Since he already knew the exact location, there was no need to track the scent on the ground. Riding a broom saved a considerable amount of stamina, and Alan and Kiki flew through the dim forest for nearly two hours as the first streaks of morning light began to bleed through the canopy.
As they neared the stronghold, he slowly descended, preparing for a stealthy approach. This was no place for a house-elf; a battle could erupt at any moment.
"Kiki, wait for me here. If you encounter danger, activate this amulet and Apparate away immediately," Alan whispered, handing her the communication device.
"Yes, Master," Kiki replied, her voice barely a breath as she carefully tucked the amulet into her new marching uniform.
Once Kiki was settled, Alan activated his Glimmer Cloak, vanishing into the shadows. Following the memories he had stripped from the werewolf's mind, he located the target within ten minutes.
It was a small stone hill nestled in a dense thicket, heavily camouflaged by ivy and climbing vines. The hill stood about twenty meters high, surrounded by unremarkable trees and bushes. To any passerby, it appeared to be just another part of the forest, devoid of any biological activity. But Alan knew better. Fenrir had excavated an underground passage beneath the hill, connecting it to a natural cavern system.
He couldn't simply blast his way in. The intel suggested a sentry would be stationed at the mouth of the tunnel. If he alerted the guard, the others might scatter into the labyrinth below. Alan crept toward a disc-shaped boulder, two meters in diameter and encrusted with moss.
"Thump. Thump-thump-thump. Thump-thump."
Alan knocked against the stone in a specific, rhythmic sequence. He gripped Dark Depiction tightly, channeling his magic and preparing to strike the moment the door opened. He didn't know if Fenrir had returned yet, but he had to gamble on the original signal.
After a tense silence, a muffled grinding sound echoed from below. The boulder began to slide horizontally, pushed by something heavy. An elderly werewolf with mottled, mangy fur slowly shoved the stone aside, yawning and rubbing his eyes with an irritable grunt, clearly annoyed at being woken from a nap.
There was a sharp whistle of displaced air. In the next heartbeat, the sentry felt his body grow unnaturally light. His vision spun upward until his severed head hit the dirt. The sudden, biting pain was the last thing he ever felt.
"Enemy..." the old wolf tried to croak, but his throat was gone. His consciousness flickered and died. In his final moments, he saw only a human silhouette materializing from the air, dragging his bleeding carcass out of the way before diving into the tunnel.
Alan worked quickly. He used a localized scouring charm to vanish the bloodstains and neutralize the scent; werewolves had keen noses, and the metallic tang of fresh blood would act as a flare to those below. Once the entrance was clean, he pulled the boulder back into place, sealing the passage.
The tunnel was cavernous—over three meters high and wide to accommodate the werewolves' large frames and their heavy prey. It was pitch black and reeked of a foul, sour musk, the floor matted with filth and shed fur. Alan cast a Bubble-Head Charm to filter the air, finding the immediate relief well worth the magic.
He reactivated the Glimmer Cloak and moved forward in total silence, relying on his Echo Spell to map the path ahead. The guard's groggy reaction suggested Fenrir hadn't returned. This was a mixed blessing; the stronghold was ripe for a surprise attack, but the alpha would remain a loose end.
Alan didn't let the thought distract him. He moved with the Silencing Charm active until the tunnel opened into a massive cave, nearly eight meters high. Metal cages of various sizes lined the walls, filled with a menagerie of magical creatures. All were slumped in a drug-induced stupor.
The cave was terraced into three recessed levels, connected by stone stairs carved into the rock. Stone chambers had been hollowed out of the walls to serve as cells and living quarters. Alan could hear the rhythmic, guttural snoring of the pack echoing from the rooms.
Moving with the grace of a phantom, Alan scouted the levels. The rooms were disgusting—piles of straw and stained fur served as beds. He found one chamber that was significantly larger and better furnished, identifying it as Fenrir's private quarters.
The Echo Spell confirmed there were only four werewolves remaining in the hollow. The rest of the pack—those Alan had killed the night before—had left their rooms empty.
The task ahead wasn't a battle; it was an execution. Alan slipped into the first chamber, aimed a silent Sectumsempra at the sleeping wolf's jugular, and moved to the next. He repeated the process with clinical, cold efficiency until the only thing breathing in the caves were the caged animals and himself.