His sister hung from the ceiling.
Her wrists were bound, tied with a grotesque, sinewy cord that pulsed like it was alive. Her nightclothes were shredded, her slender figure exposed to the cool night air.
And below her…
A Skinwalker traced a slow, lazy finger along her bare thigh, grabbing her chest as it tilted his head curiously—like he was taunting Him
Something inside Max snapped.
Without much thought, he lunged forward, every ounce of strength in his body surging toward that thing.
But before he could reach her—
CRACK.
Something slammed into his side, crushing his ribs as three more Skinwalkers tackled him from behind.
Pain exploded through his body.
They grabbed his arms—
SNAP.
Max barely registered the pain before they stomped down on his wrist, grinding his bones beneath their heels. Rendering them useless.
His bracelet.
He watched as one of them ripped it from his broken hand with a devilish grin playing on it's face. The holy protection shattered instantly, leaving him vulnerable—helpless.
Blood pooled from his forehead as his skull was slammed against the wall, over and over, until his vision blurred.
Louis' screams rang through his ears.
Then—
The door creaked open.
Max's battered form was yanked upward by his hair, forcing him to watch.
His wife and son were dragged inside—barely conscious, covered in blood. Their mouths were tied, their bodies trembling as two Skinwalkers held them in place.
Then, he entered.
A man took slow, deliberate steps into the room. But as Max's vision cleared.
The noble Skinwalker entered. His face twisted into a smirk as he strolled forward, his fingers lazily dragging over Max's wife's exposed shoulder.
"Surprised?" the Skinwalker murmured, tilting his head. "I figured I'd wear something… familiar for the occasion." He said as he shifted form, taking shape of the older brother he despised so much.
Max's breath hitched as struggled, his body screaming in agony as the Skinwalkers restrained him.
"Let them go," he hissed, blood dripping from his mouth.
His captor chuckled, gripping his hair tighter. "Oh, we will… once you give us what we came for."
The noble Skinwalker leaned in, lips curling into a sneer.
"I want the orb, Silverwood."
Max's teeth clenched. They were here for the relic.
But then—
A hand grabbed his wife's chin, forcing her head back.
The Skinwalker licked his lips, his stolen face grinning cruelly.
"Of course, if you'd rather waste time…" His fingers trailed downward, his voice dipping into a whisper.
"For every minute you refuse, I'll make sure you watch me—using this pathetic face you hate so much—"
He yanked her toward the bed. Completely stripping her.
"—defile your wife and sister, over and over again."
Max's blood ran cold. Something had died inside him.