Capítulo 4: First Day at School
"Alright, new guy, let's give you the grand tour," Stiles said, slinging an arm around Vale's shoulders like they were old friends. "First stop: the cafeteria. Home of the most questionable meatloaf you'll ever taste. Seriously, I think it's made of ground-up textbooks."
Scott chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't scare him off, Stiles. The meatloaf's not *that* bad. It's just... creatively seasoned."
Vale grinned, falling into step with them as they walked down the hallway. "Creative seasoning, huh? Sounds like my kind of adventure."
The three of them made their way through the bustling school, Stiles pointing out random landmarks like they were on a guided tour. "And over here, we have the infamous locker 237. Legend has it, if you knock three times at midnight, you'll hear the ghost of a janitor who—"
"Stiles, stop," Scott interrupted, laughing. "You're making stuff up again."
"Am I? Or am I just revealing the *hidden truths* of Beacon Hills High?" Stiles shot back, wiggling his eyebrows dramatically.
Vale couldn't help but laugh. These two were a riot. For a moment, he almost forgot about the weird gray screen, the glowing red eyes, and the fact that he was apparently 15 times stronger than the average human. Almost.
As they passed the lacrosse field, Vale's sharpened senses picked up something strange. A faint, metallic smell lingered in the air, mixed with something... unnatural. He slowed down, his eyes scanning the area.
"You guys smell that?" he asked, his voice low.
Stiles sniffed the air dramatically. "Smell what? The sweet aroma of teenage sweat and despair?"
"No, seriously," Vale said, his tone serious now. "It's like... blood. And something else. Something weird."
Scott frowned, his expression shifting from playful to concerned. "I don't smell anything, but... maybe we should check it out."
The three of them walked toward the edge of the field, where the trees thickened into a small wooded area. The smell grew stronger, and Vale's stomach churned. His heightened senses were dialed up to eleven, and it was overwhelming.
"Uh, guys?" Stiles whispered, pointing to the ground. "Is that... a dead rabbit?"
Sure enough, lying in the grass was a small, lifeless rabbit. But it wasn't just dead—it was *wrong*. Its eyes glowed faintly red, and strange, black veins spiderwebbed across its fur.
"What the hell..." Scott muttered, crouching down to get a closer look. "This isn't normal. Like, at all."
Vale's heart raced. This had to be connected to the glowing red eyes he'd seen the other night. Before he could say anything, a low growl echoed from the trees. The three of them froze.
"Did you hear that?" Stiles whispered, his voice trembling.
"Yeah," Scott said, standing up slowly. "And I don't think it's a friendly neighborhood dog."
The growl came again, closer this time. Vale's instincts kicked in, and he stepped in front of Stiles and Scott, his body tense and ready. His muscles felt like coiled springs, and his senses were on high alert.
"Stay behind me," he said, his voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through him.
The bushes rustled, and then it emerged—a creature unlike anything Vale had ever seen. It was wolf-like, but its eyes glowed the same eerie red as the rabbit's. Its fur was matted and patchy, and its movements were jerky, almost unnatural.
"Okay, that's not a wolf," Stiles said, his voice an octave higher than usual. "That's a *nope*."
The creature lunged, and Vale reacted without thinking. He grabbed a nearby fallen branch and swung it like a bat, hitting the creature mid-air. The impact sent it sprawling, but it was back on its feet in seconds, snarling.
"Run!" Vale shouted, pushing Stiles and Scott toward the school.
They didn't need to be told twice. The three of them bolted, the creature hot on their heels. Vale's enhanced speed kept him ahead, but Stiles and Scott were struggling to keep up.
"Scott, move your ass!" Stiles yelled, panting.
"I'm trying!" Scott shot back, his voice strained.
The creature was gaining on them, its growls growing louder. Vale skidded to a stop, turning to face it. He couldn't let it hurt his new friends. He clenched his fists, feeling the strength coursing through him.
"Come on, you ugly mutt," he muttered, bracing himself.
The creature lunged again, but this time Vale was ready. He sidestepped and grabbed it by the scruff of its neck, slamming it into the ground with a force that surprised even him. The creature yelped, scrambling to its feet and retreating into the trees.
Vale stood there, breathing heavily, his heart pounding. Stiles and Scott stared at him, their eyes wide.
"Did you just... manhandle a jeeper creepers wolf?" Stiles asked, his voice incredulous.
"I... I think so," Vale said, looking down at his hands. They were trembling, but not from fear—from adrenaline.
Scott stepped forward, his expression a mix of awe and concern. "Vale, what are you?"
Before Vale could answer, a voice cut through the tension. "That's a good question."
They turned to see a tall, brooding figure stepping out of the shadows. It was a man in his early twenties, with piercing eyes and a leather jacket that screamed "don't mess with me."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Stiles said, holding up his hands. "Who are you, and why do you look like you're auditioning for a vampire movie?"
The man ignored Stiles, his gaze fixed on Vale. "You're not like the others. What are you?"
Vale swallowed hard, his mind racing. He didn't have an answer—not one that made sense, anyway. But one thing was clear: his life in Beacon Hills was about to get a whole lot more complicated.
Capítulo 5: The Woods are Safe
The man in the leather jacket vanished into the trees like smoke, leaving behind a silence thick with unease. Vale's hands still trembled, not from fear but the raw adrenaline that lingered in his veins like a live wire. The translucent gray screen flickered at the edge of his vision, stubborn and unyielding:
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
Valentine Aedan Feilan
Alias: 'Vale'
Status: Agitated, Injured (Minor)
Nature: Adaptive
Strength: 15
Mind: 3.2
Willpower: 4.0
Magical Affinity: 3.1
Bloodline: ??/??
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Adaptive. The word had followed Vale like a shadow his whole life. After the fire, social workers praised how he'd "adapted" to foster care. Teachers marveled at how he "adjusted" to new schools. But this—the screen, the creature, the unnatural strength—wasn't adaptation. It was upheaval.
Stiles broke the silence first, pacing in tight circles like a caged animal. "Okay, let's recap: We've got a demon rabbit, a red-eyed nightmare dog, and a guy who dresses like he's auditioning for *Vampire Diaries*. Anyone else feel like we're stuck in a bad B-movie?"
Scott crouched beside the dead rabbit, his fingers hovering over its matted fur. "What did he mean, 'diffrent'? Diffrent how?"
Vale flexed his hands, the memory of the creature's neck under his grip still vivid. "Nothing good. Stay out of the woods. Both of you." He turned to leave, but Stiles blocked his path.
"Whoa, whoa—you're just gonna bail? You owe us answers, Superman!"
"I don't owe you anything," Vale snapped, sharper than he intended. Scott flinched, and Vale softened his tone. "Whatever that thing was, it's after *me*. The more you stay away, the safer you'll be."
He walked off, Stiles' indignant squawks fading behind him. The screen's Strength: 15 pulsed mockingly.
---
It was already evening, the Camaro's engine lay disassembled on the workbench, a puzzle of greased metal and frayed wires. Vale ran a cloth over the carburetor, the rhythmic motion grounding him. This, at least, made sense. Engines didn't lie. They didn't flicker with cryptic screens or vanish into shadows.
He gripped a steel wrench, its weight familiar in his palm. Strength: 15. On impulse, he bent it. The metal groaned, folding like tinfoil.
"Huh."
No strain. No flicker on the screen, just a bent wrench.
Marie's voice cut through the garage. "Vale! Dinner's getting cold!"
He tossed the wrench aside. "Coming!"
At the door, he paused. The woods loomed beyond the fence, dark and watchful.
---
Stiles' laptop glowed like a beacon in the dark, police scanner chatter spilling from its speakers.
(Police over scanner): *"All units, converge on the north ridge. Possible animal attack."*
"Animal attack. Right," Stiles muttered, shoving a backpack full of flashlights, a first-aid kit, and half a bag of Cheetos at Scott. "We're going back."
Scott paled. "Are you insane? After what happened—"
"That's why we're going! To prove we're not hallucinating! And if we find another… thing…"
"Then what? We ask it to pose for a selfie?"
Stiles grinned, all teeth. "Then we run like hell."
Moonlight bled through the trees, painting the forest in jagged silver. Scott's sneakers crunched over dead leaves, the sound too loud in the suffocating quiet. Stiles' flashlight beam danced ahead, a frail shield against the dark.
"There." Stiles pointed to a strip of police tape snagged on a thornbush. "That's where they found the… uh… parts."
Scott's throat tightened. "This is a bad idea."
"Yeah, well, bad ideas built Rome."
A twig snapped.
They froze.
"Did you hear that?" Scott whispered.
Stiles' flashlight trembled. "Hear what?"
Lights suddenly lit up over on the road a distance away, the cops showing up for a thorough search of the area.
"Run!"
They bolted, branches clawing at their clothes. Stiles veered left, Scott right—a split-second decision that unraveled everything.
Stiles skidded into a clearing, lungs burning, and collided with a wall of khaki.
"Stiles?" Sheriff Stilinski's flashlight blinded him. "What the hell are you doing out here?"
"Dad! I, uh… lost my keys! Birdwatching!"
"Birdwatching. At midnight."
"Nocturnal birds! They're a thing!"
The sheriff pinched the bridge of his nose. "Get in the cruiser. *Now.*"
Stiles glanced desperately into the trees where Scott had vanished. "But—"
"Now, Stiles."
---
Scott stumbled into a gully, the flashlight long lost. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one echoing too loud in the silence. Moonlight glinted off something pale in the dirt—a human hand, fingers curled like claws.
"Oh god—"
A growl.
He turned.
Glowing red eyes hovered in the dark, low to the ground. The creature emerged—wolf-like but *wrong*, its fur patchy, its muzzle twisted into a snarl.
"Stiles!" Scott's voice cracked.
The creature lunged.
Teeth sank into his side.
Pain erupted, white-hot and consuming. He screamed, the sound swallowed by the forest.
Blackness.
Vale stood at his bedroom window, the woods a dark wall on the horizon. The screen flickered:
**Status: Restless, Inquisitive**
He'd always adapted. After the fire, he'd learned to cook, to fix engines, to patch holes in drywall. But this—this defied logic.
A shriek tore through the night, distant and raw. Vale's head snapped up. *Scott?*
He grabbed a flashlight and ran.
Scott woke to damp earth and the metallic tang of blood. His side throbbed, a massive red bite with blood dripping out from the large punctures covering his side.
"What the…?"
A twig snapped. He spun, heart racing.
"Scott!" Vale crashed through the brush, sprinting full-tilt towards him
"It attacked me!" Scott shouted out as soon as he saw Vale, "It got me real bad too."
"Are you bleeding badly? You need medical attention! Did it leave! Is it still here?"
"I.. I think it left..maybe help me before we get to the questions though?"
Vale quickly went over to Scott, slipping his arm under his shoulders and helping him up.
"Just wait a minute well be at the hospital in no time!" Vale said starting to walk in the direction of the road.
"No, no hospital.." Scott spoke through ragged breaths "My Mom works there, I don't want to risk it following us!"
"Ah so you want to die to rabies or something then?" Vale asked staring at Scott in disbelief for a moment.
"Ju-ju-just listen to me! Please, I know where we can go."
"Fine. But for the record this very dumb idea was all yours, Scott."
REFLEXIONES DE LOS CREADORES
TheWakingDemon
TheWakingDemon
I'll drop a chapter later tonight, swamped with work rn.
Be sure to vote to feed my ever-starving ego! hehehe.
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