The Shift
The clearing trembled under the weight of the artifact’s unleashed power. The light from the jagged crystal illuminated the battlefield, casting harsh shadows that danced with the chaos around it. The whispers of the artifact were no longer cryptic—they were commands, a deafening chorus that shook the air.
Eryon collapsed to his knees, his body convulsing violently. His amber eyes glowed, flickering between his human form and something far more primal. Lyra knelt beside him, gripping his shoulders. “Eryon, you have to fight it!” she pleaded, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her face.
“I—I can’t,” Eryon choked out, his voice raw with pain. His claws extended, his teeth elongating as his wolf surged closer to the surface.
The knights pressed forward, their weapons gleaming in the artifact’s glow. Seraphine stood at the forefront, her magic forming a protective shield around the altar. She glanced back at Eryon, her silver eyes narrowing as she assessed the situation.
“This is what we’ve been waiting for,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Let him go, Lyra. He’s stronger than you think.”
Lyra shook her head, her hands trembling as she held onto Eryon. “No! He’s not ready—this will destroy him!”
Seraphine’s expression hardened. “He was born for this. Trust him.”
A deep, guttural growl erupted from Eryon’s chest, silencing the battlefield for a brief moment. The knights hesitated, their steps faltering as the sound reverberated through the clearing.
Misery, standing at the edge of the battle, lowered her blade slightly. Her crimson eyes widened as she watched Eryon’s transformation unfold. “Well,” she muttered, her voice tinged with awe. “That’s something you don’t see every day.”
Eryon’s body contorted, his muscles rippling as his form shifted. His bones cracked and reformed, his human frame giving way to something massive and powerful. His fur, dark as night, glistened in the artifact’s light.
When he rose to his full height, the wolf towered over the battlefield, his glowing amber eyes locking onto the knights with a feral intensity.
The artifact pulsed violently, its whispers blending with the low growl that rumbled from Eryon’s chest. Lyra stumbled back, her heart pounding as she stared up at her brother’s transformed figure.
“Eryon,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
The massive wolf lunged, his movements a blur as he tore through the knights’ ranks. His claws slashed through armor, his fangs gleaming as he dismantled the King’s forces with brutal efficiency.
The knights scattered, their discipline unraveling in the face of Eryon’s ferocity. Even Seraphine paused, a flicker of pride crossing her face as she watched him fight.
Lyra clutched the artifact, its energy coursing through her as she struggled to regain control. “Eryon, stop!” she shouted, but her voice was lost in the chaos.
Eryon’s wolf turned toward the altar, his gaze locking onto the artifact. The glow from the crystal seemed to intensify as it resonated with his energy, feeding off his transformation.
The sound of heavy footsteps cut through the din, and the clearing grew deathly silent. The King stepped forward, his presence suffocating. His crimson eyes burned with fury, and his blade gleamed in the blood-soaked light.
