BLOOD AND MOONLIGHT

The Unseen Truth

The final bell of the day rang through the halls, signalling the end of classes. The chatter of students filled the air as they rushed out, either excited to begin their study sessions or dreading the upcoming exams. Henry and Kyra sat together in a quieter corner of the school courtyard, their expressions heavy with emotion from recent events.

Kyra broke the silence first. "Henry, I spoke with my father last night. He is worried. He said something about danger being closer than we realise. "He even sent men to a witch for advice."

Henry furrowed his brow. "A witch?" "What did they say?"

Kyra hesitated, unsure how to say it without alarming him further. "She warned about blood. Blood spilled on the floor, yours. "And she said you would die, Henry." Her voice trembled as the words left her lips.

Henry leaned back against the bench, allowing her words to sink in. "Kyra, why am I so important? Why is everyone trying to protect or kill me? "I do not even understand what it means to be the Supreme One."

Kyra put a comforting hand on his. "It means you are powerful, Henry. More than you realise. Perhaps even more than they do. My father claims there are stories about the Supreme One, but no one truly understands the scope of your abilities. "That is why you are a target."

Henry gave a deep sigh. His mind was a whirlwind of questions with no clear answers. "The final exams are right around the corner. Everyone is talking about tests and grades, and I am wondering if I will make it through the week alive."

Kyra offered him a reassuring smile. "You will, Henry. And you will not be alone. I will stay with you until this is over. I will help you study, and I will keep you safe if anyone tries anything."

Henry looked at her, his eyes softening. "Kyra, you do not have to do that. "You have accomplished so much already."

"I want to," she said firmly. "It is not just to protect you, Henry. "I...I care about you."

Henry blushed slightly and nodded. "Okay, but there is something I need to tell you first."

Kyra tilted her head. "What is it?"

"Mr. Lorenzo approached me yesterday," Henry explained cautiously. "He said he needed my help. His sister is dying, and he begged me for my blood, saying it would save her."

Kyra's expression darkened. "No, Henry!" You can not trust him. We are not sure what his true intentions are. For all we know, he could be the danger the witch warned about.

Henry seemed conflicted. "But he appeared sincere, Kyra. I could see the pain in his eyes. He simply wants to save his sister.

Kyra shakes her head. "Even if that is true, something about him seems... off. What if giving him your blood makes you weaker or puts you in even greater danger?

"I have already given him some," Henry explained quietly. "He did not force me. "I did it willingly."

"Henry! Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?" Kyra said, annoyed.

"I thought I was helping," Henry explained defensively. "He claimed it was for her survival. But now I am wondering if there was an error."

Kyra took a deep breath, attempting to relieve her growing frustration. "From now on, no more meeting Lorenzo alone. Promise me."

Henry hesitated, but eventually nodded. "I promise."

Later that evening, Henry's house was unusually quiet. Kent was out studying with friends, while Mr. and Mrs. Richard had gone to see a neighbour. It was just Henry and Kyra in the living room, a pile of textbooks sprawled across the coffee table.

Kyra looked at Henry, who was struggling to concentrate on his notes. "Henry, are you OK? "You have been staring at the same page for the past five minutes."

"I am fine," Henry muttered, but his furrowed brow indicated otherwise. “It is just... I can not stop thinking about Lorenzo and his sister. What if I am the only person who can help her? "What if—?"

"Stop," Kyra said, her voice firm yet gentle. "You cannot save everyone, Henry. And you certainly cannot do it at the expense of your own life.

Henry exhaled. "I hate feeling helpless, Kyra. "For once, I wish I knew what to do."

"Then focus on what you can control," Kyra advised. "Like passing these exams and remaining safe. "The rest will fall into place."

Henry offered her a weak smile. "You make it sound easy."

"It is not," Kyra confessed. "But you are not alone, Henry. You have got me, my father, and our pack. "We will not let anything happen to you."

The bar was dimly lit, with a faint haze of cigarette smoke curling through the air. It smelt like old wood, spilt beer, and a hint of despair. A young man sat on a stool near the counter, sipping a glass of whisky. The barman, a gruff man with salt-and-pepper hair, nodded half heartedly as he slid over a small plate of groundnuts.

The door creaked open, and a cold evening breeze blew in. Heads turned briefly, but most quickly lost interest, returning to their drinks or quiet conversations. Lucas stepped inside, his black suede jacket gleaming under the dim bar lighting. His dark trousers and polished boots completed his imposing appearance, and his sharp gaze swept across the room like a predator surveying its territory.

Lucas approached the counter and leaned casually against it. "Whisky, neat," he commanded, his voice low and authoritative.

The barman nodded and turned to pour the drink, but Lucas stopped. His sharp eyes caught sight of a familiar face sitting just a few stools away. His heart paused for a moment, then raced.

"Lorenzo?"

The man turned, and for a brief moment, confusion washed over his face. Then recognition dawned. "Lucas?"

The two stared at each other, surprise and nostalgia softening their expressions. Lorenzo stood, and they exchanged a brief embrace and a firm pat on the back.

"It has been years," Lorenzo said, his voice filled with surprise. "What brought you here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Lucas said, studying him closely.

They sat down together, and the barman brought Lucas a drink. At first, the conversation flowed smoothly, touching on old memories, shared misadventures, and their lives since parting ways.

But then Lucas' expression darkened. He reached into his jacket and took out a thin folder, sliding it towards Lorenzo.

"What is this?" Lorenzo enquired, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Take a look," Lucas said, his voice cold.

Lorenzo opened the folder and looked through the grisly photos of crime scenes—bloodied rooms, lifeless bodies, and reports that painted a bleak picture.

"My boss sent me," Lucas explained bluntly. "She wants you, Lorenzo. These are the cases that relate to you. People have died, and she believes you are responsible. I need to know: did you kill them?"

Lorenzo tensed, his hand trembling slightly as he closed the folder. His face turned pale, and his usual calm demeanour gave way to visible unease. "Lucas, you have no idea what I have been through."

"Then tell me," Lucas insisted.

Lorenzo looked down, his voice breaking. "This is my sister, Mara. She is going to die. She is all I have left, Lucas. "I...had no choice."

"No choice?" Lucas' tone became sharper. "So, you killed them?"

Lorenzo slammed his fist onto the counter, startling the nearby customers. "No, I did not kill anyone!" he insisted. "However, I need the Supreme One's blood to save her. "And to get it..." He trailed off, his words lingering in the air.

Lucas' expression hardened. "To get it, you have to kill him."

Lorenzo nodded, his expression heavy with guilt. "I do not want to, Lucas. But if I don't, Mara will perish. "She is already halfway there."

Lucas stared at him, his thoughts racing. Pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. Henry is his brother—the Supreme One. It had to be him.

"You do not know, right?" Lucas enquired, his voice dangerously quiet.

"Know what?" Lorenzo replied, puzzled.

"The Supreme One..." Lucas took a deep breath, his fists clenched. "He is my brother."

Lorenzo's face fell. "What? No. "That cannot be—"

Before he could finish, Lucas moved like lightning. He shoved Lorenzo hard, knocking him over a table and throwing drinks and glasses everywhere. The bar erupted in chaos as customers scrambled to get out of the way.

Lorenzo groaned, attempting to regain his bearings, but Lucas had already approached him. Lucas grabbed him by the collar, dragged him to his feet, and delivered a solid punch to his jaw.

"You stay away from Gaus!" Lucas growled in a low snarl. "If you even look at him, I will kill you myself."

Lorenzo coughed, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. "Listen to me, Lucas!" I do not want to hurt him. "I never did!"

"So why the hell are you still after him?" Lucas demanded, slamming him into a nearby wall.

"Because if I don't, Mara dies!" Lorenzo shouted, his voice desperate. "She is all that I have left, Lucas. Can’t you understand that?”

Lucas paused, his grip loosening slightly. He could see the anguish in Lorenzo's eyes, the desperation of a man on the verge.

"I understand," Lucas replied quietly. "But I will not sacrifice Gaus for her. "You will have to find another way."

Lorenzo slumped against the wall, his energy drained. "There is no other way."

Lucas spoke firmly, releasing him. "If you approach Gaus again, Lorenzo, I will not hesitate. "Do you hear me?"

Lorenzo nodded weakly and wiped the blood from his mouth. "I hear you."

Detective Simmons sat back in his chair, the dim light of the station's office casting shadows across his furrowed brow. The case file for Mrs. Carter's death was open before him and his partner, Grant, who was pacing the room with his coffee mug in hand.

"This case has been poking holes in my brain for days, Simmons," Grant said. "We have gone through the files a dozen times and nothing adds up. A suicide note, but no evidence of depression. A family insisted that she was the happiest person alive. "And now this..."

Simmons frowned as he noticed a small detail he had previously overlooked. "Wait a minute," he said softly, leaning closer.

Grant stopped pacing. "What is it?"

Simmons pointed to the autopsy photographs. Look at this. Mrs. Carter has a scratch on her left hand. It is faint but deep enough to penetrate the skin. "That was not mentioned in the initial report."

Grant set his mug down and leaned over Simmons' shoulder. "It could be nothing. Perhaps she scraped it against something before—"

"Or maybe it is something," Simmons said sharply. "A struggle? An attack? And if there was not a struggle, why did not the medical examiner mention it?"

Grant nodded with a thoughtful expression. Let us go back to the autopsy results. We need to know if we missed anything.

Before Simmons could respond, his phone vibrated on the desk. He picked it up and furrowed his brow as he listened to the officer on the other end.

"Another incident?" Grant enquired, noticing Simmons' sudden change in expression.

"Not just any incident," Simmons said, grabbing his coat. "There was a fight at the bar. However, the report indicates that the individuals involved were not human.

Simmons and Grant arrived at the bar in an unmarked car, pulling up to a dimly lit establishment with shattered glass scattered across the sidewalk. The entrance was blocked by yellow police tape, and two officers were speaking with bar patrons outside.

Inside, the place was in disarray. Tables and chairs had been overturned, bottles lay shattered on the floor, and the air was thick with the odour of spilt alcohol. Simmons' sharp eyes noticed the damage, particularly the deep claw-like marks on one of the walls.

"Looks like a hurricane hit this place," Grant murmured, cautiously stepping over a broken stool.

An officer approached them with a tablet. "Detectives, you should see this. Security footage taken earlier tonight."

The officer handed over the tablet, and Simmons pressed the play button. The footage showed two men, one in a black suede jacket and the other in a simple shirt, conversing near the bar counter.

"At first, it appeared normal," the officer said. "But wait and see what happens next."

The two men's conversation became heated, and the man in the black jacket shoved the other one hard, knocking him over a table. The screen shook as the fight began in earnest.

Simmons' eyes widened as he watched. This was not an ordinary fight. The two men moved at blinding speed, their blows shattering furniture and cracking the tiled floor. The video landed a punch that sent the other man crashing into the bar with enough force to dent the solid wood.

“They’re moving too fast,” Simmons muttered, pausing the video. “No human can do this.”

Grant squinted at the screen. “Superhuman strength, speed… What are we looking at here, Simmons? Metahumans? Enhanced individuals?”

“Or something else entirely,” Simmons said grimly.

The bartender, a grizzled man with a bandage on his arm, sat nervously in a chair as Simmons and Grant questioned him.

“Tell us what happened,” Simmons began, his notepad ready.

The man wiped his brow. “It started normal enough. The guy in the jacket came in—Lucas, I think his name was—and ordered a drink. Then he saw the other guy, Lorenzo. They hugged, like old friends, but something was off. Lucas got real serious all of a sudden and showed him some papers. That’s when things went south.”

“How so?” Grant asked.

“They started arguing. I couldn’t hear much, but Lucas was accusing Lorenzo of something. Lorenzo tried to explain, but the next thing I know, Lucas shoves him. And then…” The bartender trailed off, visibly shaken.

“Take your time,” Simmons said gently.

“They weren’t human,” the bartender whispered. “I know how that sounds, but you didn’t see what I saw. They moved like animals. Faster than I could blink. And the strength they had—my God, they weren’t human.”

Simmons exchanged a glance with Grant, his suspicions growing.

“Did you hear anything specific?” Grant pressed.

The bartender hesitated, then nodded. “Lucas said something about a brother. Told Lorenzo to stay away from him or he’d kill him. That’s when the fight got really bad.”

Simmons leaned forward. “A brother? Did he mention a name?”

“I don’t know, but Lucas was furious. It wasn’t just a warning—it was personal.”

Lorenzo’s footsteps echoed through the dense, eerie forest as he approached Ava’s secluded cabin. The night was silent except for the occasional rustling of leaves. A chill ran through him, but he wasn’t sure if it was the cold or the weight of his decision.

The door creaked open before he could knock, revealing Ava, the infamous witch of the woods. Her long silver hair shimmered in the moonlight, and her piercing green eyes seemed to look straight into his soul.

“So, you’ve come to me again,” she said, her voice a blend of intrigue and annoyance. “I assume this time you’re not here to beg for a cure but to finally accept what must be done.”

Lorenzo stepped inside, the scent of herbs and burning incense filling his nostrils. “I need to know how to kill the Supreme One,” he said, his voice steady but filled with desperation.

Ava raised an eyebrow, closing the door behind him with a wave of her hand. “Killing the Supreme One isn’t as simple as wielding a sword or casting a spell, Lorenzo. There are only two ways to end his life, and both are... complicated.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” Lorenzo said firmly. “Tell me what I need to know.”

Ava moved to her cluttered table, brushing aside vials and scrolls to retrieve an ancient tome. She flipped through the pages, her long fingers skimming over faded text and intricate illustrations.

“The first method,” she began, “is to use a dagger known as Vyreth’s Ember. It was forged by the legendary Lord Vyreth, who heard about the tale of the Supreme One's; he did it so that the supreme one will not become that powerful. The blade was imbued with a curse so potent that it can pierce even their immortality.”

Lorenzo frowned. “And where can I find this dagger?”

Ava let out a dark chuckle. “That’s the problem, dear Lorenzo. Its location has been lost for centuries. Some say it was hidden in a temple beneath the sea; others claim it lies in the hands of a forgotten coven. Finding it would be a quest of its own, one that could take decades—time you don’t have.”

Lorenzo clenched his fists, frustration boiling within him. “What’s the second method?”

Ava’s expression grew serious, her eyes narrowing as she spoke. “The second method is far more straightforward but equally dangerous. The Supreme One can be killed with the bite of the Chosen Werewolf.”

Lorenzo blinked, taken aback. “The Chosen Werewolf? You mean Kyra?”

Ava nodded. “The prophecy binds her to the Supreme One in more ways than one. Her bite carries a unique venom that could end his life. But be warned, Lorenzo: if you plan to manipulate her, it won’t be easy. The bond between her and Henry is strong, and she’s fiercely loyal.”

A slow smile spread across Lorenzo’s face. “That’s it. That’s my way forward.”

As Lorenzo left Ava’s cabin, his mind raced with possibilities. Killing Henry with Kyra’s bite would require strategy, patience, and deception. He couldn’t let her or Henry suspect his true intentions.

The forest seemed darker now, the moonlight barely breaking through the thick canopy of trees. Lorenzo’s resolve hardened as he thought about his sister, Mara, lying in her bed, decaying with every passing moment. He had no choice. Henry’s life for Mara’s.

“Kyra will never willingly bite him,” Lorenzo muttered to himself. “But if I can force her hand…”

He stopped abruptly, a chilling thought crossing his mind. What if he could create a situation where Kyra would have no choice but to attack Henry? Perhaps a staged betrayal or a moment of heightened emotion?