The werewolf lunged, jaws snapping for Jack's throat, but the tigerkin sidestepped and drove a knee into its gut, following with an upward slash that narrowly missed taking its head. For the first time, the gray fiend bared its teeth not in amusement—but in rage.
Jack wiped blood from the corner of his mouth and raised his sword again. "Round two."
Jack charged, closing the gap in a blur of striped fur and steel. The werewolf met him head-on, their collision echoing like a thunderclap. The impact cracked the cobblestones beneath their feet.
They became a storm—slashing, clawing, dodging, countering. Jack's sword cut deep across the werewolf's thigh; the beast answered with a claw rake that tore through his armor and left bloody furrows across his ribs. Neither gave ground.
Jack's roar split the air as he feinted left, then spun into a sweeping strike that sliced through the werewolf's side. Blood sprayed, hot and steaming, splattering Jack's face. The beast staggered, snarling in fury.
"You bleed just like the rest," Jack growled.
But the werewolf's eyes glowed brighter, demonic fire swirling in their depths. "And you break… just like the rest."
The monster came alive, its speed doubling. Claws flashed in a dizzying flurry—Jack blocked three, dodged two, but the sixth tore into his shoulder, spinning him around. Before he could recover, the werewolf slammed into him with the force of a battering ram, sending him crashing into a wall hard enough to spiderweb the stone.
Jack coughed blood, but his grip never left his sword. As the beast advanced, he exploded forward again, driving his blade up under the werewolf's ribs. The howl that followed was deafening, and for a heartbeat, Jack thought he'd done it.
Then the werewolf's massive hand clamped around his arm. Bones cracked under the pressure. Jack roared in pain as his sword slipped from his grasp.
The beast's other claw hammered into his chest, lifting him clean off the ground. In a blur, Jack was slammed down onto the cobblestones, the impact shattering them beneath him. His breath left in a gasp, his vision swimming.
The werewolf loomed over him, blood still dripping from its wounds but its strength undiminished—demonic power radiating like heat from a forge. "You fought well, tiger," it said, voice low and almost respectful. "…but this is my hunt."
With one final, brutal blow, the beast sent Jack sprawling into unconsciousness, his body limp but still breathing. The fight was over.
The gray werewolf looked up just in time to see the black werewolf tear the last of the platoon apart—its jaws clamping down on the soldier's neck before ripping his head clean off.
Beyond the square, the gates finally gave way. The remaining minotaurs and the rest of the orc warband surged through, cutting down the final defenders. The last guard fell, his body cleaved in two, and the two werewolves—including the one who had fought Jack—dragged the battered corpses of the commanders toward the village center.
There, a shadow loomed.
Voralth stepped into view, towering over the blood-slick stones. His eyes swept over the broken, bloodied body of Jack with a look of utter contempt. Without a word, he knelt, seized Jack by the hair, and lifted his head. With a mocking gentleness, he tapped the tigerkin's cheek.
Jack stirred with a groan, his breath ragged and shallow from punctured lungs. "Ahhh…"
Voralth's lips twisted into a crazed smirk. "Rejoice," he said, his voice a dark purr. "For your blood shall be one of the first to herald my lord's descent into this world."
Before Jack could respond, Voralth's claw flashed—a blur of motion—and opened his throat with a single, effortless swipe.
Blood gushed from Jack's neck, mixing with that of the fallen commander and the countless villagers strewn across the square. Voralth extended his hands, weaving demonic energy that shaped the streams of crimson into intricate patterns on the ground. Slowly, the blood pooled into a glowing sigil, its edges pulsing with malevolent light.
"Go," Voralth commanded, his gaze sweeping across the assembled demons. "Spill more blood."
Far away, in a quiet home untouched by the chaos, the sound of a door bursting open shattered the silence.
Bang!
Miral stormed into her children's room, fear and urgency written across her face. She yanked the blanket away with trembling hands,revealing her two children curled up beneath it—still drowsy, confusion flickering in their eyes.
"Up—now!" she hissed, her voice breaking. "We don't have time!"
From outside came the sounds of slaughter—distant screams, the clash of steel, the guttural roars of beasts. The faint, coppery scent of blood seeped in through the wooden walls, riding on the cold night air.
Kaelen clung to her arm. "Mama, what's—"
A thunderous crash cut him off as something massive slammed into the house, rattling the walls and sending dust falling from the rafters. The children froze, eyes wide, as another roar tore through the night—closer this time, deep and inhuman.
Miral's heart hammered in her chest. She grabbed their small hands, pulling them toward the back door. "No matter what you hear, you run," she whispered urgently, glancing toward the front where heavy, clawed footsteps crunched across the street.
Through the narrow gap in the shutters, she caught a glimpse of the village square—red light pulsing from a strange sigil drawn in blood. And there, standing over it, was Voralth…
His gaze shifted.
Right toward her house.