Chapter 21: Berserker

I moved slowly through the chaos, unsure of where to begin.

The battlefield was madness layered upon madness.

Massive wolves—some the size of small cars—were tearing into one another, fur and blood staining the snow in violent streaks. Their snarls echoed against the mountains like thunder. Among them, the white-haired black warriors clashed with their mirrored enemies, spears and curved blades flashing under the pale Antarctic light. Their long ears twitched with every sound; their blue eyes burned with fury.

Two blurs streaked across the battlefield at impossible speed—one was clearly Juliet. The other had to be the man in the orange parka. They moved like streaks of shadow and frost, appearing and disappearing, leaving broken bodies in their wake.

And then—

Pain.

A tall, slim figure with waist-length white hair appeared in front of me as if the air had split open. His eyes were cold. His lips curled into an evil grin. Before I could react, a long spear drove straight through my chest and pinned me to the frozen ground.

The impact knocked the breath out of me.

I stared up at the pale sky.

This is it.

In the span of a heartbeat—no, less than that—my entire life unfolded before me.

Me and my siblings laughing in our old house.

My mother in the kitchen, the smell of jollof rice and fried plantains filling the air.

My father’s rage. The wooden stick striking my back because I spilled water.

The night flames swallowed everything. My mother’s screams. My siblings trapped inside.

The orphanage in Abuja.

Running through the streets after the man in charge tried to force himself on me.

Meeting Mark under a broken streetlight.

My first kiss.

The first girl I killed.

Juliet cornering me in that bar restroom.

The night we danced in her club.

Juliet.

Everything narrowed down to her face.

My eyes closed.

I waited for death.

But death didn’t come.

I opened my eyes.

The spear.

It wasn’t wood.

It was iron.

A confused flicker passed over the attacker’s face as realization hit him a second too late.

I wrapped my hand around the spear embedded in my chest.

He saw the movement.

Fear replaced the grin.

I stood up.

The spear slid out of me with a wet sound, but there was no weakness, no fading strength. I pulled it completely free from my body, yanked it from his grip, and tossed it into the snow.

That was when my vampire face emerged.

Veins darkened beneath my skin like cracks in marble. My fangs extended. My nails sharpened into claws.

The man stumbled backward.

He tried to run.

Too late.

I leapt.

I tackled him into the snow and sank my fangs into his neck.

And then—

Euphoria.

His blood was nothing like human blood. It was thick. Electric. It burned cold and hot at the same time. It tasted sharp, almost metallic, but laced with something intoxicating—like drinking lightning.

It flooded through me.

Power surged into my limbs.

My senses exploded.

When his body went limp, I dropped him.

Blue blood soaked into the white snow.

Blue.

I stared at it.

I wanted more.

I shot into the air, higher than I ever had before, and came crashing down onto another attacker. My claws tore through flesh as easily as silk. I bit. I fed. I ripped. Limbs scattered across the battlefield.

I moved without thinking.

Without hesitation.

Without mercy.

Every leap felt effortless. Every strike felt precise. I tore through them one after another—slashing throats, breaking spines, draining them dry. Their blue blood painted my hands, my face, the snow around me.

I was laughing.

Actually laughing.

This was what I was made for.

Then something massive slammed into me.

A giant wolf.

Its claws sank deep into my chest, forcing me onto my back. Its jaws snapped inches from my face before they clamped down on my neck. Pain exploded through me. Real pain.

I struggled, clawing at its fur, but it was strong—far stronger than the others.

Then a blur.

A streak of speed.

The wolf was ripped off me mid-snarl and hurled across the snow.

I staggered to my feet just in time to see Juliet drive her arm into the creature’s chest. She pulled out its heart in one smooth motion.

As she held it up, the wolf’s body convulsed—

—and shifted.

Fur retracted. Bones reshaped.

A naked man fell lifeless into the snow.

Juliet stood over him, blue blood dripping down her face and coat. She turned to me.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded, catching my breath.

“Stay away from the wolves,” she said sharply. “They’re too strong for you right now.”

Before I could respond—

An arrow struck her left arm.

She didn’t even flinch. She snapped the shaft off, yanked the head out, and vanished into the chaos again.

I grinned.

And dove back in.

I tore through a multitude of them. Some tried to fight back; most didn’t get the chance. The battlefield slowly shifted. The Braves began retreating, dragging their wounded, vanishing into the valley beyond the mountain.

Silence slowly replaced the screaming.

I stood in the snow, chest heaving.

“Woah!” I shouted, laughing. “That was amazing!”

Adrenaline surged through me. I moved to the wounded enemies crawling across the snow and fed again, not caring who was watching.

I felt unstoppable.

Alive.

Juliet appeared beside me.

“Daniel,” she said quietl

y.

I turned, still smiling.

“You’re enjoying it a little too much.”

I looked around.

The white-haired warriors were staring at me—not with gratitude.

With concern.

With fear.

My smile slowly faded.

I wiped the blue blood from my mouth.

“I’m sorry.”