Shortly before the moment when Alex and Wednesday willingly allowed themselves to be captured by Laurel Gates—solely to clearly demonstrate to a woman consumed by revenge how easily her carefully constructed plans could crumble—Dean and Enid were inside an armored truck of the Bureau of Control.

A heavy, oppressive silence filled the vehicle. No one was in a hurry to start a conversation.

Kiran Estevez had not the slightest desire to talk to the infamous Dean Winchester. His file in the Bureau of Control archives was so extensive that reading through the materials on Dean and Sam alone would take weeks.

Dean himself was also in no mood to speak with a woman who looked at him as if he were personally responsible for all her misfortunes.

The only one who remained relatively calm was Enid. She serenely examined her manicure and seemed completely unconcerned.

The reason was simple. Before Alex teleported her into the armored truck, he had placed a spell on her that calmed the mind and suppressed unnecessary anxiety.

The vehicle moved deliberately slowly—at Alex’s request. Hyde needed time to catch up with them and attack. Because of this unhurried pace, time dragged on painfully.

To occupy himself somehow, Dean pulled the Cain Blade from behind his back and casually began picking at his fingernails with it. The moment the blade appeared, Kiran immediately noticed it.

As a field agent who regularly dealt with the supernatural side of the world, Kiran knew the legends of ancient artifacts well. Including weapons that carried the mark of primordial sin.

It was no coincidence that the Bureau of Control had influence all over the world and access to information unavailable to most. And Kiran—a woman who had sacrificed her personal life for service—had fully immersed herself in her work and therefore possessed a high level of clearance.

“So the rumors weren’t lying,” she said, looking at Dean.

“Which rumors exactly?” he asked lazily, lifting his gaze to her.

“That Dean Winchester possesses the First Blade,” Kiran said, crossing her arms.

“I think that’s not much of a secret anymore,” Dean smirked, giving a slight shake of his head. “I wonder who’s been so talkative.”

Enid, who had been mentally preparing herself for what was to come, heard the conversation and turned her head, glancing at the weapon in Dean’s hand.

The first time she had seen the Cain Blade, she had only wondered why Dean carried such a strange bone weapon around. But after Alex told her about himself and many other things, she learned the truth.

What looked like an ordinary bone turned out to be the very First Blade.

In the past, Enid could never have imagined that she would be looking at a legendary artifact with her own eyes. But now all of it felt almost mundane—especially considering who she was in a relationship with.

Kiran noted that the Bureau of Control had also been searching for the blade, classifying it as an anomalous object. Dean didn’t try to hide where they had found it.

The Cain Blade had been in the possession of Cuthbert Sinclair—an exile from the Men of Letters order. After his banishment, he took the name Magnus and began assembling his own collection of supernatural artifacts.

After hearing the story, Kiran nodded in understanding. It now became clear why the Bureau had never managed to find the blade. It had been carefully hidden. Dean saw no point in concealing the location where it was found.

But he left out something else. The fact that the blade should not have worked without the Mark of Cain.

And the fact that now the blade was literally bound to him. Wherever he was, all Dean had to do was will it—and the weapon would return to his hand.

The conversation flowed unhurriedly until Dean suddenly fell silent. His gaze sharpened and fixed on a single point.

As Alex constantly repeated, Dean was learning to rely on his heightened senses. During the time spent in Jericho, he had made significant progress in this—under Alex’s guidance. And now he could clearly feel it: something imbued with Darkness was moving toward them.

He knew exactly what it was—Hyde. And Hyde had finally decided to attack.

“Looks like our pet monster got tired of waiting,” Dean said, staring off to the side as if he could see through the armored walls.

Kiran immediately understood what he meant and rose from her seat. She moved to the front of the armored truck and opened a small iron hatch to warn the other operatives.

Hearing that Hyde was already close, Enid took a deep breath and braced herself. The driver immediately grabbed the radio and relayed the order to the other teams—to be ready. Hyde was approaching.

Dean continued to feel its presence. With every passing moment, the creature drew closer. And there was something else. Hyde wasn’t slowing down. It was charging toward the armored truck at full speed. When the distance became critical, Dean realized what was about to happen.

“Everyone, hold on!” he shouted, grabbing the first thing he could to keep himself in place.

With one hand, Dean clutched an iron handrail; with the other, he held onto Enid.

In the next instant, Hyde slammed into the armored truck at tremendous speed. The impact was so powerful that the vehicle instantly overturned. A dull, heavy crash echoed as the truck began to roll.

Everyone inside desperately grabbed onto whatever they could. The armored truck tumbled across the ground, flipping over again and again, until it finally crashed into a tree, coming to a stop only after several rotations.

Thanks to Dean’s lightning-fast reaction, most of them managed to hold on and avoid serious injuries. But even that wasn’t enough to escape without losses.

Two operatives in the front of the truck were injured. The driver had a head wound—he lost consciousness and now hung helplessly upside down. The operative beside him slammed hard into the dashboard and was also unconscious.

Dean, Enid, and Kiran, who had been in the rear of the vehicle, fared much better. Kiran had a gash over her eyebrow, blood running down her face. Crashes like this were nothing new for Dean—experience played its part, and he escaped without serious injury.

Enid was barely hurt as well. At the moment of impact, she instinctively dug her claws into the seat, and Dean held her, practically pinning her in place so the shockwave wouldn’t throw her around the cabin.

Meanwhile, Kiran tried to revive the driver and the second operative, calling out to them in vain.

“Hey, kid, you okay?” Dean asked, lowering the arm he had been using to hold Enid.

“I’m fine,” she replied with relief and pointed at the seat. “I dug in with my claws.”

Deep grooves were clearly visible in the upholstery. Dean gave a short nod and shifted his gaze to Kiran. At that moment, gunshots and shouts rang out from outside—the operatives had engaged Hyde.

Bursts of automatic fire, shouted commands, and a deep, bestial growl echoed from the road. Dean knew they couldn’t waste any time. He went to the rear door of the armored truck and tried to open it. No luck. The door was jammed. Dean slammed his shoulder into it several times, but the metal didn’t budge.

Without a word, Enid stepped in beside him and pushed as well. Her claws sank into the metal with ease—so easily that she didn’t even realize it at first. Alex had never fully explained just how much she had changed. Seeing Enid help, Dean took a deep breath and tried to enter the state Alex called the Flow.

Power flooded his body once more. The hand gripping the Cain Blade blackened, thick black mist seeping from it. Opening his eyes, Dean drove his shoulder into the iron door again with full force.

This time, the door gave way. The metal burst outward with a crash. Enid nearly lost her balance, still clinging to the door with her claws, but quickly steadied herself. Dean jumped out of the armored truck and ran onto the road.

The Bureau of Control operatives were trying to push Hyde away from the vehicles. The monster itself moved deftly between the trees, slipping into the shadows and exuding thick black mist.

They were shooting at him. Powerful light sources and ultraviolet spotlights were trained on him. But Hyde didn’t just evade the attacks—he fought back. Massive branches and chunks of logs flew toward the operatives, forcing them to retreat.

Enid ran out after Dean and saw Hyde. She froze for a moment, unsure how to act in a situation like this. Kiran emerged last. Quickly assessing the situation, she began issuing orders to those still on their feet, directing them toward the wounded.

Dean waited for the right moment to attack while the operatives kept Hyde at bay. The monster, however, acted with calculation. Another log flew straight at a spotlight. There was a crack—the light source shattered into pieces. Everyone was distracted for a split second. That was enough. Hyde almost immediately destroyed the remaining two spotlights, plunging the stretch of road into darkness.

“Fall back!” Kiran ordered, instantly understanding what was happening.

From the shadow of the forest, Hyde slowly crawled out. He emerged on all fours, growling, and surveyed everyone present as if searching for prey. Black mist streamed from his body, dark veins bulged beneath his skin, and his bloodshot eyes glowed with animalistic fury.

Dean tightened his grip on the Cain Blade. Enid stood slightly behind him. Wolf ears appeared atop her head, a tail swayed behind her, her teeth sharpened, and her claws grew longer and deadlier. A low growl tore from her chest.

“Looks like the house monster got tired of waiting,” Dean smirked. “Well, come on. I’ve got a bone here you can chew on.”

Hyde looked at Dean and immediately snarled.

He could feel the power hidden inside the man before him. Dangerous. Crushing. The kind that made instincts scream to run—but the body refused to obey. This power didn’t repel him… it pulled him in, like a hook embedded in Hyde’s very essence.

Last time, he had managed to escape.

But back then, Dean hadn’t used this.

Now everything was different.

Hyde clawed at the ground, leaving deep gouges from which darkness seeped. It was clear: he couldn’t retreat. And that played right into Dean’s hands—the monster wouldn’t run. Not this time.

“What does Alex usually say?..” Dean muttered without taking his eyes off Hyde.

“‘Maximum effort,'” Enid replied, watching him.

“Right,” Dean smirked. “Then I’ll put in maximum effort to smear this monster into the ground.”

“I’ll help,” Enid said shortly and nodded.

Dean looked at her and saw pure determination in her eyes. There was no point arguing. He simply exhaled and nodded back. Dean lunged forward.

Hyde met him with a swipe of his paw, but at the last moment Dean shifted aside, trusting his instincts. He literally dove under the strike, slipped past Hyde’s legs, and grabbed hold of his body.

With a force that made his muscles creak, Dean lifted Hyde off the ground and, without slowing down, dragged him forward, slamming the monster into a tree. Hyde roared and swung again. Dean jumped back at the last moment, narrowly avoiding the blow.

The monster snarled, focusing on him—and didn’t notice someone else appearing on the right. Enid didn’t hesitate. As a werewolf, she trusted her beastly instincts. And the hunt had already begun.

The moment Hyde focused on Dean, Enid surged forward. She leapt in from the side and drove her claws into Hyde’s stomach, yanking her hand sharply. A deep, bloody gash tore across his body.

Hyde roared and turned toward her. Enid grinned, baring sharp teeth. The monster struck with his paw—fast, furious. Dean made it just in time. He grabbed Enid by the scruff and yanked her back, pulling her out of the strike at the very last second.

“What are you standing there smiling for?!” he snapped irritably. “Did he even hit you?!”

“No,” Enid snorted. “Thanks…”

She looked down.

“My favorite sweater. That’s it, you’re dead.”

It was that very sweater. The one she had worn on her first date with Alex. Ever since then, it had become special. Important. Now the fabric was torn, slashed by claws. There was no fixing it.

Enid stared at the shredded clothing. Her growl deepened, lowering in tone. Her eyes filled with fury. She slowly raised her gaze to Hyde. At that look, the monster took a step back.

Even Dean instinctively recoiled, seeing the expression on her face. He knew very well: when it came to clothing, girls could be truly dangerous.

Without a word, Enid lunged forward. Hyde tried to swipe her away with his paw, but Enid nimbly leapt over the strike, sank her teeth into his throat, and knocked him to the ground. The sight stunned everyone. The Bureau operatives. Even Dean, who involuntarily dropped his jaw.

Enid sank her teeth into Hyde’s neck and tore out a chunk of flesh. Blood spurted, covering her face and clothes. She spat the piece of meat aside.

“That was…”

Enid raised her fist. A strike. Her fist collided with Hyde’s face with such force that his skull emitted a dull crack.

“My. Favorite. Sweater.”

A second blow. Another crack.

“I wore it on my first date with Alex.”

The third strike hit his snout. Hyde’s front fangs flew out with a sickening snap. Enid no longer aimed at specific targets. She simply struck, pouring out her rage.

“And this is for your mistress tearing up my stuffed animals!” she growled. “My uncle gave them to me!”

Enid straddled Hyde and began pounding his face relentlessly.

She struck with such fury and strength that blood splattered everywhere, covering the surroundings. Hyde growled, thrashed, and tried to break free, but in vain. Thanks to Alex, Enid possessed far more power than she realized—and now that power poured out without restraint.

The scene was surreal. A short teenage girl sat atop a monster, methodically beating it with her fists—a sight not seen every day.

Enid didn’t stop.

She continued striking, her body increasingly covered in Hyde’s blood, shouting through her growls how important that sweater was to her. How precious it had been.

Dean watched and found himself thinking more and more that maybe… he wouldn’t have to do all the work himself.

Enid beat him until Hyde’s face became a shapeless mass. It was hard to tell that anything living had been there at all. The skull was smashed, bones protruded, the muzzle was mangled with blows and claw marks. One eye was completely gone.

Seeing this, Dean wisely held back any comment like, “It’s just a sweater,” or “You can buy a new one.”

Enid looked terrifying—covered in blood, teeth bared, eyes filled with rage. At that moment, Dean fully understood: Enid was no less dangerous than Wednesday. Especially when angry.

After a few minutes, Enid finally stopped. She was breathing heavily, still sitting atop Hyde.

As the rage began to subside, she exhaled, wiped the blood from her face, and slowly stood. Hyde’s body beneath her twitched faintly—his face had been utterly destroyed.

“Hey, little one…” Dean said cautiously, looking at Enid, covered head to toe in blood. “Has anyone ever told you how terrifying you can be?”

“It was my favorite sweater,” Enid pouted in reply.

“Yeah, yeah, we got it,” Dean nodded. “I got it. The Bureau agents got it. And this poor guy…”—he nodded toward Hyde—”got it better than anyone.”

Enid turned and looked down at Hyde. He showed no sign of consciousness, only weakly twitching his limbs.

She looked down at her hands, then at her clothes, completely soaked in blood. Realizing what that meant, Enid tried to put on an innocent expression—forcing a smile, playing the part of the sweet, obedient girl.

It didn’t work. Her sharp wolfish teeth, blood-soaked hair, and the mess covering her clothes and face made her look anything but cute; she was downright terrifying.

Dean shook his head and stepped forward, intending to finish off Hyde and absorb the Darkness from his body. But as soon as he got close, he sensed something was wrong.

“Back!” he barked.

He shoved Enid aside and, at the same moment, took the full force of a massive blow. Hyde, who should have been barely alive, lunged with such strength that Dean was thrown backward.

He slammed into a tree with his back. The wind was knocked out of him. For a moment, he was disoriented, his consciousness spinning.

And in that instant, he felt it—like someone was holding him by the neck, guiding his hand, directing the blade. Dean didn’t resist. He allowed the feeling to take control.

Meanwhile, Hyde’s body began to change rapidly. His shattered face healed, bones snapped back into place, and his body became covered with an increasingly dense, viscous Darkness.

The Bureau operatives, led by Kiran, immediately opened fire with ultraviolet rounds, trying to slow the transformation. Dean was changing too.

He felt the Darkness crawling along his arm, rising to his neck. Soon, his entire arm was enveloped in a thick black coating, part of his neck darkened, and one eye turned as black as night.

And with it came calm. Terrifyingly deep calm. As if someone was standing beside him, quietly telling him what to do. When the changes were complete, Dean’s gaze became empty yet focused. Only one thought remained: kill.

In the same moment, he lunged forward. Dean moved with monstrous speed. In a few steps, he was beside Hyde and struck straight into the torso. The Darkness covering the monster’s body shuddered, as if trying to evade.

The blow threw Hyde backward with such force that he smashed through trees and flew dozens of meters. Dean didn’t stop. He pursued.

His mind was empty except for two objectives: kill and absorb the Darkness. Everything else was handled by his body—instinctively, precisely, the way it had been trained his entire life. He had been fighting monsters for years. Surviving.

Even in Purgatory—a world where monsters go after death—Dean hadn’t surrendered. Day after day, he fought for his life, fending off attacks from creatures, including Leviathans—the ancient beasts created by Chuck and locked away there due to their uncontrollable hunger that devoured everything in their path, including each other.

Chuck trapped them in a separate dimension so his chessboard wouldn’t be destroyed prematurely. Yet even there, Dean survived.

And now all that experience—every battle, every wound—worked for him. Dean let his body move as it needed to.

He reached Hyde, gripping the First Blade in a reverse hold, and delivered a sweeping upward strike. The blade cut through flesh, leaving a deep, ragged wound stretching from Hyde’s abdomen up to his neck.

Without giving his opponent a chance to recover, Dean kept moving—dodging, sliding to the sides, striking again and again. Every step was calculated. Every motion was the result of an instant assessment of the situation. He avoided Hyde’s claws at the last moment and immediately responded with short, deadly-precise strikes.

Because of the First Blade, Hyde’s body could no longer regenerate with the Darkness. His wounds wouldn’t close. The damage accumulated, exhausting the monster more and more.

Dodging another swing, Dean stepped forward sharply and drove the blade into Hyde’s arm. Then—a swift slash. The blade tore through flesh, muscle, and tendons. One of Hyde’s arms hung limply.

Blood poured from the wound, dripping onto the ground. Hyde growled, but now his roar was laced with pain and anger. He tried to slip into the shadows, calling on the Darkness. His body seemed to dissolve into the dark—and the next second, he reappeared behind Dean, slashing claws across his back.

Dean didn’t have time to react. A muffled, painful scream tore from his chest.

Clenching his teeth, he felt hot blood trickle down his spine. But within moments, the wound began to close, emitting black mist. The flesh knitted together, as if an invisible hand were hurriedly patching his torn body.

Hyde tried the move again. He vanished into the shadows once more—and this time appeared from above, crashing down on Dean with raised claws, aiming straight for his head. A bright beam of light hit Hyde’s body.

The monster howled—piercingly, almost humanly—and collapsed from the tree, writhing in pain. The source of the light was a massive, modified spotlight, designed by the Bureau specifically to combat the Darkness.

While Dean fought, Kiran gave the order to bring in heavy equipment. The operatives arrived just as Hyde was about to deliver a lethal strike. Dean knew—this was the chance. He instantly moved on top and drove the First Blade straight into Hyde’s chest.

Hyde thrashed, trying to break free, but Dean pinned him down with all his weight, not allowing him to move. The Darkness covering the monster’s body immediately surged toward the blade—it was as if it were being pulled inside. The First Blade greedily absorbed it.

The strength drained from Hyde’s body. His movements grew weaker. The hands he used to push Dean away trembled and gradually went limp.

Moments later, Hyde stopped resisting.

When the last drop of Darkness was extracted, Dean pulled the blade out and noticed that there wasn’t a single wound left on the body.

At that same moment, Hyde began to change. His body shrank and twisted—and soon, lying on the ground, was no longer a monster but Tyler Galpin. A human body, covered in blood and torn clothing.

Dean exhaled heavily.

Strength left him all at once. He simply sank to the ground, feeling his bones ache as if they were cracking with every movement. His whole body hurt as if he had been tied to a vehicle and dragged across asphalt.

Enid immediately ran to him and helped him to his feet.

Kiran and the operatives attended to Tyler—quickly restraining him, putting on special clothing to limit his movement, and a mask over his face.

Kiran cast a long look at Dean. What she had witnessed today clearly went far beyond any previous reports. In her mind, the thought of a new report was already forming—a reassessment of the threat level of the subject named Dean Winchester, classified by the Bureau as a natural disaster.

“How are you?” Enid asked, supporting him.

“Like my body just went through a blender again,” Dean grunted, leaning on her. “Even in Hell, I didn’t feel this bad. And believe me, they put on some unforgettable rides there.”

“Well, since you’re still joking, that means you’re okay,” Enid exhaled.

“What makes you say that?” Dean asked, looking at her wearily.

“Alex said: if you start making stupid jokes, it means you’re alive and relatively intact,” Enid replied with a serious expression, though a slight smile touched her lips.

Dean smirked and shook his head.

He really did feel awful—but not like last time, when it felt like his insides had turned to mush and he was about to vomit his own organs. Now his body ached, his muscles cramped, but it was a pain he could endure.

“Winchester. From here on, we’ve got it,” Kiran said, stepping closer. “We’ll wait for transport and take Tyler Galpin to the Bureau. You better head back to Jericho. Just in case.”

“Yeah. Good luck with the transport and all that,” Dean said flatly, waving a hand.

Kiran just looked at him, shook her head slightly, and returned to the operatives, who were already preparing to move Tyler to the Senior House.

Leaning on Enid, who supported him by the shoulder, Dean headed through the forest toward the road. Every step sent pain through his body, as if it refused to obey.

When they reached the road, it became clear: returning to Jericho was impossible. All the vehicles had been destroyed—the aftermath of Tyler’s rage when he had rampaged around in Hyde’s form.

Dean frowned and quickly ran through the options in his mind.

The idea came almost immediately.

“Cass, if you can hear me… I could really use your help right now,” he said, slightly lifting his head.

“What do you need, Dean?” came the familiar voice from behind.

Castiel appeared behind them so suddenly that Enid nearly jumped.

“How many times have I asked… Fine, never mind,” Dean muttered, turning to him. “Can you patch me up and get me back to my little one?”

Castiel studied Dean carefully, stepped closer, and touched his forehead with two fingers. He closed his eyes, focusing. Dean froze, waiting for the pain to start receding.

But instead, he noticed Castiel frown. His shoulders tensed slightly. The power inside Dean resisted, making it difficult for the angel to use his abilities. Castiel opened his eyes and met Dean’s gaze.

Meanwhile, Enid watched the angel with curiosity. It was her first time seeing an angel with her own eyes. Even though Alex had shared countless memories and knowledge with her, it still couldn’t compare to seeing it in reality.

Black suit, slightly loosened blue tie, beige coat. A strange thought flickered through Enid’s mind: is he really an angel?

“Sorry, Dean,” Castiel said quietly. “The power inside you is interfering with me. I’m no longer able to heal you.”

“Damn. Just perfect,” Dean muttered irritably. “I hope you can still teleport me? Because in this state, I’ll only make it to the nearest ditch before passing out.”

Castiel looked at him again, then turned his gaze to Enid. Noticing this, Enid awkwardly waved. After all, she was a werewolf, and he was an angel. But Castiel only gave a brief nod. He placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and Enid’s—and the world around them flickered.

In the next moment, they were standing near the hotel, next to the parked Impala. Dean wanted to turn and thank Castiel, but as usual, he vanished without a word.

“Of course,” Dean muttered, shaking his head.

He glanced toward Nevermore. Night had fully taken hold. A red moon hung in the sky, casting a foreboding light over the surroundings.

Sighing deeply and suppressing another wave of pain, Dean slid into the driver’s seat of the Impala. His work wasn’t finished yet. One last portion of Darkness remained—the part held by Laurel Gates.

Enid silently took the passenger seat. Her thoughts were far away—with Alex and Wednesday, and with whatever might be happening to them in Nevermore right now.

At the same time, Alex and Wednesday had been taken to Joseph Crackstone’s crypt.

The entire way, they pretended to be unconscious after Laurel Gates had thrown them aside with the force of Darkness. Alex and Wednesday felt themselves dragged across the stone floor, their arms roughly restrained, but they gave no sign of life, patiently waiting for the right moment.

They felt themselves stop. Cold metal snapped around their wrists. Chains pulled taut, suspending them from the ceiling.

Alex listened carefully. Laurel was busy with something. Fumbling, muttering, moving objects—clearly not watching her prisoners. He cautiously opened one eye, then the other. Once he was sure no one was looking, Alex calmly took in his surroundings.

As he had expected—Joseph Crackstone’s crypt. Numerous candles cast trembling shadows across the stone walls. Around Crackstone’s sarcophagus, body parts were carefully arranged—a sinister mosaic crafted by Laurel’s hands.

Alex turned his head and looked at Wednesday. She was already looking at him—calm, emotionless, as if everything happening was nothing more than an unpleasant formality. Alex gave a slight smirk and winked at her with a carefree smile. Wednesday replied with a brief, tired eye roll.

“I must admit, I was wary of you, agent,” Laurel said without turning around. “I even thought a couple of times that you had caught me. Especially after you and your partner survived my little trick.”

She smirked as she finished the final preparations.

“But it won’t last long. If Wednesday is with you, then your partner is facing my Hyde right now. How tragic… The Bureau of Control will lose even more agents today.”

Laurel turned to face them.

“In the Order, I was taught this: if you want to outsmart your prey, become the hunter and drive it into the trap yourself.”

“Well… who knows how this will end,” Alex replied lazily, gently swaying on his chains. “Maybe you’ll tell me what exactly you’re planning to do? I’m genuinely curious what has to be going on in someone’s head to decide to wipe out an entire town along with the surrounding area.”

“Our family descends from Joseph Crackstone,” Laurel said, fanatic fire flaring in her eyes. “He founded this town. I’m merely taking back what is rightfully mine and casting out all the unworthy. The people of Jericho should be fighting the Outcasts, not dancing to their tune.”

“Now I see why your whole family is a bunch of psychopaths,” Wednesday remarked indifferently. “Judging by everything, it’s hereditary.”

Laurel snapped around to face her.

“Joseph Crackstone was a hero! He devoted his life to protecting the world from Outcasts and monsters. The Order opened my eyes: all this supernatural filth must be destroyed.”

She stepped closer, stopping right in front of Wednesday.

“And I’ll start with you. Your ancestor, Goody Addams, ended my ancestor’s life. Then the Outcasts stole these lands. But I’ll take it all back. Everything that belongs to my family. Everything that belongs to me!”

“Laurel,” Alex said calmly, turning his head toward her. “Take a step back from Wednesday. Or my leg might twitch.”

“I’d love to see you try, while you’re chained up,” Laurel replied coldly.

Alex sighed softly. And the next instant, he lifted his leg. The kick was sharp and precise. Laurel was hurled aside—she slammed into the wall with such force that cracks spiderwebbed across the stone. Alex slowly lowered his leg and looked at her.

Laurel collapsed to the floor, staring ahead in shock, not immediately understanding what had happened. The impact rippled through her entire body—she felt bones crunch all at once. Black mist wrapped around her form, beginning to heal the damage.

While Laurel was regaining her senses, Alex gave his arms a slight tug. Metal screeched. He tore the shackles free along with a chunk of the ceiling the chains were anchored to, as if it were rotten wire rather than iron.

Alex stepped over to Wednesday. Smirked—and quickly kissed her on the lips. Wednesday rolled her eyes again and pointedly jerked her bound hands, making it clear that if he didn’t hurry, the consequences would be unpleasant.

Alex chuckled softly and squeezed the shackles, crumpling the metal like paper. After freeing Wednesday, he stepped back. She gave him a cold look, then turned her gaze to Laurel, who was already finishing her regeneration.

“So, Laurel,” Alex said, pulling out a cigarette. “How much longer do we have to wait for you to resurrect your ancestor? Let’s speed this up. I’ve still got a ton of reports to fill out.”

Wednesday silently pulled out a lighter and lit Alex’s cigarette, never taking her eyes off Laurel. Laurel raised her gaze. She looked at them as if they hadn’t come to disrupt the ritual, but to watch a performance—as spectators who were already bored.

And in that moment, Laurel clearly felt a familiar sensation. Contempt. Cold, merciless. Alex and Wednesday truly considered Laurel Gates insignificant. And that enraged her more than any pain ever could.

To be continued…

(I actually wanted to show both battles in one chapter. But I somehow miscalculated the word count and time. But hey, Dean is one of my favorite characters. I literally grew up on Supernatural. And Enid should also be able to stand up for herself; she’s a werewolf, after all, which means she should be able to literally tear her opponent’s throat out. Next to Alex, she’s sweet and innocent, but against her opponent, she’s evil and dangerous. Well, don’t blame me for how it turned out. Hehehe. It’s all my editor escaping from the basement. The running bastard.)

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep