CHAPTER 238: WANDA IS ATTACKED (II)

(Third Person).

They came at once—blades raised, trying to flank her.

Wanda leapt onto the hood of her car, then vaulted off with inhuman precision. She slammed both boots into one man’s chest, sending him crashing into a pillar.

She landed on the second with feline grace, knees driving into his sternum before she slit his throat clean.

Four were down now, and seeing this, the fifth man tried to flee.

"Oh no, bastard," she growled, panting slightly now. "You started this."

She caught up to him in five long strides and tackled him to the ground. He struggled beneath her, but Wanda was already driving the blade through his heart with surgical precision.

His eyes widened, then faded.

Silence reclaimed the parking lot.

Blood pooled across the concrete, forming crimson streaks around the bodies. Wanda stood, breath ragged, chest rising and falling with raw, victorious energy.

Her heel still bled. Her silk blouse was torn at the sleeve, and dark smears stained the hem of her skirt. But she didn’t care.

Raising her head, she looked up—straight into the lens of a security camera perched on the corner beam.

It blinked silently, its red light glowing.

She wiped the blade against her thigh and spat, "Fucking humans!"

Then Wanda turned slowly, eyes still locked on the trail of blood glistening beneath her car. Her lips curled into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

"Thank you, Draven," she murmured under her breath, voice like velvet over steel. "I got a little revenge... all thanks to you."

Finally, she walked back to the trunk, closed it with a soft thunk, and returned to the driver’s seat. She placed the bloodstained knife gently on the console beside her, as if it were something sacred.

With a sigh, she started the engine and drove out of the underground parking—only to take an unexpected right instead of the road-bound left.

The tires hummed softly against the pavement as she stopped directly in front of the glass-paneled mall entrance.

Calmly, Wanda rolled her hair into a sleek updo, pulled a pair of dark sunglasses from the glovebox, and placed them over her eyes.

Next, she picked up her phone and slipped the knife under her skirt once more, hiding it against her thigh.

Then, she stepped out of the car with an air of lethal elegance, walking into the building like she owned it.

Inside, she bypassed the main floors, heading straight for the elevator and pressing the button for the restricted security level.

The metal doors opened with a chime, and Wanda stepped out into a narrow hallway lined with steel doors and dim yellow lights.

She walked confidently until she reached the door labelled CCTV CONTROL - STAFF ONLY.

Without knocking, she opened the door and stepped in.

Four security personnel turned at once from their screens, blinking at her sudden presence.

"Ma’am, you’re not allowed here," one of them said sharply, already rising from his chair. Another glanced at the phone.

Wanda didn’t answer. Instead, her eyes flicked across the screens on the wall—each flashing real-time footage of the mall, including the underground level where she had fought those men some minutes ago.

Then she turned back, shut the door with a deliberate click, and locked it.

When she turned around again, the knife gleamed in her hand like a whispered threat.

"I’m exactly where I need to be."

The tension fractured instantly.

One man lunged for the phone—but she was faster.

With an almost lazy flick of her wrist, Wanda stabbed his hand before he could lift the receiver.

He yelped in agony as she slammed the hilt against his face. Blood sprayed, and he crashed to the ground.

"Let’s not make this difficult," she said, her voice now low, cold, and unmistakably serious.

The remaining three men stood still, wide-eyed. One of them whispered, "Don’t forget, she is a werewolf. Be careful."

That was all the permission the others needed to strike. They immediately surged forward.

Wanda moved with a blur of speed, ducking under the first swing and driving her knee into one man’s ribs.

He wheezed and dropped.

Another grabbed her arm—but she twisted, using his momentum to flip him over her shoulder and into a desk. Screens shook violently as the impact rattled the entire wall.

The third tried to tackle her from behind. But it was a bad move.

Wanda bent low, gripped his shirt, and slammed him into the control panel before dragging her claws across his back in swift, shallow arcs.

The man shrieked and dropped to the floor.

She paused, breathing hard but still composed. She didn’t kill them—not yet. That wasn’t the point.

The control room was a mess. Chairs toppled, one screen cracked, and blood was on the floor. But she had been careful. All critical systems were still intact.

Then she retrieved her phone from where it had slid and pointed the tip of her knife at the man slumped against the server cabinet.

"Give me the footage. Every second of it. From the time I entered that garage till I left. I want it on a flash drive."

"We deleted it," one of them wheezed, nursing his slashed arm.

Wanda’s eyes narrowed. "Do I look like a fool to you?"

She walked over, crouched beside him, and ran a claw gently down his face. "There’s a backup server, isn’t there?"

His breathing hitched. He nodded frantically.

"Good. Get it. Or I start designing your pretty face until your mother won’t recognize you."

The three men scrambled—limping, groaning—toward the backup system. Wanda waited, watching them like a wolf watching wounded prey.

Occasionally, her gaze swept the screens, then returned to her victims.

When they handed her the drive, trembling, she slipped it into her coat pocket.

"Consider yourselves lucky," she said. "Next time, I won’t be feeling so... diplomatic."

She walked to the door, unlocked it, then glanced over her shoulder at the bloodied men cowering among wires and shattered plastic.

"And if anyone asks what happened... tell them the footage never existed."

Then, she was gone.