Chapter 82 83
A few days ago.
Agent Seymour stood inside his glass-walled office at the heart of the ASA headquarters — a fortress of steel, shadow, and secrets buried beneath the northern city of Arkwell. The hum of technology filled the air: holographic monitors flickering with red-coded alerts, encrypted messages scrolling faster than the eye could follow, and the faint buzz of the containment pods below where supernatural test subjects were being held.
The Director of the Anti-Supernatural Agency wasn’t a man easily rattled, but that morning, when the encrypted message pinged on his private console bearing the seal of the Queen of Werewolves, even he paused.
The Queen’s words were precise, regal, and laced with venom:
“The plan is still ongoing. The girl—Marigold—is on the run with the traitor Alpha Gregor, heading toward the northern lands. My soldiers, the Black Fang, are hunting them. However, I request your additional assistance. Send more agents to capture her. The girl’s blood is vital for your research, and her capture serves us both.”
Seymour read it three times before leaning back in his chair, his fingers tapping against the cold surface of the desk. The Queen of Werewolves—arrogant, ancient, and dangerous—believed herself to be in control. She thought ASA was her ally.
But the truth was much more delicious.
She wasn’t the puppet master.
She was the puppet.
Agent Seymour smirked, his pale eyes catching the reflection of his screen. “Still believes we serve her… foolish creature.”
The world had changed. The fragile balance between humans and supernaturals had shattered long ago. Humanity had bled too long beneath the fangs and claws of the werewolves, vampires, and fae. And the ASA—the humans’ last bastion—had evolved from hunters to scientists, from executioners to creators.
Marigold—the so-called female dark warrior—wasn’t just another target.
She was the key.
Her blood, carrying the ancient lineage of an extinct race, could reshape everything. The tests proved it. A single drop of her DNA, merged with that of a werewolf, showed signs of supernatural adaptation. Immortality. Enhanced regeneration. Strength on par with Alpha-bloods.
If captured, her blood could give rise to the next generation of human super-soldiers—beings who could stand equal to the supernatural world.
And that was why the ASA had spies everywhere.
Even in the supernatural capital.
Even in the palace of the Queen herself.
The Queen thought she held the ASA under her claw, but in truth, the Agency had her entire kingdom mapped, monitored, and dissected like a lab rat. They knew about the Queen’s hidden dealings with the Black Fang assassins, her secret hunts for the cursed relics, and even the whispers of her decaying power.
But more than anything—they knew about the Ancient Fae.
That was the true prize. The Fae—immortal, elusive, older than any creature alive—had been a myth for centuries. But ASA’s records went far deeper than legend. Ancient documents from the first expeditions hinted that the Fae were the architects of supernatural evolution itself. Their bloodline carried the code that created balance between chaos and life.
And now, that bloodline lived—inside Marigold.
Seymour’s gaze drifted to the massive holographic map of the Northern Territories on the wall. Hundreds of red blips glowed—ASA field operatives, tracking beacons, hidden drones. His men had combed every inch of that cursed land, chasing whispers, shadows, traces of energy spikes.
No one had ever found the Ancient Fae.
Not even the Queen’s best assassins.
Until now.
The memory of that report still burned in his mind.
The urgent call that had come only hours ago from Captain Hanson, leader of the ASA’s elite pursuit unit.
“Director, we found them. The girl. Alpha Gregor. And the Fae.”
Seymour’s blood had surged. “Location?”
“Northern forest, near the ravine. But—sir—they escaped. We lost visual. The Fae used some kind of barrier. Our drones malfunctioned, sensors overloaded. It’s like… like the whole forest vanished for thirty seconds.”
The call ended in static, leaving Seymour gripping his desk so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Now, back in the present, he stood before the central command screen, face illuminated by the red glow of incoming data. His anger was barely contained. Failure was not something he tolerated. The mission had been clear—capture the targets alive. The ASA didn’t fail. Not under his watch.
He typed rapidly on the encrypted console, composing an immediate report to the Queen herself.
“Your Majesty, your information was correct. However, our agents were unable to secure the targets. The girl and the traitor have escaped with the Ancient Fae. No trace remains.”
He hesitated before sending it, his jaw tightening. The Queen’s temper was legendary—but so was her desperation. And desperation was something he could exploit.
Minutes later, the reply came.
Short. Cold. Brutal.
“My men have found traces of them. They are camped near the northern lake. I expect results, Director. Or I will find a new alliance.”
Seymour’s lip curled into a thin smile. “So predictable,” he muttered. “She thinks she’s giving me orders.”
He straightened his coat and turned toward the observation deck, where containment units glowed with blue liquid and shadowed figures writhed behind glass. Failed experiments. Half-human hybrids. Remnants of ASA’s past mistakes—and foundations of its future.
“Prepare a strike team,” he ordered. “Hanson leads. Tell him to move on the northern lake. I want the girl alive. The Fae too.”
He paused, then added with quiet finality, “And if Alpha Gregor resists—
kill him.”
The lights in the command center flickered as if even the air itself feared his words.
Above, the holographic image of the Queen’s crest pulsed faintly, her message still open on the screen.
Neither of them realized—Queen or Director—that the game they were playing had already outgrown them both.
Because somewhere in the misty north, the Fae’s magic was awakening.
And Marigold, the hunted girl with dark warrior blood, was no longer just prey.
She was becoming something far beyond their control.