At the Blue Moon Pack, Bernard returned home, storming through the door with a heavy black bag in hand. His face was dark and his posture tense. He didn’t speak to anyone, not even acknowledging the people he passed.
Victoria stepped into his path, concern clouding her face.
"Bernard, come back here!" she called after him. "What’s going on? And where is your father?"
"Mom, please," Bernard said, not stopping. "I need some time alone... and Dad will be home soon." His tone was soft but distant, and he disappeared up the stairs before she could say another word.
In his room, Bernard dumped the bag onto his table and let out a deep, frustrated breath. His mind was spiraling with questions.
’Who were those attackers? What kind of power did they possess?’ He pulled out the three CCTV camera discs and inserted the first one into his laptop. He watched quietly, but nothing significant appeared. The second—still nothing. Then he placed the third one in.
That was when he saw it—everything.
He watched, horrified, as their men were ambushed and brutally slaughtered. The attackers, dressed in black, moved with unnatural precision. No bullet touched them. Not even silver.
Bernard leaned back, his hands trembling.
"Oh my God... What exactly are these people?" he whispered.
His heart pounded. "This can’t be real. These... things only exist in stories—ancient myths." He sat in silence, then muttered, "I have to call Dad. He needs to see this."
Just as he reached for his phone, a knock came at the door.
He froze. Quietly, he swept the discs back into the bag and slipped into a corner of the room, pulling out a gun.
"Who’s there?" he asked sharply.
"It’s me, Margaret," the maid replied calmly. "Your father asked that you come down to the living room right away, sir."
Bernard exhaled slowly, lowering the gun.
"Alright, tell him I’m on my way."
He hid the bag under the bed, tucked the gun away, and made his way downstairs.
To his surprise, the living room was full—his father, mother, the five surviving guards, and Smith were all gathered, seated and silent.
"What’s going on here?" Bernard asked, stunned.
"Come, sit down, son. We have a lot to discuss," Beta Gilbert said, motioning him over.
Bernard joined them, sitting beside his mother and glancing at his father with expectation.
"Mason and the four others escaped the attack with Smith," Beta Gilbert explained. "They wanted to tell me everything, but I told them to wait until we were all together."
Bernard turned toward Mason, eyes full of questions.
"We were in the guardhouse, as usual," Mason began. "We knew neither you nor your father would knock at the main entrance, so we got suspicious when we heard the knock. I immediately ordered everyone to stay alert."
"Then it happened," he continued. "A loud bang—the entire entrance was blown apart. They’d planted grenades around the door and walls. We were disoriented, but we tried to fight back..." His voice grew quieter. "But these things... they weren’t human. They weren’t wolves either. Bullets didn’t touch them. Not even silver."
Bernard leaned forward. "Then how did you escape?"
"I called everyone nearby, urging them to retreat through the tunnel. But not all followed. Some stayed to hold the line. Their last words were to protect Smith at all costs. So we ran. We could hear their screams as we escaped."
"No!" Beta Gilbert roared, surging forward and grabbing Mason by the collar. "That’s impossible! The Night Fighting Warriors are extinct—they don’t exist anymore!"
"They do, Dad," Bernard said firmly. "I saw them myself, just minutes ago."
His words stunned everyone into silence...