chapter 7

The moment Vexon lunged, I knew this fight might be not like any I had confronted before. He moved like a beast, years of experience turning his frame right into a weapon honed using bloodshed. But I had been taught for this. Each brutal lesson I had learned led me to this second, every punch I had taken, each wound I had persisted. I wasn’t simply fighting for survival—I was fighting for dominance.

His first strike came fast, a brutal swing aimed at my head. I ducked, feeling the wind of his fist as it narrowly missed my skull. He was strong, but strength meant nothing if it wasn’t controlled. I stepped into his space and drove my fist into his ribs. The impact was solid, but he barely flinched. Instead, he grinned—a wild, vicious thing—and grabbed me by the arm, twisting hard.

Pain shot through my shoulder, but I didn’t let it distract me. I used the momentum to pivot, twisting my body to deliver my knee up hard into his intestine. The force made him stumble back, but best for a second. The crowd roared, keen for more blood. Vexon wiped the corner of his mouth where a thin line of crimson seemed, then spat onto the dirt.

“Not bad,” he admitted, rolling his shoulders. “But now not desirable enough.”

He came at me once more, faster this time. I barely prevented his next blow, but he changed into relentless, urgent, ahead with brutal moves meant to break me down. I dodged maximum, absorbed the ones I couldn’t, and looked for my starting. It got here when he overextended, throwing a punch too far in his eagerness to give up this fight quickly.

I struck.

A sharp, precise kick to his knee forced him to buckle slightly, and I wasted no time. I spun, using my full body weight to push my elbow into the facet of his head. His balance wavered, but he didn’t move down.

I saw a glimmer of frustration in his eyes, and I knew this kind of challenge was unfamiliar to him.

He snarled and shook off the blow, saying, "You're a stubborn one."

I circled him and shot back, "I learnt from the best."

His laughter was dark and amused.  Then, suddenly, he hurried me.

He feinted at the last second, sweeping his leg out to throw me off balance, but I braced, expecting another vicious blow.  I barely caught myself before I fell after my foot caught on uneven ground.  He had enough to profit from it.

Vexon knocked the breath out of my lungs when his fist struck my ribs.  I gritted my teeth and refused to let the pain get to me.  I dropped to one knee as he grabbed the back of my neck and pushed me forward after pressing the advantage and hitting my side again.

With a roar, the crowd believed it was over.

However, it wasn't.

I used all the force I could muster to drive my elbow back into his gut.  His grip relaxed for a moment as he grunted, but that was all I needed.  I grabbed his wrist, twisted, and dragged him forward.  I flipped him over my shoulder and slammed him into the dirt, using his weight against him.

The ground shook from the impact.

The audience fell silent.

The first time Vexon was stunned, he gasped.  I didn't give him time to heal.  I straddled him and repeatedly struck his face with my fist until his eyes and mouth were blurry and covered in blood.  He began to struggle less.  Below me, the powerful renegade leader was stuttering.

I pulled him up until his face was just inches from mine by grabbing the front of his ripped shirt.  "Submit," I snarled, my tone piercing and demanding.

Uncertainty flickered in his eyes for the first time.  I was a predator, just like him.  I was stronger than everyone else, and he could see it now.

This time, his lips curled, but not in a smile.  Reluctantly, it was accepted.

"I give up," he whispered.

There was no official ruler in the Rogue Lands, but this was as near to a coronation as it would ever be.  The outlaws who had been observing and waiting now gazed at me with fresh eyes.

Show respect.

There was a pause.  A murmur of surprise, excitement, and something else—hope—took hold of the crowd.

Then there was a voice.

"Vexon was defeated."

Another person joined in.

"She defeated him."

The whispers became a roar, and the wolves stood up, some whispering to one another, some nodding in agreement.  Vexon was the strongest, and they had followed him for years.  However, power had just changed hands.

I let go of him and stood up.  My knuckles throbbed and my ribs hurt, but I tried not to show it.  I stood erect and looked directly into the eyes of the outlaws, unflinching.

A renegade with sharp scars on his cheek came forward.  "You battled like a real Alpha."

Stable, I looked him in the eye.  "Because I am that way."

The whispers became something stronger, a wave of consent.  There had never been an Alpha in the Rogue Lands, not in the sense of packs.  They had wolves who used sheer force to claw their way to the top, warlords, and rulers.  However, none of them had ever made any further promises.

I yelled, "Enough killing our own," loud enough for everyone to hear.  "Enough battling for survival alone.  We could be more.  We ought to be more.

Some sneered.  They wouldn't all line up so readily.  However, a few—many—were paying attention.

Still too weak to stand, Vexon rolled onto his side with a moan.  His pack paused, anticipating an order that never materialised.  He was no longer in control in the Rogue Lands because he had lost.

Darius crossed his arms and stepped next to me.  "You just proclaimed war on all the rogues that profit from this chaos."

I let out a breath.  "Then allow them to arrive."

From the circle's edge came a scoff.  A gaunt rogue shook his head, his smile contorted.  "You believe you can simply walk in here and make a big difference?  Little Alpha, you have no idea what lies ahead.

I looked over at him.  "Then tell me."

He chuckled, stepping closer.  It is not because no one has attempted to regulate the Rogue Lands that they are lawless.  The reason is that someone does.

A chill took hold of my stomach.  "Who?"

The rogue grinned broadly and cocked his head.  "The Fangs of Shadow."

Beside me, Darius tensed up.  Others moved uncomfortably.  The fear in their eyes was visible to me.

I had previously heard rumours about them.  A pack of wolves who owned the Rogue Lands, not just lived there.  Fear was the source of their power, even though they didn't rule like packs did.  They did not put up with outsiders interfering with their way of life.

But, I had just proclaimed myself the ruler of their domain.

The gaunt rogue grinned more broadly.  "You defeated Vexon.  Amazing.  But the Shadow Fangs? They’ll skin you alive just for trying.”