This multi-chapter story will serve as a sequel to the "Powerless" trilogy. I do recommend that, before reading this pitiful excuse for a fanfiction for TW, you glance over the said previous work because it'll make a hell lot more sense. Happy reading!

SUCCUMB — PROLOGUE

The lacrosse field.

There was nothing particularly exceptional or special about the Beacon Hills High School's field and other than it being exposed to one or two games which had supernaturals trying to kill one another, there was nothing that really set it apart from other school's playing fields. But as Scott stood in front of the field alone, wearing his lacrosse jersey with his crosse in hand, he wondered why the hell he was there in the first place and why it was lit up like a game was about to be played.

Scott looked around, trying to make sure that there was no one there beside him. It was very dark, even Scott's other eyes couldn't see a soul. He didn't know why he had to look around, actually, because he there wasn't a single heart beat he could hear. It was strange because he really felt like there was someone watching his every move.

Stepping into the middle of the field, Scott heard something go 'whoosh' behind him. Turning around, he saw the damned tree stump.

The Nemeton was in front of Scott, ruining the beautifully maintained grass of the lacrosse field. Scott would have chuckled when he remembered Coach if the whole situation isn't so mysterious and scary—he'd have a field day with the stump ruining all the practice he had in plan.

Stepping forward to reach it, trace its rings like he did back in purgatory, Scott felt something stopping him like a gut feeling. It kept pulling down in his stomach and he couldn't deal with it, like it was diarrhea or a stomach bug. The feeling was becoming more and more intense as the minutes passed when Scott remembered that it never did stop, the horrible pulling in the pit of his stomach. Scott paled when he remembered when it had started—purgatory, the Nemeton.

Taking a step back, Scott breathed in, trying to figure out why he was there in the first place.

"It could be dream, Scott," a voice rang in his head, a painfully familiar voice.

After some moments, Scott understood and held his hands in front of him. "That was Stiles," he reminded himself as he began to count. "Your best friend telling you to shut up and count your bloody fingers—wait, bloody?" Scott stared at his fingers, wondering why he didn't feel his claws shooting out. He shook his head; it was a dream and he couldn't wake up until he counted his fingers. "One, two, three, four, five," Scott slowly raised his fingers, one by one.

Scott felt himself shiver when the cold wind blew against his back, whistling as it passed through. Scott remembered Jennifer, how she controlled the weather but immediately shook his head. They had defeated weeks ago. Peter even came up some a week after the whole battle, carrying with him a body bag. Scott didn't need to open the bag because he could smell the scent and he knew who it belonged to.

"Five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten," Scott turned his hands around, his breathing quickening when he realized that he was still covered in blood. "What?" Scott recounted his fingers, wondering why it wouldn't work, why he wouldn't just wake up from the dream.

Shaking his head, Scott stared at his fingers. A part of him wondered if he had killed somebody but soon dismissed the thought. Scott knew that his eyes flashed red, that he's still a true alpha and that meant that nobody's blood had been spilled.

Knowing that he didn't kill an innocent person, Scott willed himself to transform, to shape-shift but he couldn't. But then Scott remembered that this was a dream, or something like a dream, so he tried to grow his fingernails so that he could dig them into his own palm—Scott doesn't really have an anchor to keep him grounded to humanity. He doesn't have Allison, not anymore but he knew another way to anchor him to humanity and that's pain.

Shitting his eyes closed to concentrate, Scott felt nothing change with his fingers. Opening his eyes, Scott stared at his bloody fingers and wondered why he couldn't shapeshift or at least control his powers. Fear coursed through his body knowing that while he didn't kill anybody, there's no promising that he would control the wolf inside of him or that he wouldn't anybody.

Suddenly, Scott breath fogged up. His skin was covered with goosebumps as he knew that the temperature suddenly dropped. Scott wasn't Lydia or Stiles but he knew that temperature wouldn't drop that fast, not under normal circumstances. Looking around with a thought on his mind, Scott knew that something supernatural caused the sudden change in temperature.

But he couldn't hear anything, not a heartbeat or breathing. Scott couldn't see anything and he grew more terrified as the moments passed.

Staring at his blood-soaked hands, Scott wondered if this was the Nemeton coming back to haunt him even after he escaped purgatory.

Scott shook his head, taking a step backwards. "I can't do this, not anymore," turning back, Scott began running but it seemed like the lacrosse field was endless. Scott felt like his lungs were on fire, his hands furiously trying to fish something out of his pocket like something was there to help ease the pain. Scott remembered Stiles, his best friend, telling him that it was a muscle reflex, probably used to the fact that whenever he felt the burning sensation, it was because he's having an asthma attack.

But then, Scott heard wood cracking, like a twig breaking in half under someone's foot. Looking back, Scott saw no one and he only saw the field when suddenly, he was transported into the woods. "Beacon Hills Preserve," Scott muttered to himself as he recognized the place, the familiar trail near the stream. A memory passed through his mind, reminding him of the times he'd go fishing with Stiles and the Sheriff on his free days.

But then, Scott heard it again, the wood cracking underneath this immense pressure. Resorting back to running, Scott felt wind collide against his face, getting cooled off with the thin sheet of sweat covering his skin. "Got to get away. Get to Stiles. Get to Stiles," Scott repeated the words like a chant, like a personal mantra or a prayer that'll save him from whatever's hunting him. Scott laughed bitterly, scoffing at the irony—the predator is turned into the prey, the hunter being hunted.

Still running as fast as he could, Scott suddenly plummeted to the ground, dirt entering in his mouth as he groaned in pain. His breath got caught in his throat because he knew that he didn't trip or fall over a rock or a twig—no, something held him back. It was like there was am invisible force field sent him crashing towards the ground. Caressing his shoulder, Scott hissed in pain when he saw blood caking his sleeve and when he peeked under the cloth.

Turning over so he can lay down on his back, Scott groaned in pain. Something had definitely caught him and pulled him back before slamming him to the ground. Looking over to his shoulder, he wondered why it wasn't healing.

Twigs were crackling again but Scott just laid down on the ground. "Scott," an eerie voice rang in the distance but Scott heard it perfectly thanks to his werewolf hearing even though he couldn't control. Standing up, Scott felt a sharp pain shoot through his ankle before yelling in pain. Glaring at his ankle for becoming sprained, Scott looked around before trying to limp away, his jaws grinding as he was determined to escape the preserve and get to Stiles.

Losing his footing on the ground, Scott fell and pain shot through his ankle again. "Gaah!" he yelled out loud, letting out a roar. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Scott cursed, tears threatening to spill. Scott was growing more terrified as the moment when he felt a presence behind him. He just wanted to be a student, to be the normal and heartbroken teenager who got dumped and not someone who has the burden of the world most of the time or someone constantly targeted by hunters.

Scott never thought that he'd miss Mr. Harris' extra work or Coach Finstock's yelling, telling him to run around the oval for another six times. He just want to stay in his room and play Mortal Kombat with Stiles until the sun comes peeking through the curtain and then they'd just stare each other, wondering why on Earth did they ended up playing all night and not studying for the exam they have with Mr. Fitz's English class that was promised to be profoundly difficult.

Scott just wanted a break, but with the mysterious presence behind him with the eerie voice, he knew that it was a luxury just too much to ask for. "Scott," the voice sounded again and Scott shivered partly because of the extremely low temperature that California would never have under normal circumstances and mostly because the voice creeped him out. "Scott," there it was again, the eerie voice that gave him the chills. "What gets wetter the more it dries?" Scott froze.

Half-expecting a killing blow, Scott stared at the sky, unable to look at the person behind him. "What?" it was a riddle, Scott realized that much, but what he didn't know was why the figure was making him answer a riddle. "Gets wetter the more it dried?" Scott murmured the question to himself, obviously in shock. "I. . .I don't know. I don't what that is, I don't know what you're talking about," Scott said quickly, barely catching a breath of air as he rushed the words out of his lips.

The figure circled around Scott, settling to stand in front of him. Finally, Scott got a better look at his attacker and realized that it was the same shadow figure from purgatory except he saw more details than before. Before, Scott thought that only his head was covered in bandage but now, with the figure standing in front of him, he realized that his whole body from the waist up was covered in bandage with blood stains seeping through. For a moment, Scott forgot that the figure attacked him and actually felt sorry for him.

Studying his clothes, Scott saw the faded olive green of the jacket and realized the adornments meant that the man in front of him was once part of the army as a medic. Scott's brows furrowed in confusion—what did a soldier have to do with the supernatural?—until his eyes spotted a small inscription on on where the medals and ribbons would be. Despite his his werewolf vision, Scott couldn't read the letters and it looked like a blurred, black line to him. Squinting his eyes, Scott finally saw what it read.

US ARMY
CORPORAL R. JAMESON

Scott took a closer look and realized that the uniform was from a time near World War II. The part that caught Scott's attention most was the bandaged head—a small hole was cut for the mouth, Scott guessed, and the layers of bandage was soaked in blood. "Hey," Scott spoke up, his voice low and gentle, trying not to be hostile and trying to hide how terrified he was. But it was all for nothing because the figure, Jameson, stomped his foot on Scott's sprained ankle. "Aaah!" Scott yelled out in pain, roaring for a second as he saw blood and he wanted to kill.

But he fought the blood lust, digging his hand into a sharp rock that eventually drew blood and kept him human.

The figure's chest heaved, his voice raspy. "What gets bigger the more you take away?" the eerie voice again, but Scott wouldn't answer. He couldn't answer, not when searing pain shot through his ankle and Scott only whimpered in pain, groaning helplessly as he laid in the ground. The urge to kill grew more and more as Scott kept slamming his hand on the sharp rock. Jameson wasn't please so he leaned down, dangerously close to his ear and Scott could feel his breath on his skin. "What gets bigger the more you take away?" Jameson asked slowly in calm but dangerously low tone that terrified Scott even more.

For a few seconds, Scott didn't answer but when pressure on his ankle started to build up more, Scott yelled out in pain. "I don't know!" Scott was frustrated as hell when pain shot through him. "Aah!" Scott squeezed his eyes shut and kept pounding his free hand on the ground as Jameson kept him pinned down. "Stop!" Scott yelled on the top of his lungs and roared. It was so loud that Jameson actually stopped pressing on his sprained ankle.

For a second, Scott could breathe as he thought that maybe he could reason with Jameson. But that was a gamble, so Scott decided to play along with Jameson's game and answer his riddles. Scott racked his brain to find an answer for Jameson, who looked at him with his head tilted to the side, as if to say that he expected an answer soon and if he couldn't deliver. . .well, Scott didn't want to know what would happen to him if he didn't give an answer.

In what seemed to be the longest minute of his seventeen years of existence, Scott finally came up with an answer. It was a hole, because the more your take away from a hole, the bigger it gets. After trying—and failing—to come up with better answers other than a hole, Scott finally looked at Jameson, ready to tell him. "It's a—" but Scott never got to say the answer because Jameson slammed his hand into his stomach. "Aah!" at first, Scott thought that it was just a really strong sucker punch but it wasn't.

Scott raised his raised, trying to see what took him so long to heal, what kind of punch would him breathless until he saw Jameson's hand sticking out of his stomach. "When is a door not a door?" Jameson pointed at his head, but Scott felt dizzy because of the amount of blood he's losing. It's not like he didn't want to answer, it's just that he couldn't. Slowly, Scott was losing of himself—he's not just hanging by a thread to his life, but his sanity and his control on the predator within him.

Jameson slashed his throat and Scott began to cough up blood, his stomach's wound still oozing with blood, hurts like hell, too. "Please," Scott said, his voice soft and barely above a whisper. It was funny because Scott never thought that he'd beg for his life after he made a truce with Argent.

Jameson shook his head, blood dripping out of his mouth before finally pulling his hand out of his stomach and standing up, leaving Scott to apply pressure on his wounds. 'Scott, your losing too much blood,' Stiles' voice rang in his head, telling him what was happening. Scott smiled at the thought of his best friend, always looking out for him even though he was the one who dragged him into this whole mess of things. And all of a sudden, the warmth Scott felt when he remembered his friend was replaced with angry thoughts.

Being a werewolf made Scott lose his life. Allison.

Scott wanted to kill Stiles, to make him feel the pain he's felt with everything the bite had caused. Scott wanted Stiles to suffer every heartbreaking decision he's made and the consequences he had to go through. But then a thought reminded Scott that if he hadn't been a werewolf, he'd lose so much people in life and he would have been the same, old Scott who couldn't see things the way they are now. Scott would take some things for granted and he would have never had this amazing relationship with the woman he loves or felt this friendship with her and with Lydia.

No, Scott though to himself, it was worth it. Scott immediately felt bad for wanting to kill the one person who's never left his side. If it came to it, Scott thought to himself again, thinking now of protecting Stiles more than anything, I would give my life if it would keep him safe.

Scott was jarred from his somewhat cheesy reflection when Jameson knelt down and looked at him square in the eye. "Everyone has it but no one can lose it," Scott felt Jameson's long fingernails, almost like claws, at his neck, gripping it tightly making it so hard for him to breathe. "What is it?" despite the claws drawing blood from his throat, making Scott almost drown in his own blood, and the pain stopping him from thinking, he knew the answer to it.

"Shadows. Everyone has it, but no can lose it," Scott choked out, managing to sputter it before Jameson withdrew his claws and stared at him. Scott sighed, thinking it was finally over when he answered the riddle correctly. A soft whistle of wind sounded and Scott remembered his phone. After all of this, a thought ran through Scott's mind, I'll memorize every single riddle there is to find.

Feeling his tissues slowly rebuilding themselves, Scott stared at Jameson, wondering why he did all of what he did. A part of Scott wanted to lunge at him and kill him now and then but he wouldn't. It's not worth it. "Listen, I'm not going to go after you. But you have to leave Beacon Hills," Scott was readying himself to stand up, to prop himself up using his elbows to tell Jameson that if he didn't leave, he'll hunt him down and maybe do what he's never done. But then, in a split second, Jameson lunged for his throat probably to slash it.

It was fast as lightning and after feeling the blood trickle down his face from slashing Jameson's throat, everything that Scott did was a blur. Feeling the power surge through his body, Scott finally understood why Peter began so much people around him. And if killing a random supernatural felt this good and healed him so much, then what would killing a fellow alpha feel like? Scott remembered Deucalion and thought of how he would kill him, rip him limb from limb.

Scott bared his fangs when he saw some rustling by the bushes near him. Jameson's limp body was on the ground as Scott left the scene but then he heard the wind carry a voice. He didn't really hear it because blood pounded in his ears when he spotted a boy, running around aimlessly trying to escape him. It was no use because Scott caught up to the boy and began slashing at his stomach. "Please, don't. . .you don't want to do this," Scott threw the boy to the ground and ripped his throat out with his teeth.

Blood soaked the ground and Scott's shirt was stained crimson red. His eyes glowed red at the sight of the limp and lifeless body of the boy. Ready to leave, Scott noticed a small square piece of leather. Scott sniffed the air and scoffed, sneering at the dead boy's direction because it was fake leather and also because it reeked of him—a scent that was a cocktail of Red Bull, General Pharmaceuticals' Adderall, duct tape, and an old beaten down 1980 Jeep CJ-5—when the wind blew, which also opened up the wallet, showing the license and a 2x2 picture of Stiles Stilinski.

"Everyone has it but no one can lose it. What is it?" Scott had a dark and sadistic look on his face that would send Stiles' evil-o-meter through the roof. "Shadow?" the wind whistled when Scott sneered clawing at a tree bear him and laughing maniacally. "No. Demons," Scott corrected, walking towards Stiles' dead body and whispered in his ear even though he knew that Stiles would never hear it. Scott looked up to the skies and yelled. "You hear me? I'm a thousand years old! You can't kill me," Scott's red eyes glowed but the rest of his eyes were black, like the eyes of demon in a show he used to watch.

Finally regaining control of his powers, Scott watched his fingers as his claws grew in size before slashing multiple times at Stiles' throat, eventually decapitating him as a maniacal grin played on Scott's lips. "Everyone has demons, Stiles, a little bit of darkness that allows for even more darkness to thrive. Nobody could lose their darkness and their demons," Scott's mouth was filled with blood, his fangs dripping of it. "Why'd the hell you answer shadows?"

And Stiles woke up, feeling his father's arms restraining him form hurting himself. "Aah!" Stiles yelled at the top of his lungs, crying as tears streamed through his face. His Dad was aimlessly trying to soothe him. "Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop!" Stiles' hands found their way to his head, gripping the hair he had as he felt himself slowly go mad. Stiles thought of Scott and wondered if he was feeling the same thing or if he was going insane, he wanted to ask but a gut feeling told him that Scott was feeling this, too, and his pain was a whole lot worse than what he's having.

Scott, Stiles though to himself, defeated after everything that he's been through, Scotty.

What have I done?

So this is the prologue for "Succumb". Although you don't have to read the three-shot, "Powerless", it is recommended because it will make a whole lot more sense to you if you did. So, I do not own Teen Wolf or any of the characters from said show. Reviews and favourites and follows are appreciated, I guess.

So yeah, get ready for a somewhat, but not really bumpy ride, I guess. AU Teen Wolf Season 3B with a mixture of Void(s?). Bye, I guess?