Chapter 523: The Streets of Luna

One Month Before

The streets of Luna’s pack were alive in a grotesque sort of way. Children darted between buildings like shadows, their thin limbs barely clearing the dirt streets, faces smudged with ash and grime. Adults shuffled with bent backs, heads bowed low, glancing furtively at the approaching warriors as if their very presence could erase the filth and decay around them.

Tobias kept pace with the group, his eyes taking in every detail. The laughter and conversation of the warriors, harsh and brash, cut through the quiet desperation of the streets.

A small movement caught his eye. A child, no more than ten, darted forward from the side of a building. His clothes hung in tatters, exposing skin pale as porcelain, yet mottled with bruises and scrapes. Sunken eyes burned with an unnatural light.

The child ran straight at Craig.

Craig caught the boy effortlessly, his massive hands wrapping around the small frame. With one powerful motion, he threw the child across the street. The force was tremendous, enough to make the ground shudder slightly beneath them. The boy landed on the dirt and rolled, yet he let out a soft chuckle despite the wheezing that rattled his tiny chest.

Tobias’s eyes widened, scanning the child’s face. Black blood trickled from his nose, matted against dust and dried sweat. Something about the sight was wrong, almost sinister.

A warrior muttered beside Craig, "That one’s infected. He can’t be saved."

Craig’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. "Which guard is supposed to be in charge here?" he demanded, his voice slicing through the air. "Who let this filth run through the streets like they belong here?"

The people of the street shifted instinctively, pressing backs against walls, hunching as if to make themselves disappear. A tense silence settled over the alleyways and open squares alike.

Craig’s voice rose, booming, "I said, who is in charge of this place?"

The child, lying on his stomach, laughed again. A high, sharp sound, eerily clear despite his wheezing. His hand pointed directly at Craig. "You! You’re it! Soon... soon you’ll be one of us too! You’ve been chosen, we’ve all been chosen!"

Craig let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a bark of anger. He lunged forward, fists clenched, his presence radiating lethal intent.

Before he could close the distance, a man stumbled into the clearing. He was dressed in armor that might have been worn by a guard—though Tobias noted immediately how wrong it looked.

The chest plate strained against a round stomach, the shoulder pads cutting awkwardly across broad, soft arms. Sweat streaked his pale skin, darkening the fabric where it soaked through. Tobias caught the scent before Craig did: the sharp, greasy tang of meat and fat clinging to his fingers, unwashed and unrefined.

The man’s legs wobbled beneath him as he ran. His arms jiggled with every step, and the sound of leather creaking against flesh was almost comical, except for the fear glinting in his wide eyes.

He fell to one knee before Craig, bowing clumsily. "I... I’m sorry, sir! We’ve... we’ve been trying... trying to control the filth, but it’s taken over! I fear... I fear we cannot control it anymore!"

Craig’s eyes flicked to him, sharp and cold. "And the rest of the guards? Where are they?"

The man’s lip trembled. "The... the guards stationed with me... they are sick. All of them. Even I..." His voice broke, unable to finish.

Craig’s gaze bored into him, silent yet demanding. "Did I ask if you were sick?" he said icily. "Who even are you?"

The man swallowed hard, a flush creeping up his freckled cheeks. He bowed lower. "Forgive me, sir, I should have... introduced myself. I am Dino, grandson of the pack treasurer."

Dino had pale skin covered with clusters of freckles across his nose and cheeks, eyes a light hazel that shone with fear, and a frame that was soft, almost pliable, lacking the strength of a true soldier.

Every motion betrayed inexperience and lack of physical conditioning. His armor seemed to sit awkwardly on his body, and Tobias could almost see the strain in every movement.

Craig’s lips curved slightly, not in amusement, but in predatory calculation. "You think," he said, voice low, dangerous, "that just because you are the grandson of the minister of finance... that you cannot die here? That I cannot kill you in a single blow?"

Dino’s eyes widened. He swallowed hard, sweat soaking through his pale skin, freckles glistening. "I... I know, sir Craig. I know you could kill me with one strike."

Craig raised a single eyebrow, a predator savoring the fear of his prey. "Oh?" he said. "You know who I am?"

Dino’s voice trembled, yet he nodded. "Everyone knows who you are, sir. Craig... Craig the Terrible, everyone whispers your name."

Paul laughed from behind. "Well done, Dino. You just gave him a big head," he said with a chuckle, watching Craig’s expression.

Craig opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the child—the one he had thrown across the street—began coughing violently. Black blood poured from his mouth in thick rivulets, staining the dirt beneath him. The wheezing intensified, a sound that was more gurgle than breath.

No one dared approach the boy. The adults in the street backed away instinctively, disgust and fear etched on every face. Tobias’s stomach turned, but he kept his expression neutral, forcing his breathing steady.

The child laughed through the coughing. "You... you’ll be one of us soon! Chosen!"

Those were the last words the boy uttered. His eyes rolled upwards as his life left him.

Craig made a disgusted face at that. "He was already dying and still dared to touch me?"

"You’ll need to see a priest or priestess after we meet with Victoria. Who knows what spell the child has cast on you?" Anderson said with a chuckle.

Craig immediately turned to Dino.

"Get all this filth out of the streets. Take them to the smaller pack; they deserve the filth, not us."

Dino immediately bowed his head. "Yes, sir."