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Eleven

Penulis: Ashley Snyder
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2022-11-28 03:13:22
*SEBASTIAN*

Journal Number Fifteen (Entry 48 of 50)

June 5th, 2076

That girl, Rebecca, that my son loves so dearly is a wolf. I know it. I can feel it in my bones, but he won't listen to me. He says I'm just jealous that he has someone and I'm all alone. I'm alone because the only woman I ever loved, and will ever love, is dead. No other woman will compare to her, none. It's cruel of him to shove his dead mother, my dead wife in my face as if it was somehow my fault. It wasn't my doing, this virus destroying the world, I'm just trying to fix it all. He is acting like an idiot. I'm fifty-six years old and he just turned twenty-six and he's acting like a spoiled brat now that this woman is around. I keep trying to find a way to convince him that something is off with her, that she is not a human, nor a hunter, but a lycan. He won't listen to me and I fear that she will corrupt him, kill him or maybe stop him from hunting and killing monsters. At the very least the lycans. She hasn'
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  • Hunter/Hunted   Fifty-Four

    *SEBASTIAN*The mountain smelled like accusation: metal and old heat and the sharp tang of things no living thing should try to tidy. Sebastian moved with the careful certainty of age and scent—an alpha’s gait that trusted claws and ears and a body tuned to the geometry of dark. He had chosen to go alone because entering this place with another man meant answers would be answers traded twice and questions might be allowed to breathe. The cave liked speaking to single mouths; the fewer the listeners you carried, the less it could multiply your guilt into spectacle.The vein of gold that led the old journals pulsed faint and slow beneath the stone. The seam’s pulsing had once been a crude light in a laboratory’s panel; now it had the patient, indifferent rhythm of a hidden heart. Sebastian could taste the residue of cleaners in the air—antiseptic clinging like a memory. He let his fingers brush the wall because hands make maps where eyes cannot: the meta

  • Hunter/Hunted   Fifty-Three

    *CHARLES*He kept the rifle in his hands because his fingers needed something true beneath them, something that did not melt into memory. The steel was cold, unforgiving, and real; the tunnel space around him breathed with a damp, metallic life that refused to be humanized. Even so, reality was slippery here, like oil across wet stone. Light bent in ways that argued with the map they had followed—no, the map had not lied; the mountain simply refused to remain the same for anyone who tried to look at it for too long.

  • Hunter/Hunted   Fifty-Two

    *Blaire*The nights were the worst.The closer the moon came to full, the more she could feel it—the pulse beneath her feet, the pressure behind her ribs. Sometimes she woke to find faint light bleeding from her palms. Other nights, she dreamed she was standing in the heart of the mountain again, surrounded by those endless white corridors, hearing the hum of machines that no longer existed.Sebastian stayed with her every night now. He tried to hold her when she trembled, to whisper her name when her eyes went distant.“You’re here,” he told her once, his hand warm against her cheek. “You’re home.”“Then why do I feel like I never left?”Her voice was barely a

  • Hunter/Hunted   Fifty-One

    *Charles*The snow was still falling when Charles and Theo finally rode through the gates of the Raiser estate. Their horses were trembling, hooves dark with frozen mud, eyes rolling with exhaustion. The courtyard guards moved quickly to take the reins, whispering among themselves — the kind of whispers that spread when men return from a mission bloodied and silent.Charles dismounted without a word. His face was pale, jaw tight, eyes hollow — the look of a man who’d buried another part of himself in the mountains. Theo followed him, slower, glancing up at the house where candlelight flickered behind frosted windows.“You’ll tell them?” Theo asked softly.Charles nodded. “They deserve to know.”

  • Hunter/Hunted   Fifty

    *Sebastain*The sound was deafening — steel against steel, the scream of wolves and men, the mechanical rhythm of the lab-born. But when the clone stepped forward, all of it fell away. Only the two of them remained.Sebastian gripped his blade tighter. The creature’s face was his own — down to the scar on his jaw, the faint mark where Blaire’s hand had once pressed against his skin after a hunt. It smiled, that same crooked smile, but wrong somehow — too clean, too empty.“You can’t protect her forever,” the clone repeated, voice low and steady. “You’ll fail her again. Like before.”Sebastian moved first — a blur of speed and rage. Their blades met in a violent crash that sent sparks through the snow. He pushed forward, driving the thing back, but it was like fighting a reflection that antici

  • Hunter/Hunted   Forty-Nine

    *The Old Man*The Institute was gone, reduced to ash and twisted steel — but the Old Man lived.He stood now in the center of a new facility, one far more hidden, far more controlled. The air smelled of sterilization and power, humming faintly from deep within the walls. Rows of glass cylinders lined the hall, each one pulsing with pale blue light.Inside them floated bodies — half-formed, suspended, human in shape but far from natural.“The next generation,” he murmured. “Perfect soldiers. Uncorrupted by emotion. Loyal from birth.”He ran a trembling hand along the glass, the condensation cold against his skin. Within, one of the developing figures twitched — a reflex, nothing more — but it made him smile.“Soon,” he whispered. “Soon the mistakes of

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