The Mad Alpha King

CHAPTER 1: Shadows Of The Nist

The Royal yacht of Eleftheria glided silently across the great river of Nist, its hull cutting through the inky waters like a blade through silk. The Nist, a marvel of nature that carved the continent of Bastion into six distinct realms, stretched before them, its banks shrouded in mist. Some natives whispered that it was the longest river in the world, its serpentine body extending over 7000 km, a liquid border between nations and ideologies.

Despite the technological marvels that dotted the Bastion continent - nuclear arsenals that could turn cities to ash and battleships that could level coastlines - the people still hadn't conquered the skies. The absence of air travel made the waterways the lifeblood of the continent, and ships its beating heart.

In the opulent sitting room of the royal yacht, a figure sat hunched over a mahogany desk, the soft glow of a lamp casting long shadows across his face. Crown Prince Orion Darkwood, a man of twenty-five with hair as dark as a raven's wing and eyes that shimmered like the sea at twilight, sifted through a scatter of letters with nimble fingers. His hawkish nose twitched as he read, as if trying to sniff out the secrets hidden between the lines.

The missives before him bore the seals of four nations - Victoris, Amicitia, Libeirio, and Adlino. Each promised their support, their words a soothing balm to Orion's restless spirit. They would be there, they assured him, ready to stand united at the summit and challenge the terms of the Treaty of Metus - the chains that had bound them to Modena's will for five long centuries.

"Finally," Orion murmured, a spark of triumph igniting in his sea-green eyes. "Five years of work, of whispers and promises, and now..." He trailed off, allowing himself a moment to savor the taste of impending victory.

A sharp rap at the door jolted him from his reverie. An aged voice, as familiar to Orion as his own, called out, "Your Highness, a telegram has arrived from His Royal Majesty."

Orion's jaw tightened. "Enter, Weber," he commanded, his voice a mix of resignation and irritation.

The door swung open, revealing a man whose years sat heavily upon him. Weber, despite his advanced age, moved with the grace of a much younger man. His impeccable suit and sharp eyes spoke of a lifetime of duty and unwavering loyalty.

"The missive, Your Highness," Weber said, extending a silver tray bearing a single envelope.

Orion took the letter, his fingers brushing against the royal seal. "It seems Father still believes his words can sway me, even now," he said, a hint of bitterness coloring his tone.

Weber's eyes, filled with a paternal concern that transcended his role as a servant, met Orion's. "His Majesty worries for you, as any father would. He wishes only to keep you from harm's path."

"Too late for that," Orion muttered, breaking the seal with a swift motion. He read aloud, his voice growing harder with each word:

"My beloved son, I cannot fathom why you persist in ignoring my counsel. But as your father, I must implore you once more - the path you tread leads only to ruin, for you and for our nation. I beg you, cease this foolishness and return home!"

Orion tossed the letter aside, his frustration palpable. "What does he fear? That Modena will strike me down? They wouldn't dare - it would only prove everything I've said about them."

He rose, pacing the room like a caged lion. "Yes, they're ruthless, but they're also desperate to maintain their facade of benevolence. To make a martyr of me would be to admit their tyranny to the world." Orion's eyes blazed with conviction. "We've suffocated under their rule for too long, Weber. It's time we stepped out of their shadow and into the light of self-determination."

Weber listened, his face a mask of neutrality. "If I may speak freely, Your Highness," he began cautiously, "perhaps His Majesty believes the time is not yet ripe for revolution. The Paramount War left deep scars, and the absence of military might among the nations has kept an uneasy peace."

Orion nodded, acknowledging the point. "I understand his caution, Weber. But you know the saying - 'Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it.' After five centuries of Modena's oppression, which of us would dare attempt continental domination again? We've seen firsthand the resentment and hatred it breeds."

"Humans can be forgetful creatures, Your Highness," Weber countered gently. "And you underestimate the allure of power. No nation can resist the temptation of easy conquest if they perceive weakness. It's the way of nature - the strong devour the weak."

"That's an archaic view," Orion objected, his idealism shining through. "We should uplift those who cannot defend themselves. Our actions should benefit all, regardless of their strength or station."

Weber fell silent, recognizing the futility of further argument. He bowed slightly. "Is there anything else you require before retiring, Your Highness?"

"No, Weber. I'll remain up a while longer to review these reports."

"Then I bid you good night, Your Highness."

"Good night, Weber."

As the door closed behind the old butler, Orion returned to his desk, unaware of the storm brewing on the horizon.

In the bowels of the ship, a figure stirred in the shadows. A crewman, unremarkable in every way, slipped from his hammock and made his way to the main engine room. His movements were purposeful, driven by a mission known only to him.

Upon reaching the electrical switchboard, the man's form began to shift and contort. Bones cracked and reformed, muscles bulged and stretched, and fur sprouted from once-smooth skin. Where a man had stood moments before, a monstrous creature now loomed - a beast of legend, a werewolf standing nine feet tall.

With a swipe of its razor-sharp claws, the creature shredded the switchboard. Sparks flew, and darkness engulfed the ship. The sudden loss of power sent a wave of confusion through the crew.

"What's happening?"

"Why have we lost power?"

The captain's voice cut through the chaos. "Get some lamps and check the engine room!"

In his quarters, Orion frowned at the sudden darkness. "Strange," he muttered. "Our maintenance is usually impeccable."

Weber appeared at the door, his face illuminated by a flickering lantern. "Your Highness, I've spoken with the captain. He suspects a technical malfunction. I'm sure it's nothing to be concerned about."

But concern was already creeping through the ship like a noxious gas. The men sent to investigate the engine room never returned. Instead, a metallic scent began to permeate the air - the unmistakable smell of freshly spilled blood.

Moving with inhuman speed and stealth, the werewolf tore through the crew. Throats were slit before cries could be raised, bodies broken before defenses could be mounted. The ship became a slaughterhouse, its decks awash with the blood of the fallen.

Yet even a creature of such terrible power could not move faster than thought. As the scent of death grew stronger, the surviving crew members began to realize the horror of their situation.

"Do you smell that?"

"Yeah, like metal... like blood."

"Where's it coming from?"

The captain, a veteran of countless battles, felt a chill run down his spine. "I know that smell," he growled. "It's the stench of war. Everyone, be on guard! And someone protect the crown prince!"

But their vigilance was no match for the supernatural terror that stalked the ship's corridors. When a frightened crewman managed to fire off a shot, the sound of the gunshot only served to heighten the panic.

"What was that?"

"A gunshot? Here?"

In mere minutes, over 150 men lay dead, their bodies strewn across the yacht like broken dolls. No weapon seemed capable of stopping the monstrous assailant, no strategy able to outmaneuver it.

The werewolf, its fur matted with the blood of its victims, made its way to the lower decks. It tore through Orion's bodyguards as if they were made of paper, leaving a trail of carnage in its wake.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity of terror compressed into mere moments, the creature arrived at its ultimate destination - the quarters of Crown Prince Orion Darkwood.

The hunt was nearing its end.