Chapter 39: Omega's Wrath
The meadow was a killing field.
A whirlpool of smoke roiled the air, and the smell of newly slaughtered flesh. Viktor's last strike was to the ground at Ben's feet, covered with dead and foulness. He could hear snarling, gagging, thrashing—wolves killing. The sanctuary, the haven, had been made into a temple of the dead.
Ben's body hurt, his muscles writhing in agony. Every desperate grab for air, his lungs burning with smoke and exertion. His claws, reddening to black, disappearing. He had no idea how many he'd lost, how many of Viktor's über wolves he'd driven back into the ground.
He gazed out at the carnage with his own eyes, attempting to find some trace of Max, some vision of his murdered pack. They died, killed in a mad, berserker battle. Viktor's faithful there were too many, their godlike power and rage taking them beyond pain and fear.
It was a feeling of heavy, raw violence power. Flesh hit the earth so that it shuddered with clawed rock animal yell. It was a mixture of spitting and snarling and staccato fist crash.
He saw wolf, his wolf, on the ground between the two of Viktor's super-soldiers' feet. Their eyes burned with that other light, muscles strained and too quick. Ben launched himself at them, claws extended, but too slow. The wolf spasmed, gagging in his throat.
A tidal wave of rage washed over Ben, a burning anger that would consume him. He was no longer fighting for himself; he was fighting for his pack, for the sanctuary, for their kind's survival. He was fighting for everything Viktor wished to annihilate. The line had been crossed. He would never retreat.
Viktor took a step forward, smirking. “You’re fighting it,” he said. “I can feel it.”
Ben’s breath hitched.
“It’s in your blood, isn’t it?” Viktor continued, circling him slowly. “That thing inside you? That power?” His voice dipped lower. “You think you’re just an omega?”
Ben's heart pounded against his chest. The pain was a distant thrum, muffled by a spasm of raw energy. Viktor's pride, his pack destroyed, burned Ben up. Max, broken and abandoned, Kieran, beaten but not broken, the sanctuary shattering around them—all for Viktor.
Ben's rage was alive, a storm within him. He'd been pushed to the edge. The old way, the old rules, they didn't hold good now. He was not in bondage.
His claws, his weapons of choice, were uneven, a reflection of Viktor's cruelty. He needed more, something that could match the beast strength that coursed through his veins. He needed unleashing the beast, having its mission revealed to Viktor. The moment for restraint was over. Moment for vengeance had arrived.
No.
No, he wasn't.
A howl was torn from his throat as he was engulfed in flame. His bones splintered, twisting in pain, his eyes fragmenting into shards of light and dark. The world around him dissolved, his body twisting, distorting.
And it broke.
The transformation wasn't as it had been. It wasn't pure. It wasn't pure.
It was devastation.
Fur too dark. Claws too long. Fangs too sharp. His body too large. Larger than an omega. Larger than anything to have ever been.
The instant his paws hit the ground, the fighting stopped.
All the fighting stopped. All the wolves repelled.
Even Viktor.
His smirk never was ever first.
Ben stood, his scent a wrecking ball of alpha. The wolves recoiled in submission, even his enemies. He transcended omega, transcended alpha. More than. Viktor's smirk was taken, a look of horror instead. Ben's transformation was complete, a wolf supremacy that ended the war. No longer was he confined by their laws. Something other, he was.
The transformation was torn asunder, bare exhibition of power that ran through the actual earth itself of the sanctuary. Exhibition of old thing, which had emerged out of control, which had suppressed until finally it could be released, it was an exhibition. An electric charge, a power which could be sensed overriding all of the wolves present.
Ben was prompt to sensation, his senses on high response. He observed the doubt creeping into Viktor's eyes for a moment before nauseating condescension reasserted itself. He sensed the submission and obeisance of the pack of wolves he had with him, respect for mastery so much superior to theirs as yet.
He moved, his stride loose and massive, his body massive. He begrudged the weight of his past. He was remade. He was evil, he was cruel.
Nothing broke the stillness but the splintering scream of his breath, a tearing, sharp sound that echoed off the wreckage. His eyes were on Viktor, blazing eyes with rage that forced the other man back away.
The positions were reversed. The hunter became the hunted. And Viktor, for the first time, experienced the true fear.
The air was thick with anticipation, anticipation that collided against boulders of sanctuary. War was not now on the horizon, a rumor of danger, war was a package deal and Ben the top billing, legend-in-the-making, force of nature. The pack and the enemy were mesmerized, frozen, their eyes fixed on drama played out before them.
Viktor, game master turned pawn, his carefully built cover shattered before the intensity that appeared to emanate from Ben. He had attempted to manipulate, to control, and had underestimated the power he was trying to manipulate.
Ben's eyes never left Viktor as he hissed with rage that had seethed since the beginning of time. He moved forward in silent stealth, a predator stalking its prey. The ground trembled beneath his feet, each step echoing out as an announcement of his dominance. The air was thick with the scent of his power, dense and suffocating, a deadly combination of brute strength and bestial fury.
Viktor's courage had abandoned him, his voice shaking on his lips. He winced; his eyes wide open in a terror unfamiliar to him. The hunter was being hunted, and the roles were turned to revenge.