SUMMARY
The Ghost Riders are gone, but the rift created between their world and ours when Mr. Douglas nearly forced them together has aggravated the ley lines beneath the city of Beacon Hills, and the enigmatic nemeton hidden deep within the forest. With the tree's power awoken, those who protect the city, both supernatural and human, will soon confront the ultimate consequence for all that has transpired through the years, and come face to face with their absolute adversary: Scott McCall himself.
Battle lines will be drawn. Friendships tested. Relationships fractured.
War is coming to Beacon Hills.
"Dude, its Beacon Hills."
"Yeah, yeah I get that," Scott said as he hurriedly darted around his bedroom, carelessly throwing crumpled up clothes into a gym bag. "But the Ghost Riders are gone, everybody's back and seems none the wiser. It's all good."
"Well that is exactly why I'm having serious concerns right now," replied Stiles with a sense of anxiety in his voice. "It's always just when everything's going well that it hits the fan."
Scott drew close and sniffed his nose at his best friend, who sighed. "You're scared," he deduced.
"No, no I am not scared. I'm…concerned." Scott tilted his head and shot Stiles a disbelieving look; he knew he was lying, and he didn't need to listen to his heart beat to figure that out. "And by the way, chemo signals – totally unfair."
"I know why you're…concerned," Scott said. "But it's been weeks, and we've gone months without anything bad happening before."
"Yeah, but for all that time you were here, man. Now you're going to be gone."
"It's just for a few days. Plus, you have Liam and Malia to protect you," Scott smiled cheekily.
"Oh yeah, great – thanks for reminding me about that one, too. I forgot you're just going to leave me here with Malia who is so amped up over passing summer school that she'll just as easily claw my throat, or Liam who would be just great except for the fact that I think it's physically impossible to separate him from Hayden's lips right now. Great. Awesome," Stiles responded with his patented level of sarcasm.
Scott finished "packing" and zipped his bag up. He pulled the strap over his shoulder and turned towards his disheveled friend, attempting to quell his "concerns". "This orientation just lasts for the weekend. And I don't know if you've noticed but we've expanded our supernatural roster significantly so it's going to be fine."
Stiles sighed, perhaps Scott was right.
"Fine," he said. "But if you come back and find me possessed or erased from existence again then I am so kicking your hairy werewolf ass."
Scott threw his muscular arm around Stiles' shoulders and the two laughed. Stiles knew deep down that things were probably going to be okay. But Scott leaving for the weekend was something new. And 'new' wasn't always good. And yet…it was something he would have to get used to, with all them of them soon going their separate ways.
They made their way out of Scott's room, but before the True Alpha could cross the threshold, he felt a vibration against his leg. He stopped short and pulled his phone from his pocket. The lit screen illuminated his face in the otherwise dark room. Scott's eyes slowly moved left to right as he read the text, and when he had reached the end, they widened.
"What is it?" Stiles asked, taking notice of Scott's sudden change in demeanor.
"I have to go," Scott said before dashing off into the darkness, bolting from his house, and out into the night.
The night was cool and crisp, as many in the town of Beacon Hills are. A dense cloud of fog had begun to engulf the city just as the full moon had fully risen to its peak in the blackened sky. It hung like a suspended white orb, shining down. But even the moonlight could not penetrate the thickness of the fog. And right now, that was a good thing.
Through the chilling darkness, two figures emerged – Theo and Malia. They ran side by side, step by step in unison, barreling down the street with great swiftness. From a distance, they were virtually undetectable, concealed by the shroud of fog that surrounded them. They continued on, carving a path through the cloud, until they rounded a corner and slid to a sudden stop, for their gaze was drawn by something in the distance.
"Anything?" Malia whispered.
Theo raised his nose to the air and breathed in deeply. "No. Not yet, but Scott is on his way."
Elsewhere, high atop a towering building stood two more figures, Scott and Liam, as they gazed out across the industrial area of Beacon Hills.
"Anything?" Liam asked anxiously. He was beginning to grow impatient; they had been up here awhile with no result.
The alpha closed his eyes, eliminating everything external and focusing solely on his sense of smell. He searched and searched, attempting to trace –
Scott's red eyes snapped open. "Got it," he said. Scott vaulted himself over the edge of the building, and Liam followed. Together they plummeted down towards the ground. Scott turned towards the brick wall of the building, reaching out with his hands. He growled, feeling his claws dig deep into the brick. Liam, again, did the same. Their speed slowed, and before they could touch the ground, they leapt backwards, flipping through the air and landing gracefully on their feet. Without a moment's respite, the two wolves dropped to all fours and sped out into the night in hot pursuit.
Theo and Malia stood stoically, slightly squinting their eyes in an attempt to pierce the fog. Suddenly they heard a loud, bellowing roar echo through the abandoned factories of the industrial district, and they instantly recognized the call.
"They got it," Malia said.
Some ways away, a shadowed man darted in between the rusted metal structures, doing his absolute best to evade the chasing lights behind him. He was followed closely by a piercing siren call and the flashing red and blue lights of a police cruiser.
"I can see him," the officer spoke into the radio. "I'm on it." Out of the corner of his eye, the officer noticed the figure of a man running away from him at incredible speeds. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, and he tossed the radio to the side, shifting gears and slamming hard on the gas pedal. The engine roared with vigor in response, leaving the officer not far behind his target.
The chased man abruptly changed course, disappearing down a dark alleyway between two factory buildings. "Dammit," the officer said, twisting the wheel over and over in attempt to maintain his pursuit.
The screaming squad car screeched around a corner and barreled down the narrow alleyway. It zoomed past dumpsters and garbage; whoever was driving clearly had only one purpose: to catch the man running at the fringe of its headlights.
The shadowed figure fell onto all fours and pressed its claws hard into the cold pavement. In one, powerful leap, it soared up into the air and landed atop a brick wall barring further passage into the alley. It looked back at the squad car one final time, its eyes shining a thick, blood red in the lights. The creature bore its fanged teeth, and the driver of the car slammed hard on the breaks, abruptly bringing the vehicle to a screeching halt.
Before the officer could even undo his seatbelt, another creature leapt from the shadows, tackling the first and pushing it from the wall, slamming the wolf to the ground in front of the squad car.
Scott sat perched upon the wall, staring down at the squirming man below him. A low growl emitted from the true alpha, and yet another emerged from hiding, this one smaller. Liam stood alongside his crouching pack leader, their backs bathed with moonlight. Scott nodded at the werewolf below them, and Liam immediately understood.
Liam dropped to the ground. "I got this one, Stilinski," he said in the direction of the cop car, towering over the captured werewolf. He reached down and grabbed the whimpering man by the back of his neck – slightly digging his own claws into the skin just for a little added flair. The unknown wolf gasped as he was brought to his feet and cowered as he looked into the yellow-glowing eyes of Liam.
TEEN WOLF: CHILDREN OF WOLVES
Chapter I: From Light, Comes Darkness
Theo lunged forward, striking the captured werewolf in the side of the mouth with his fist. "He's not talking," he's said almost whimsically.
"Maybe that's because you keep pummeling his face," retorted Liam, who leaned against the table with crossed arms in clear judgment of Theo's methods of…interrogation.
Theo couldn't help but smile. "He wasn't talking before that. This is just fun." He lunged again, landing another solid blow.
"You could stand there and shatter his face all day but he's never going to say anything."
The loud crack of fist on bone rang throughout the loft. "We'll see."
Just then, the door of Derek's loft slid open with a screech. "That's enough of that," Scott commanded as he entered the room, followed closely by Malia and Stiles.
Stiles looked around at the near-empty loft, and the large glass window overlooking the city beyond. "Why exactly are we meeting here?" He asked.
Malia shrugged. "It was the only place I could think to tell them right away."
Scott frowned. "Does Der-"
"No," came the response – one hidden in the shadows. "No, he doesn't know." Peter emerged from the darkness, smirking. "But I figure if I'm going to be sticking around for a while then I could use a room with a view."
Malia cleared her throat and swallowed nervously. "Dad," she said softly.
"Daughter. Now, what's this?"
"We don't know yet," Scott replied. "But we're hoping to figure that out."
Peter approached the captured wolf and grabbed his chin, tilting his head from side to side, examining. "Has he said anything?"
Theo grinned again, taking a moment to admire his handy-work – the swollen and bruised face of the captive. "No."
"I don't think he could if he wanted to anymore," Liam responded with a tinge of disapproval in his voice.
Scott turned his attention towards the restrained man. "Great."
Stiles scratched his head. "What is Theo still doing here again?"
"Where's Lydia?" Malia asked. Theo finally backed away from her werewolf punching bag and began to wipe her hand with a rag.
"She's with Parrish tonight, searching for something," Stiles informed her, "but they should be back late tonight – tomorrow at the latest."
Scott cleared his throat. "Let's focus on the here and now, shall we?"
"Yes," Peter said, "what are we to do about our friend here?"
Scott stepped forward towards the man who sat bound to a chair with rope in the middle of Derek's loft. The sun was beginning to set, and the orange glow of the fading day shined through the giant window, granting them light, at least for now. Bad things tended to happen at night around here, and so Scott wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.
He tilted his head sideways, examining the werewolf. He was rugged, with shoulder length, unkempt hair and a patchy shadowy beard blotting his cheeks. His clothes were old, torn and – ancient. Scott looked him up and down, breathing in his scent – the same one he had picked up from the night before. It was not pleasant.
"He's an alpha," Liam interjected, breaking Scott's thought process.
"I know – I saw his eyes."
"Just here for the hunt," added Stiles. "Though, you'd think, being an alpha, he'd be able to control his lust on a full moon."
"He's not from here…why would he come to Beacon Hills just to sate himself?"
"Why, indeed."
The alpha remained unresponsive, his head bowed. "We can sit here and guess all we want, but we're never going to know unless he tells us. We need to wake him up," Scott said. "I want to talk to him."
"Good luck with that," Liam said.
"Do we know anything about this guy? No markings, affiliations?"
"My list of supernatural encyclopedias is pretty short," said Stiles. Together, they all turned their gaze towards Peter.
"I just got back from some interdimensional, ghost train station," Peter proclaimed. "I don't know dick."
Scott drew close to the restrained man, taking in the state and age of his clothing – which had to be at least two hundred years old, European-origin, his scent - musty. He reached out, rubbing the fabric of the man's lapel between his fingers and pushed his head down, revealing a tattoo imprinted on the back of his neck. Scott's brow creased in confusion – the spiraling symbol of the triskelion. Suddenly his eyes grew wide and his head snapped up.
"What is it?" Liam asked.
"Wait…" Malia said before Scott could respond, noticing a black substance now leaking from the alpha's nose. "Is that his blood?"
Scott turned back towards the direction of the alpha, taking notice of what Malia had seen. "That's not the color of blood," he responded, and he knew instantly what it was. He had seen this black fluid before.
Just then, a gentle, nearly silent groan emitted from the werewolf. Scott and his friends exchanged looks – making sure that none of them had made the noise; no, it had definitely come from the unconscious alpha tied up in front of them. As they cautiously approached him, the eyes of the alpha fluttered open, causing them to take a step back. The werewolf groaned in discomfort, fidgeting in his seat. A soft, gurgling sound emitted from his mouth.
"What is that? He's trying to say something."
They approached again, leaning their heads in in an attempt to understand the man's words.
Malia let out an exasperated breath. "That's not English."
"I…don't even know if that's a real language," Theo said.
The alpha seemed to sense Scott's presence and his body squirmed to life. He looked up at his fellow alpha, and their red eyes met. His mouth grew slightly agape, almost as though he was in awe of the sight before him.
"True…?" The man choked out through wheezing breaths. The black fluid trickled from the corners of his swollen mouth.
Scott stood silent for a moment. "Yes," he finally uttered.
The alpha nodded. He groaned again, pulling at his restraints until his arm broke free. He reached up and grabbed onto Scott's forearm. In an instant, Malia and Liam swarmed him with their fangs barred.
The man's grip was searing to the touch, and Scott could feel his claws run deep into his arm, causing him to wince in pain. "No," he commanded, and they backed away. Something about this man intrigued him now. Something…
The alpha wheezed and coughed again, causing another wave of fluid to pour from his mouth. "What did you say?" asked Scott. He asked again, and again, each time growing more impatient. "What did you say!?" The alpha only stared back, his dazed head bobbing back and forth.
Finally, he spoke through quivering lips. "Let me show you."
Scott winced as the pain in his arm intensified. With one powerful grab, he wrenched the alpha's arm from his, sending blood and small chunks of flesh up into the air, and the man fell back into his chair.
"LET ME SHOW YOU!" The alpha bellowed with a deep growl. He rose from his seat and pushed Scott to his knees. Scott could barely react before the captured alpha thrust his claws into the back of his neck. Suddenly his vision grew blurry, and his surroundings closed in around him, until blackness took over.
Silence. Darkness. There was no beginning, there was no end. In this moment, this strange, uneven wrinkle that permeated space and time, Scott simply…was.
And he was frightened.
A whooshing, disorienting haze enveloped him, and he felt a sickly, sour nausea erupt in the pit of his stomach. Scott felt as though he was being twirled round and round, unable to stop, unable to see.
A loud roar shook the abstract darkness around him, and Scott felt a shrilling shiver creep slowly up his spine and explode violently in his cerebellum. For the first time in a while, Scott felt true, absolute fear.
He looked around with darting eyes, his reddened retinas searching and searching, but fell short of finding anything more than absolute nothingness. The disorienting spin brought Scott to his knees and he felt his gut give way and vomited profusely onto the ground.
Suddenly, as if an ominous demon overhead, a supreme shadow hovered over him. Scott felt himself lifted to his feet by powerful hands and thrust backwards. He shook his head, attempting to rid himself of the dizziness.
And now, finally, he could see.
The captured alpha stood before him, his face transformed and contorted into that of a werewolf, and with black fluid pouring from every orifice on his head. He stretched his fanged mouth out at Scott and growled deeply.
"The Fire has been fed", a bellowing voice shook Scott's eardrums. "And its creators cry out for release."
Through the darkness, Scott had an amalgam of voices call out in unison, each yelling over one another. Scott's eyes widened as the visage of the alpha before him transformed into one of Stiles.
Stiles' skin trembled as the strange vision of him appeared to phase in and out of reality. "How dare you, Scott," he said, whimpering, and the words burned in Scott's mind. "You did this to us…"
The crumpled body of a woman materialized between the two of them; she was naked, and her face was concealed by her shoulder length hair. Her stomach bulged outward and she rubbed it gently as the soft echo of a heartbeat pulsed through Scott's ears…
Scott tried to speak, to ask his friend – but he couldn't. His lips wouldn't move.
The edges of Stiles's frame once again transformed, now into Kira. "Why did you abandon me? How could you betray me?"
"Kira…" Scott croaked, feeling his stomach begin to give way again, but she was gone.
The shadow grew taller, wider. Now it was Derek who loomed before him. "You left us here…to pick up your pieces!" He bellowed.
Derek reached out and grabbed Scott. Unable to fight back, Scott stood limp as Derek drew back his fists and began to pound them into Scott's face; he was kept upright only by Derek's wishes, who didn't want him to fall. He wanted to punish him. One after the other, with fist cracking against bone; Scott's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he felt the daze return. His jaw, his nose – everything, erupted in pain.
"YOU DID THIS TO ME!" Derek shouted again as he continued his unrelenting assault. "You. Failed. ME!"
His clenched fist made contact with Scott's jaw one final time and Scott heard a thundering crack within his body, feeling the bone dislodge from its hinges.
Scott's limp body crumpled to the floor. His battered and swelling face was covered in crimson as blood poured from gashes on his cheeks, nose, and forehead. All became hazy once more, Derek's visage faded away, and as Scott's head smashed against the cold earth-
Scott's sight returned suddenly, and he felt a shooting pain travel from the back of his neck to his brain. He collapsed, motionless on the floor.
"Scott!" Stiles yelled, and they instantly tended to him. Malia turned her attention toward the alpha and grabbed him tightly by the hand, contorting his wrist and throwing him easily back into the chair.
"I'm okay," the true alpha winced as he slowly regained his footing.
The shroud of confusion blanketing the minds of the pack was lifted by the deep-toned, insidious laughter of the alpha. He fidgeted again in his chair, growing more violent with each passing second; the black fluid began to ooze from every orifice of his body. He phased into his wolf form, letting loose a bloodcurdling howl.
He laughed again. "Look at me, Scott! Look!" He said. "The Wolves are coming!" And with one swift turn, the man viciously contorted his neck, snapping it with ease. His body went instantly limp and the black fluid that once poured from his body now lay as a puddle beneath the chair.
"Jesus!" Stiles exclaimed, and the others shared his surprise.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"I think it's a message," came Scott's simple reply, and from whom, he didn't know. And that frightened him.
Evening passed over into the dead of night; all was calm and quiet, and in a town like Beacon Hills, that was never a good thing. Scott's bike sped through the empty streets, and his surroundings were blurred on either side. His eyes were focused on the road ahead of him, but Scott's mind was elsewhere. Even though they had stopped a bloodthirsty alpha, he couldn't help but wonder of the meaning of his words, and the purpose of the mountain ash infection that seemed to come from nowhere. What did it mean? And how did the wolf come by the ash? Most importantly, he feared the purpose of the vision. Even now, the words of his friends, albeit not real, still bothered him.
He finally arrived home; the road was desolate, the houses all asleep. His bike stalled to a stop in the driveway, and he turned the ignition off, setting his helmet down upon the handle bars. He was alone in the darkness; there were no others to be seen, save one.
"I didn't think you'd ever get home," Malia said as she sat on his front porch.
Scott shook his head. "I didn't think you'd wait this long for me. I'm sorry I'm so late – had to take care of a few things."
"It's okay, I don't mind waiting, I guess."
"Okay," he said. "What did you want to talk about?"
Malia looked up and down the empty street, her eyes filled with concern. "Can we talk inside?"
"Yeah, of course."
Scott led her inside and into the dining room. Together, they sat down opposite one another at the table.
"It's Peter," Malia blurted out before Scott even had the chance to situate himself in the chair.
"Peter…"
Malia took a deep breathe. "I don't know what to do. I saved him at the library and called him 'dad' and he's been around for a few weeks and making an effort to hang out with me, but all I can remember is him being such a selfish dick-"
"Malia," Scott said calmly, and he lightly touched her forearm. "Slow down."
Malia let out an exasperated breathe and fell back into the chair. Even she had to chuckle slightly at the ridiculousness of the ramblings that had just came out of her. "I'm sorry. I'm just trying to figure it out, I guess. I don't know what to do."
Scott smiled and tightened his grip ever so slightly on her arm. "I can help you."
They spent the next hour sitting in the dining room and talking. As the time passed and the night grew older, their conversation shifted from Peter to pouring over the strangeness of the situation that they and their friends had witnessed in the past twenty four hours – mainly the bizarre state of the captured alpha and his cryptic message. As he downloaded her of his thoughts, Malia could sense Scott's weariness – it showed in his face and in his heart.
"Does it hurt?" She asked, gently touching the claw marks in his arm and neck.
Scott shook his head 'no'. "Not anymore. I've had worse wounds." Malia was not impressed with Scott's lighthearted treatment of the situation. She knew he was trying to blanket his fear and worry with a sense of humor, but it still bothered her that he was so distressed. Scott acknowledged this. "It's from an alpha – it will heal, but it'll take time," he said, attempting to reassure her.
Scott felt the soft touch of her fingertips against his skin. He felt a warm pressure inside of him, and suddenly began to feel the sting of awkwardness. With a sudden twitch he backed away, and Malia withdrew her hand.
Scott cleared his throat, noticing Malia's downcast eyes and apparent awkwardness too, in an attempt to ease the tension. "Have you spoken to Stiles much?
"What do you mean?" She asked.
"Well, I mean..." Scott trailed off, unsure of how to broach the subject. "You two were close, and-"
"I know how he feels about Lydia," she said bluntly, and there was a tinge of anger in her voice. "After everything we just went through, I don't need to be a were-coyote to notice that."
Scott nodded. "And, how are you feeling about that?"
"What?"
"I just mean…are you okay?"
Malia took a moment, and her eyes fell to the wooden table again. She thought, ever so hard, about everything that had transpired – and of the man who was once her anchor, but now seemed too far out of reach.
"I feel-" Just then, Malia keeled over, her stomach erupting and boiling up until she vomited profusely all over the floor.
"Oh, Jesus!" Scott exclaimed, and quickly retrieved a trash can. Malia placed her head over the bin, her chest heaving. Scott grabbed a fistful of hair and held it back just in time before she vomited again. "It's okay, you're okay," he assured.
Once her stomach had calmed, Scott carried Malia upstairs and into his room, and gently laid her down on his bed. The moonlight pierced through the glass of the window, illuminating the room. Scott pulled the blanket up over her shivering body and placed the trash can next to the bed.
"You don't have to take care of me," Malia said through chittering teeth. "I can go home."
Scott stood back, his brow furrowed. He'd never known a supernatural creature like one of them to get sick. He'd seen Malia heal from worse battle wounds, never mind the flu. And with everything weird suddenly happening, he wasn't going to take a chance with one of his pack. "It's okay," he replied softly. "My mom is working the night shift. She won't be home. I'll call Liam and see if he can come over and help."
"Wait," she said as he began to leave the room.
"Yeah?"
"Stay for a moment," Malia pleaded weakly.
Scott nodded. "Of course."
He sat down against the wall and stared outward, through the window and up at the moon hanging in the sky. Funny, he thought, it didn't even bother them anymore.
"I know why you're worried," Malia said after a few moments. "What the alpha said. What it means."
Scott was silent for a moment, not sure of what to say.
"Yes," he finally affirmed with a whisper.
"What are we going to do?"
Scott closed his eyes, feeling the lull of sleep begin to take him. "I don't know yet. But things are changing."
The next morning brought neither clarity nor epiphany to Scott. His effort to stand guard with Liam had failed miserably in favor of desperately needed sleep after a long weekend. Malia was gone from his bed when he awoke, and Scott lay alone in his room.
This was one of those rare times that he was by himself these days and could think. He had to be careful though: letting his mind wander too much could do more harm than good. But this gave him the opportunity to ponder many things.
Though they had conquered kanimas, the Benefactor, berserkers, Kate, alphas, Dread Doctors, giant beasts, and now Ghost Riders and a werewolf Nazi, Scott still believed that there was always much more to learn and more room to grow. And he believed that their worst enemies were yet to come. The words of the visages haunted his mind; he couldn't get them to stop, playing over and over like a faulty tape. "You did this to us." What could he do that would be so bad as to lose all of his friends?
He closed his eyes, feeling the warm rays of the morning sun beat down upon his skin. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep once more. Slowly, he surrendered himself…
The large stump of the nemeton sat idle in the clearing of the woods. Upon it was the figure of a man, chiseled like stone, and whose skin was engulfed in fire. Jordan Parrish stood in the center of its rings, his eyes burning orange and staring blankly outwards.
"War is coming," slithered a soft, whispering voice into his mind. Even with the flames around him, Parrish's skin trembled from its words. "The nemeton has been reborn."