The First Strike
The cry of a lookout wolf shattered the tense quiet of the stronghold. “They’re here!”
From Crimson Fang’s towers, Malrik’s army was visible, a dark, undulating mass stretching across the horizon. The banners of rogue packs flapped in the wind, bearing eerie symbols of allegiance to Malrik. Shadow wolves prowled the edges, their glowing eyes piercing the early morning mist.
Draven’s warriors stood ready, their armor gleaming in the faint sunlight. Howls rose into the air, a defiant chorus as the first wave of attackers surged forward.
Isla stood alongside her father and Eira, her heart pounding in her chest. Her fingers twitched at her sides, longing to fight, but her father’s hand on her shoulder steadied her. “This is it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Eira nodded, her emerald eyes sharp. “Stay strong, Isla,” she said. “The Moon Goddess is with us.”
On the far side of the river that divided the battlefield, a lone figure emerged. Malrik stood atop a rocky cliff, his gaunt frame draped in a dark cloak. His gray eyes glinted with malice as he surveyed the battlefield, a twisted smirk curling his lips.
“Alpha Draven!” Malrik’s voice carried across the river, amplified by unnatural magic. “And my dear, sweet Isla.” His tone dripped with mockery. “Welcome to your reckoning.”
As the warriors braced themselves, Malrik gestured to his side. A figure was dragged forward—a woman, bloodied and bound, her face barely recognizable beneath the bruises.
Isla’s breath caught. “Seraphine,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
Draven’s jaw clenched as he placed a steadying hand on Isla’s arm. “Don’t,” he said, his voice low. “Don’t give him what he wants.”
Malrik’s smirk widened as he saw Isla’s reaction. “And now,” he sneered, “a little demonstration of what happens to those who defy me!”
With a flourish, he unsheathed a blade, its edge glinting cruelly in the sunlight. Without hesitation, he drove it into Seraphine’s abdomen. Her scream cut through the air, raw and haunting, before Malrik shoved her off the edge of the cliff.
“No!” Isla screamed, her knees buckling as she reached out instinctively. Draven caught her before she fell, wrapping his arms around her as she struggled.
“Let me go!” Isla cried, tears streaming down her face. “We have to save her!”
“It’s too late,” Draven said, his voice thick with restrained rage. “It’s what he wants. To draw us out.”
Malrik’s laughter echoed across the battlefield as Seraphine’s body disappeared into the churning waters below. “This is just the beginning!” he called, his tone triumphant. “Choose wisely, Isla—your surrender, or your pack’s annihilation.”
The first wave of Malrik’s army surged forward, and the battlefield erupted into chaos. Isla clung to Draven, her grief giving way to a simmering fury.
“This ends today,” she said, her voice trembling but resolute. “I’ll make him pay for what he’s done.”
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