The fight started fast.
The first man lunged.
He didn't even finish his step—his nose exploded under a brutal elbow that sent him flying into a tree.
The second swung a bat.
The Wolf ducked, caught the handle mid-swing, and cracked it across the man's knee.
Bone snapped. The guy screamed and dropped like a sack.
Third man tried to rush from behind—
Wrong move.
The Wolf spun, booted him in the gut, and drove his head straight into the dirt with a knee that echoed like a gunshot.
Dave blinked.
"Holy shit…"
Four more came at once—screaming, fists flying.
The Old Wolf became motion.
One punch broke a jaw.
Another flipped a guy over his own shoulder like a sack of laundry.
He grabbed the biggest one by the throat, slammed him against a tree, and whispered:
"I said no blood in my town."
Then snapped his nose with a brutal headbutt.
Dave, still tied, rolled onto his side to avoid a falling body.
One of the guys stumbled past him—bloody, crying, running into the woods.
Another tried to crawl.
The Old Wolf grabbed his ankle. Dragged him back. Tossed him into his own crew like bowling pins.
The last two raised knives.
Too slow.
Two strikes. Two bodies down.
One with a broken wrist.
One with a shattered collarbone.
The Old Wolf stood in the middle of it all, chest rising slow. Calm. Surrounded by bodies, blood, and silence.
The last body hit the ground like thunder.
Then—silence.
No breath. No growls. Just the wind curling through broken trees and blood-soaked dirt.
The Old Wolf turned.
One of the cowards tried to run.
He didn't get far.
With one hand, the Wolf grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into the dark—into the woods, past the firelight, past the edge of anyone's courage.
And then…
Nothing.
No sound.
No voice.
Not even a scream.
Dave sat there, still tied up, eyes wide, heart racing.
"Hello?" he called out. "Anybody still alive out here?"
Nothing answered.
Until—
fwip.
A flash of silver sliced through the night.
A blade flew in from the darkness, cutting clean through the rope on his wrists like it was paper.
Dave flinched. Blinked.
He was free.
He stared at the knife on the ground, still quivering in the dirt where it landed.
"…On God," he muttered, rubbing his wrists. "This guy might be my idol."
He stumbled to his feet and rushed outside.
No one.
Only the forest.
Only shadows.
Only the fading echo of someone too fast to follow.
The Old Wolf was gone.