> "When monsters fear you, they stop fighting fair."
---
Midnight.
The Frozen Grove was silent—until a whistle cut the air.
Not a bird. Not the wind.
A blade.
A head.
A scream.
Blood sprayed against the snow like paint across a canvas.
One by one, the outposts of the Forgotten Fang fell—swift, silent, brutal. By dawn, five warriors were dead. Three more missing.
And a message was left behind:
> Come home, Hollow Moon.
Or I'll hollow you out myself.
– The Devil Alpha
---
Selene stood over one of the bodies.
A teenager. Maybe sixteen. Throat torn out.
She clenched her fists.
Frost crackled across her arms. The Ghostfire inside her burned.
"How did they get in?" she asked coldly.
The Alpha's jaw tightened. "They knew our patrol patterns. Which means... someone talked."
Selene's heart twisted.
A traitor?
Even here?
Her trust was thinning fast. Her rage, however, was sharpening like a blade.
---
Later that night, a war council gathered beneath the Silverfang Tree.
Old warriors. New recruits. Bloodied scouts.
Selene stood in the center, now wearing a cloak of ice-woven wolfskin—gifted from the Ghost Tomb.
The Alpha addressed them all:
> "We've woken a ghost. The Devil Alpha is bleeding us out—one howl at a time. But he made a mistake. He spilled blood in her name."
All eyes turned to Selene.
She stepped forward.
"I'm not a weapon," she said. "I'm the wound that never healed. You want vengeance? Then stop defending. Start hunting."
---
Plans shifted.
The council approved her strategy:
Fake patrols.
Flame traps rigged with silver-tipped stakes.
A small strike team to ambush the Devil Alpha's nearest den.
Selene would lead it.
And not just with warriors—
But with two survivors.
> One: A mute wolf who communicated only with carvings—he once escaped the Devil Alpha's torture den.
Two: A half-human alchemist girl with fire bombs and a foul mouth who hated everyone equally.
They made a strange trio.
But the Devil wasn't ready for strange.
He was ready for predictable.
He wouldn't be ready for Selene.
---
That night, they moved.
Fast. Quiet. Sharp.
The den was hidden in the rotted belly of a fallen temple—half-submerged in swamp water, covered in vines and bones.
Selene signaled for silence.
The mute pointed to the roof.
Two guards. Armed.
The alchemist grinned and handed Selene a vial. "Break it near his lungs. He'll cough blood before he can scream."
Selene nodded.
Then pounced.
---
One guard fell with a thud, throat crushed.
The other inhaled the alchemist's powder—
—and started choking violently, bleeding from his eyes.
No screams.
No alarm.
Inside they crept.
And then they found it.
---
A room of chains.
Children. Chained to the walls. Weak. Starving. All with one thing in common—
Their eyes.
They shimmered with faint silver.
Selene's stomach turned.
"These… are Hollow Moon," she whispered.
Bred in secret. Caged. Hidden.
The Devil was breeding a twisted version of her bloodline.
She freed them—every chain, every lock.
And left a message behind—
Not carved.
Not written.
But burned into the wall with her claws:
> THE MOON RISES FOR US.
S.
---
Outside, the Devil Alpha watched from a cliff.
He smiled.
"She's finally dancing."
Then he turned to his war priest.
"Let's raise the tempo."