The First Strike
The first howl split the morning like a blade, a low, mournful sound that rose into a blood-curdling crescendo. Tobias’s forces surged forward, a monstrous tide of shadow wolves and rogues crashing against Crimson Fang’s defenses. The ground shook beneath their charge, claws raking earth and tearing bark from trees as the first wave of the assault collided with the pack’s outer ranks.
Draven stood at the vanguard, his towering wolf form dark as obsidian and every muscle taut with fury. His growl rolled like distant thunder, warning and war cry combined. He leapt into the fray, claws gleaming in the blood-red dawn. His first strike slashed through a rogue’s throat, the wet spray painting the forest floor as the wolf crumpled.
Isla was at his side, her silver hair a streak of light amidst the chaos. Her blade sang as it sliced clean through a shadow wolf’s hind leg, sending the creature tumbling with a howl that echoed in rage and pain. Another shadow wolf lunged at her, its jaws snapping inches from her face. She twisted, driving her dagger upward into its chest with a sickening crunch.
Susan barked commands at the rear defensive line, her voice sharp as steel. “Hold your ground! Don’t let them close the gaps!” she shouted, slamming her axe into a rogue’s side with brutal precision. The wolf’s ribs shattered under the force of her blow, its body crumpling lifelessly at her feet.
The shadow wolves, however, were a different beast entirely. Enhanced by Seraphine’s dark magic, they moved with impossible speed, their claws cutting deep and their glowing eyes fixed on their prey. One shadow wolf leapt high into the air, aiming for Jamie, who held the line with a group of younger fighters.
“Jamie!” Isla shouted, her voice slicing through the chaos.
Jamie ducked just in time, his blade flashing upward and catching the creature across the stomach. It howled, dark blood spilling as it crumpled to the ground. Jamie turned, his breath ragged, and gave Isla a quick nod. “Still alive, thanks to you!”
Isla had no time to respond as another wolf barreled into her, knocking her to the ground. Its weight crushed her chest, its teeth snapping dangerously close to her throat. She gritted her teeth, shoving upward with all her strength, but the wolf was relentless.
Draven appeared in a blur of fury, his claws sinking into the creature’s back. With a savage growl, he yanked it off Isla and slammed it into the ground. His jaws closed around its neck, the crunch of bone deafening before he tossed the limp body aside.
“You okay?” he growled, his amber eyes blazing as he helped Isla to her feet.
“I’m fine,” she gasped, wiping blood—hers and theirs—from her cheek.
“Stay close,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
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Tobias loomed on the far edge of the battlefield, his figure wrapped in the black tendrils of dark magic. He raised his arms, his hands crackling with energy, and sent a wave of power surging through his forces. The shadow wolves grew even more feral, their strikes more precise and devastating. One tore through a wolf’s flank, leaving nothing but a broken, bleeding mass in its wake.
Susan’s defensive line began to falter. “Pull back!” she shouted, her voice hoarse. “Regroup at the second barricade!”
But Tobias’s army pressed harder, driving into their ranks. The scent of blood and fear thickened the air, making every breath burn.
Amidst the chaos, cracks began to appear in Tobias’s forces. Seraphine’s betrayal was subtle but effective. Her loyalists began to pull key units away from critical positions, leaving gaps in Tobias’s offensive lines. Confusion rippled through his army as lieutenants barked conflicting orders, their frustration growing.
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Draven’s sharp eyes caught sight of Tobias across the battlefield. His enemy stood tall, radiating power, but there was unease in his movements. Tobias’s confidence faltered as his forces stumbled, the first signs of discord spreading like wildfire.
Draven’s growl rumbled low and dangerous. “There you are,” he muttered.
Their gazes locked, and for a moment, the battlefield seemed to fall away. Tobias’s lips curled into a snarl, dark energy surging around him, but Draven’s amber eyes burned with cold, unyielding rage.
The fight would come.
But not yet.
