Chapter 149

Chapter 149
Fiona's POV

The damp air crawled up my pant legs like a cold snake, clinging to my skin with a sickening humidity.

As we descended the seemingly endless stairwell, the suffocating stench of mold grew stronger, mingled with the odor of rotting organic matter, the sharp bite of cheap disinfectant, and something else—the sour reek of fermented despair.

The dingy yellow lights overhead began to flicker, emitting a crackling buzz as if dying. The concrete walls had long since crumbled away, exposing rusted steel rebar beneath like broken ribs jutting grotesquely into the darkness.

"Professor, where exactly are we going?"

I couldn't help but ask, my voice echoing through the hollow corridor.

Professor Claremont didn't turn around. His hunched figure appeared especially stooped in the wavering light, yet radiated an unsettling determination.

"To a place the world has forgotten," he said in a low voice. "To a place where you can see the truth with your own eyes."

Finally, the stairs ended.

Before us stood a heavy iron door, its surface covered with claw marks and impact dents. With an ear-piercing screech of metal on metal, the door slowly opened.

In that instant, I felt as though an invisible hand had seized my throat, dragging me bodily into a new world.

Beyond the door lay an underground city as complex as an ant colony.

There was no sky here—only countless wires and pipes hanging from the rocky ceiling above, dripping black water in a steady rhythm. Murky sewage flowed across the ground, and the air reeked with a nauseating stench.

And among the filth and refuse, people were packed together.

No—to be precise, monsters were packed together.

Some had only half a human face, the other half covered with patchy, chaotic fur. Some had twisted, deformed limbs, clearly the aftereffects of failed transformations. Still others huddled in corners, eyes vacant, drool running from the corners of their mouths, emitting low, bestial growls.

Was this the world of mixed-blood werewolves?

Was this the truth we so desperately tried to hide in the sunlight, the truth we considered shameful?

I saw an old man with a broken leg crawling through the sewage ditch, using hands like tree bark to try to fish out a piece of moldy, discarded bread. A massive tumor grew on his back, jiggling with his movements like a mocking, ghostly face.

"That's Old John," the professor's voice sounded beside my ear, tinged with sorrow. "He used to be a construction worker. After an accident caused him to lose control and shift into half-wolf form on the job site, his terrified coworkers beat him, broke his leg, and threw him out."

I saw a young woman in tattered clothes, clutching three infants in her arms. Her eyes were different colors—one blood-red, one azure blue. She watched us warily, a protective whimper rising from her throat. Two of the three babies already had fine fur growing from the tips of their ears.

"That's Martha. Her husband was human. When he discovered the children were born with wolf traits, he threw all four of them out of the house."

Further away, several children who looked no older than their teens were fighting over a dead rat. Their eyes held no innocence—only the greedy ferocity of beasts. Half of one child's body had fully transformed into wolf form, his uncontrollable claws scraping sparks from the wall.

My heart felt as though a rough hand had seized it, squeezing until I couldn't breathe.

I knew mixed-blood werewolves faced hardship. I knew we were discriminated against as outcasts in both social systems.

But I had never imagined that such hardship would manifest in such a hellish scene.

Most mixed-blood werewolves, lacking complete wolf spirits, couldn't control the violence that came with transformation. Once they lost control, they triggered panic and rejection from humans, ultimately forced to hide like rats in these sunless corners, left to fend for themselves.

"These are... our kind?"

I murmured, my voice as dry as swallowing gravel.

Before today, I thought being ostracized and isolated meant being ordered around at my library job, being repeatedly rejected at interviews. With the progress of modern technology, humans and werewolves sharing resources on this vast land seemed to be the irreversible mainstream trend of the times—

But who could speak for the sludge in the gears and cogs?

I finally understood what Professor Claremont meant by "one in ten thousand."

I clenched my fists, nails digging deep into my palms.

Most mixed-blood werewolves were actually rejected by both social systems.

I raised my head, my gaze sweeping across this purgatory of an underground city, my voice trembling slightly with emotion:

"Then why can't we create a third social system? One that belongs to us, where we don't need to look at anyone's face, don't need to fight for scraps in the gutters?"

Professor Claremont froze.

Then, slowly, a gratified smile spread across his wrinkled face.

"This is exactly what I wanted you to understand," he said softly. "Those with ability should bear corresponding responsibility. Fiona, have you ever thought about leading them to stand up?"

I stared at him in shock, instinctively taking half a step back.

"Me? Professor, are you joking?"

I shook my head with a bitter smile, gesturing toward the chaotic underground city. "I thought you were the natural-born leader. You have wisdom, you have status. Only you could..."

"Me?"

Professor Claremont interrupted me, shaking his head, his gaze drifting into the distance with a trace of loneliness.

"I'm too old, Fiona. My time has passed."

He turned to look at me, his eyes blazing:

"The future ultimately belongs to you. To your sharp fangs and your unyielding claws."

I opened my mouth to protest but found I couldn't make a sound.

Just then, a melodious yet sorrowful harmonica tune pierced through the cacophony of crying and howling, drifting into my ears.

The melody seemed familiar somehow.

I followed the sound and, near a crude shelter in the distance, saw a familiar figure.

Rasen.

The mixed-blood bastard abandoned by the Black Wolf family!

After he escaped from Lab Zero, I had brought him to Professor Claremont.

I had originally thought the plan to eliminate the laboratory was flawless, that Rasen would become my most powerful witness.

But in the end, the deaths of my uncle and Victoria turned my wedding into a bloody tragedy.

I glanced at Professor Claremont. "He's here too... I thought, with his father's family being so powerful, he and his mother should have received better care."

At this moment, he sat on a broken plank, holding a harmonica, playing with concentration. Before him lay a mixed-blood werewolf whose whole body was convulsing, clearly experiencing the agony of transformation.

As the music flowed, the suffering werewolf miraculously calmed down, his breathing becoming steady, his furrowed brow gradually relaxing.

Rasen looked thinner than before, his face still pale, but in those eyes was a gentleness and determination I had never seen before.