Werewolf Warrior Returns

It's been three years.

I stood under the roller shutter of the repair shop, watching the identification badge hanging on the rearview mirror sway slightly in the morning light. It was Danny's—Danny Moore, the sniper in the action team, who was critically wounded three years ago in that damned mission and died from the aftereffects .

The silver nameplate was engraved with Danny's blood type, serial number, and a line of small print: "Brothers don't lie."

I reached up and touched my right shoulder, where there was a scar that would never heal—left three years ago when I was hit by a silver bullet. Not an ordinary bullet, but one specifically designed to kill werewolves, with a silver bullet tip and a core filled with a silver ion solution.

The bullet was removed, but the silver poison seeped into my bone marrow, suppressing my werewolf genes.

It's been three years. I can't transform, I can't heal, and my fighting ability is only at the level of an ordinary person. Every time I do strenuous exercise, my right shoulder feels like it's being torn apart.

My phone vibrated.

The screen showed Ivy's call—Ivy Moore, Danny's sister, an FBI intelligence analyst. I hesitated for three seconds before answering.

"Ethan, I know you didn't want to come." Ivy's voice was calm, but I could tell she was suppressing something. "But today is my engagement party. Danny said that if he weren't here, you would come."

I closed my eyes.

Three years ago, on the night the task force was wiped out, Danny sent his last message via encrypted channel: "Ethan, if I don't make it, take care of Ivy. She's my only family."

"What time?" I asked.

"Two o'clock in the afternoon. Riverside Manor in Ashford. You know the address."

"Know."

"And Ethan..." Ivy paused, "If you see anything suspicious, leave immediately. This town... isn't clean."

The call ended.

I stared at the ID badge, stained with engine oil and three years of dust. I reached out and wiped it, the metal surface reflecting my own face—three years of seclusion had given me a beard, and my eyes were much softer than before .

"Brothers don't lie."

"I didn't lie, Danny," I whispered. "I'll go."

1:45 PM, Riverside Manor.

I parked my car at the edge of the parking lot. It was a beat-up Ford pickup truck, its body covered in rust, standing out starkly from the luxury cars in the parking lot. I didn't get out immediately; instead, I sat in the driver's seat and scanned the entire venue for three seconds.

This is basic training for the action team—when entering any unfamiliar environment, lock onto the threat target within three seconds.

one two three.

My gaze swept quickly through the crowd:

Security guards at the gate: two, equipped with walkie-talkies, standing in standard posture, right hand habitually placed at the waist - carrying guns.

Entrance to the venue: Four men disguised as waiters, their suits ill-fitting with bulging shoulder lines—bulge-proof vests.

Second-floor balcony: A man leans against the railing smoking, but his gaze is not on the scenery, but rather scanning the parking lot—observing hands.

In a corner of the parking lot: a black SUV, engine still running, someone in the driver's seat—retreat the vehicle.

My right hand instinctively reached for my waist, but there was nothing there—I hadn't touched a gun in three years.

"Damn it..." I cursed under my breath.

This wasn't an ordinary engagement party. It was a trap.

I took out my phone and dialed Ivy's number. It rang five times, but no one answered. I called a second time, but still no one answered.

She was in the venue.

I took a deep breath, opened the car door, and got out. A sharp pain shot through my old right shoulder, but I gritted my teeth and endured it as I walked towards the manor gate.

The venue was decorated very lavishly.

The white wedding tent, crystal chandeliers, champagne tower, live band — everything was a meticulously planned dream scene. But all I saw were the threats.

I pushed through the crowd, my gaze quickly locking onto Ivy.

She was wearing a light blue dress and standing in the center of the hall talking to a young man in a suit—presumably her fiancé. Ivy's expression was stiff, her smile forced, and her fingers gripped her wine glass tightly.

I walked towards her, but I had only gone halfway when suddenly—

Bang!

With a loud bang, the glass door at the entrance of the venue shattered.

Three armed mercenaries rushed in, wearing black masks, tactical vests, and German-made assault rifles—the equipment of professional assassins.

The crowd began to scream and flee.

But my gaze wasn't on the three mercenaries; instead, it was fixed on Ivy—she was being forcibly dragged toward the side door by two men disguised as waiters, who were holding her shoulders down.

My adrenaline surged instantly.

I had no time to think; my body instinctively activated combat mode.

I ducked and weaved through the crowd, using the chaos as cover. Three seconds later, I was behind the first man escorting Ivy.

I reached out and grabbed the man's right wrist—his hand was pressing on Ivy's shoulder. My thumb pressed precisely on the man's ulnar nerve, while I struck his lumbar spine with my knee.

The man's body instantly lost its balance.

I twisted his arm, positioning his body between me and the second man. The second man reacted quickly, reaching for his gun, but I was faster—I grabbed the man's throat with my left hand and snatched the tactical knife from the first man's waist with my right.

The first man fell to the ground. The second man was choked and lost consciousness five seconds later.

Ivy's eyes widened: "Ethan..."

"Run!" I shouted . "Now!"

I grabbed Ivy and rushed toward the side door, but just then—

Bang!

A gunshot rang out.

The bullet struck the marble pillar behind me, sending shards of stone flying.

I tackled Ivy, and we rolled behind the champagne tower. A tearing pain shot through my right shoulder—an old wound had reopened during the fight.

"Damn it..." I gritted my teeth; blood had already soaked through my shirt.

Three mercenaries were approaching us, their guns pointed at the champagne tower.

I glanced around—no weapons, no cover, just shards of glass scattered on the ground.

My tactical assessment tells me that a frontal breakthrough has a success rate of less than 10%.

But I had no choice.

I grabbed a handful of broken glass and said to Ivy, "Listen to my command, run to the right, and don't look back."

"But--"

Listen to me!

I took a deep breath, then leaped out of cover and threw the broken glass at the nearest mercenary.

The glass flew through the air in an arc, striking the mercenary's mask. Although it did not cause any harm, it made him instinctively close his eyes.

It's that 0.5-second gap.

I charged forward, shoving the mercenary's gun barrel aside with my shoulder while simultaneously striking him in the stomach with my knee. The mercenary bent over, and I snatched his assault rifle, smashing it down on the back of his neck.

The mercenary fell to the ground.

But my body couldn't keep up—the excruciating pain in my right shoulder made my hand holding the gun tremble, slowing my movements by at least a second.

A second mercenary has already targeted me.

I rolled behind a table, and a bullet pierced the surface, sending splinters flying.

I tried to raise my gun to return fire, but my right hand was almost numb, and I nearly dropped the gun.

"Damn it..." I gritted my teeth and switched to my left hand, but my left hand wasn't accurate enough when holding the gun.

I peeked out and fired—

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three shots, all missed.

The second mercenary approached me with a cold smile.

Just then, Ivy suddenly rushed out from the side, holding a fire extinguisher in her hand.

She aimed at the mercenary's face and pressed the spray button—

White foam gushed out, completely obscuring the mercenaries' vision.

I seized the opportunity to rush forward and smash the mercenary's temple with the butt of my rifle.

The mercenary fell to the ground.

The third mercenary was still at the entrance of the venue. He saw his companion fall, hesitated for a second, and then turned and ran away.

"Let's go!" I grabbed Ivy and rushed towards the parking lot.

We ran to the parking lot, and the black SUV that had been running suddenly started and rushed towards us.

The retreat route is blocked; we must seize the vehicle.

I let go of Ivy's hand and rushed towards the SUV.

The mercenary in the driver's seat didn't expect anyone to rush over. He raised his pistol, but I was faster—I rammed the car door with my shoulder while grabbing the mercenary's wrist with my left hand and pressing the muzzle of the gun against the roof.

Bang!

A shot rang out.

The bullet struck the roof of the car, and the mercenary's ear bled from the impact. I struck his temple with my right elbow—

But he couldn't use his right hand at all, so his elbow strike wasn't powerful enough.

The mercenary was just momentarily dizzy, then raised his knee and slammed it into my stomach.

I was knocked away and crashed to the ground, the wound on my right shoulder completely reopened, and blood gushed out.

The mercenary jumped out of the car and pointed his gun at me.

"Ethan!" Ivy screamed.

Just as the mercenary pulled the trigger, I rolled under the car, and the bullet hit the spot where I had just been lying.

I crawled out from under the car, grabbed the mercenary's ankle, and pulled hard—

The mercenary lost his balance and fell to the ground.

I lunged at him, pressing my left hand firmly against his face, while my right hand found a piece of gravel on the ground and smashed it into the mercenary's forehead.

One, two, three...

The mercenaries stopped moving.

I collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. Blood from my right shoulder had stained half of my clothes, and I could feel my consciousness fading.

"Ethan, get in the car!" Ivy ran over and helped me up.

I struggled to my feet and climbed into the passenger seat. Ivy jumped into the driver's seat and stepped on the gas.

The SUV's tires screeched as it sped out of the parking lot.

Ivy slowed down after driving for ten kilometers.

She tried to steady the steering wheel, but her hands were trembling.

I leaned back in my seat and pulled a bottle of painkillers out of my pocket.

There are only three left in the bottle.

I poured out two pills and swallowed them.

The bitter taste spread across the tip of my tongue, but at least it suppressed the pain for a while.

My consciousness began to blur, and images from the past flashed through my mind.

Three years ago, at a military hospital.

Danny sat by my bedside and handed me a bottle of painkillers.

"Boss, you'll have to make a living this way from now on."

I looked at the bottle: "I don't need it."

Danny gave a wry smile: "You'll need it. The silver poison won't go away. It will stay inside you, suppressing your werewolf genes and tormenting your nerves. You'll feel pain, you'll feel weak, you'll become a normal person again."

"Then I'll just be an ordinary person."

"You can't do it." Danny looked at me seriously, "Because one day, someone will come looking for you."

I remained silent .

Danny placed the painkillers on the bedside table: "Boss, if that day ever comes, I believe in you ."

I looked at the medicine bottle in my hand; there was only one pill left.

"Ethan..." Ivy's voice pulled me back to reality, "Your hand..."

I looked down—my right hand hung limply at my side, all five fingers completely stiff, unable to even bend. Blood dripped from my sleeve, forming a small pool on the seat.

"Nerve damage," I whispered. "The impact was too violent when we were trying to take the car..."

I tried to move my fingers, but only my index finger could tremble slightly.

Ivy's eyes welled up with tears: "Ethan, let's go to the hospital—"

"No," I interrupted her. "The hospital will report it to the FBI."

"Then you'll die!"

"No." I pulled a first-aid kit from the storage box, bit one end, and used my left hand to tighten the tourniquet on my right arm. "I've had much worse injuries before."

I took a deep breath and leaned back in my chair. "Tell me about that engagement party. Who wanted to arrest you?"

Ivy wiped away her tears, her voice still trembling: "I don't know... but they didn't come to kill me, they came to capture me. If they wanted to kill me, they would have shot me just now."

"So what do they want?"

Ivy was silent for a moment, then took a USB flash drive out of her pocket.

"this."

The USB flash drive is small, with a silver casing and two letters engraved on it: DM.

Danny Moore.

My breath stopped for a second.

"What's this?"

Ivy gripped the USB drive tightly: "Danny left this for you. He said... he said if he died, he must give this to you."

What's inside?

"I don't know," Ivy shook her head. "The USB drive has three layers of encryption. But someone knows it exists, and they're willing to do anything to get their hands on it."

I took the USB drive and flipped through it in my hand.

It has a cold, metallic feel and weighs approximately ten grams.

Why would such a small thing warrant so many people mobilizing to snatch it?

"They'll come again," I said, "and next time they won't be so polite."

"Then what do we do?"

I looked out the window—the sun was setting, and the sky was dyed blood red.

"Find a safe place," I said, "and then hack this USB drive."