Elias’ Fortress

Elias’ Fortress
Chapter 164: Elias’ Fortress

Deep in the forest, in a region marked as unknown on the maps of humans and werewolves alike, stood a fortress. It lay miles across unforgiving sand, dense vegetation, and black water, far removed from werewolf territories and human cities.

Massive trees and a thick, towering wall shielded the interior. Behind that wall lay a network of courtyards, stone houses, and advanced laboratories, littered with large crates designed for transporting heavy goods. This was Elias's base—a fortress built over years with the blood and sweat of those forced into slavery.

Elias had constructed this seat of power to facilitate his search for dominance and his desire to bend nature to his will. His allies, the Haven Society, consisted of humans united by a singular, burning hatred for werewolves and what they deemed "inferior races." They viewed werewolves as abominations that did not deserve to walk the earth in human form.

To the Haven Society, Lena—the "White Wolf"—was the ultimate key. They believed her unique blood could serve as the foundation for an antidote that would strip werewolves of their human forms forever, leaving them trapped as beasts to be eradicated.

Elias, however, harboured even darker ambitions. He wanted Lena not just for vengeance, but for ultimate power. With her unique abilities, he intended to build an army that would crown him the unchallenged ruler of all races.

Beneath the fortress grounds lay a cavernous chamber that reeked of sweat, rusted iron, and stale blood. Rows of iron cages lined the walls, housing hundreds of haggard humans. Their skin was pale, their eyes sunken, and their bodies displayed the extreme side effects of experimental injections. Many had lost their hair or suffered severe physical degradation.

These were the crawlers who had reverted to human form after the transformation serum wore off. The change was never permanent; it was a flawed imitation of a werewolf's ability to shift. It left the subjects' minds shattered and their bodies frail—Teresa had been one of the few to escape this fate. Guards patrolled the rows, using electrified rods to keep the captives awake for further experimentation.

Elias paced the roof of his central residence. He possessed a slender, muscular build, his body a map of scars from years of rigorous training. His red eyes seemed to catch the light with an unnatural glow.

"That reckless bastard!" he growled, looking over the yard where rogues were training. "I sent out twelve crawlers with those weak pests, and they still haven't returned. A waste."

He was so deeply buried in his thoughts that he didn't notice Jonah, the leader of the Haven Society, join him. Jonah was shirtless, revealing a deep scar running from his jaw down to his torso—a souvenir from a werewolf attack years ago. He wore olive-drab military trousers, with a shirt draped over one shoulder.

"They haven't returned yet?" Jonah asked, picking up a glass of wine from a nearby table. "You don't intend to wait for them before doing something about the second-generation stockpile, do you?"

Elias stopped pacing and turned, his handsome face twisted into a scowl. "I don't care if they return. What bothers me is wasting twelve products on a plan destined to fail."

Jonah snickered. "Your impatience is showing, Elias." He grinned as Elias’s scowl deepened. "Relax. I sent them to gather intelligence, not to capture the girl."

"I see," Elias mumbled, turning back toward the training grounds. "What about the second-generation types?"

"The serums are nearly ready—about a hundred perfect batches and twenty for the larger variants," Jonah said, taking a sip of wine. "However, we are short on subjects."

Elias raised an eyebrow. "We’ll use the rogues to fill the numbers."

Jonah crossed his arms. "Promising, but your experiments always have a downside. What’s the catch for this one?"

Elias’s lips curled into a wicked smile. "Combining Rogues and Crawlers will produce larger, more dangerous variants. The downside? The transformation is permanent, and they can only be tamed by an energy I’m still trying to isolate."

"And if they become an obstacle for you?" Jonah asked.

"I'll blow their skulls apart."

"You intend to plant bombs in their heads?"

Elias nodded. "The prototypes aren't perfect yet, but with the scientists we've recruited from the far territories, it won't be an issue once I’m ready."

Jonah glanced at the rogues in the yard and sighed. "And the effects on the crawlers?"

"They thrive in darkness," Elias smirked. "The second-gens will move only at night; sunlight disrupts the mutation. Imagine an army that strikes under the moon and vanishes by dawn. The werewolves won't be able to fight back in the dark."

Jonah rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "And Lena? Her blood is still the goal?"

"Precisely," Elias growled. "She is the bridge. Once I have her, the serum stabilizes. No more reversions, no more pathetic wretches. I will have third and fourth-generation perfection—permanent weapons, loyal only to me."

The sound of boots on the stairs interrupted them. A figure emerged onto the roof, looking completely exhausted, a cigarette dangling from his lips.