Crimson Fang Under Siege
The night was deathly still, the kind of silence that felt like a warning. The Crimson Fang packhouse lay bathed in pale moonlight, its warriors patrolling the borders with unease sharp as a blade. Then it came—a sharp, piercing howl that shattered the quiet like glass.
Susan sprinted toward the sound, her heart pounding. She reached the southern gate and froze, her blood running cold. The gate was in ruins, splintered wood and metal strewn across the ground. The acrid scent of blood hung heavy in the air.
From the darkness poured a tide of rogues, their eyes glowing with a sickly green light, their movements jerky and unnatural. Their snarls were guttural, almost inhuman.
Susan drew her blade, its steel catching the moonlight as she raised her voice in a commanding cry. “Hold the line! For Crimson Fang!”
The warriors surged forward, their claws flashing as they met the enemy head-on. The clash was brutal—fangs and steel colliding, blood spraying into the air. But the rogues fought with an unrelenting ferocity, their attacks erratic yet devastating.
Susan fought her way through the chaos, her blade slicing through rogue after rogue. She barked orders, rallying the warriors, but something felt off. The rogues weren’t fighting to win. They were fighting to destroy, their movements almost mechanical.
Then she saw it—a figure cloaked and hooded, standing atop a nearby ridge. They watched the carnage with an eerie stillness, as if orchestrating it.
Rage boiled in Susan’s chest. She surged forward, carving a path through the chaos, her eyes locked on the figure. Her muscles burned as she climbed the ridge, her breath coming in sharp gasps.
But as she reached the top, the figure vanished, melting into the shadows like smoke.
By the time the rogues were pushed back, the pack was battered and bloodied. Warriors leaned on one another for support, their eyes clouded with unease.
Susan wiped her blade clean, her thoughts racing. She knelt, scanning the ground, and her gaze fell on something strange—a blackened wolf fang etched with glowing runes.
She picked it up carefully, a chill creeping up her spine. The energy radiating from it felt malevolent, unnatural.
“This wasn’t an attack,” she murmured to herself, gripping the fang tightly. “This was a warning.”
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