That gruesome death earned more than silence, it bred terror. Warriors who had faced blades and fire now froze, ears pinned, breath caught.
But Kael did not hesitate.
"Now!" he roared, voice sharp as steel. "Bring him down!"
With a unified snarl, the Lycans surged forward.
The cloaked figure calmly lifted a hand, pushing the hood back. His face was pale. His lips moved, whispering a chant that coiled through the valley like smoke.
The earth shuddered.
Rot clawed its way to the surface. From beneath the soil, corpses rose, feral, twisted wolves with empty eyes and gaping maws, bones showing through mangled flesh. The stench of decay hit like a wave.
The charge faltered.
Even hardened warriors flinched, skidding to a halt as the ground birthed a nightmare.
Kael's growl deepened, low and guttural. "Hold your ground!"
Kael's eyes locked on the rising tide of dead things, then narrowed at the wizard standing untouched amidst the rot. His fur bristled, blood roaring in his ears. He opened the mind-link with a snap of will.
"Thornak. We've reached the valley. It's him. The sorcerer. He's raising the dead rogue wolves by the dozen. We need you."
Across the bond, Thornak's answer came like a growl forged in fire and fury.
"Hold the line. We're coming."
Kael didn't wait. He shut the link and bared his fangs. The valley exploded into chaos as Kael's war cry split the air. The Lycans surged forward, toward the rotting wolves clawing their way out of the earth.
These feral beasts weren't ordinary undead. They were twisted and enhanced, stronger than the average werewolf, their limbs corded with unnatural muscle, eyes gleaming with a mad, necrotic light. They moved with broken grace, faster than any corpse should, and hit with the weight of something fueled by dark sorcery.
The first wave of Lycans met them with steel and fang. Ruvan slammed into one of the ferals shoulder-first, only to be thrown back several feet by its crushing strength. He landed hard, rolled, and came back up with a snarl, launching himself again. This time, he aimed lower, tearing through tendons and severing the creature's spine.
Kael ripped into two of them. Their corrupted flesh hissed where his strikes landed. One feral caught his arm mid-swipe and tried to crush it, he drove a claw into its eye and dragged downward until the beast fell, twitching.
The Lycans didn't flinch at the ferals' strength. They adapted. Pack tactics took over, instincts honed from generations of blood and battle. Two would distract, while another went for the kill. Laseral led a wedge formation straight through a knot of undead, cleaving through the monsters with grim efficiency.
Still, it wasn't easy.
For every feral that fell, another rose. Too dead to feel pain. And too many.
But the Lycans had something more powerful than dark magic or brute force. They had fury. They had unity. And they would not stop until every last cursed thing was torn from the earth.
Half the Lycan warriors had already fallen, torn apart by beasts that refused to die properly.
Kael's rage boiled as he struck again and again, only for his enemies to keep rising. Then he saw it, one feral, lunging for Laseral, was felled by a single precise strike. The Lycan captain had pierced its chest, right beneath the collarbone, where the heart would be, only it wasn't the heart. It was a pulsing black vein, sickly and writhing like it had a life of its own.
Kael snarled. That was it.
He roared into the mind-link.
"Strike beneath the collar. There's a black vein, go for it!"
The command rippled through the remaining Lycans like wildfire. Ruvan was the first to adjust, spinning low and raking his claws through the same spot. The feral let out a gurgled howl and collapsed in seconds, unmoving.
Now the tide began to turn.
What was chaos turned into calculated fury. Every swing, every leap, every bite now had purpose. They didn't need to outmatch the ferals in strength. They just needed to outthink them, and that, they could do.
Blood ran in rivers. But now, it was the enemy's.
Thornak emerged, his massive form wreathed in shadow and fury, Jax fully unleashed. At his side ran Nymeria, towering, regal, her silver-white coat streaked with glowing rivers of moonfire. Rune-carved armor was fused to her very being, crowned with a delicate circlet that marked her Moonguard blood. She radiated ancient power, the embodiment of both grace and destruction.
At the sight of them, the wizard flinched, his spell faltering for the first time.
From every side, Lycans surged into the fray, their battle cries rising like a storm as they threw themselves into the fight.
As the last of the feral beasts crumbled to ash beneath claw and fang, a tense silence fell over the valley. The wizard had vanished, one moment a flickering shadow, the next, gone, like smoke drawn into the sky.
Then the prince appeared.
He stepped from the mouth of the cave with the elegance of someone who believed the battle already won. Nyalei walked beside him, her beauty as deadly as a blade unsheathed. Between them, shackled in glinting chains, was Queen Maravelle. A dark iron ring clung to her throat, pulsing faintly, enchanted to keep her from shifting. Though her body was bound, her eyes still burned with defiance.
Behind them, the wizard emerged once more, as if pulled from the earth itself.
And then, the Tideborn.
They came in human form, barefoot, graceful, in their human forms, impossibly beautiful. Men and women with sea-glass eyes and hair like kelp and silk, their skin kissed by starlight and tide. Some smiled faintly, as if the coming violence was a performance for their amusement. Magic shimmered at their fingertips, calm as a still sea, deceptive and deep.
Hundreds of them encircled the valley entrance, a tide of beauty masking quiet malice.
What had been a battlefield moments ago now felt like a stage, and the real war was only just beginning.
The prince's lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile as he looked out over the Lycans gathered before him, many bloodied, some limping, but all burning with the will to fight. He ran a hand through his dark hair, as if bored, as if none of this mattered.
"Well," he drawled, his voice echoing through the valley, smooth as silk and laced with poison, "look at the mighty beasts of Vargorath. So noble. So brave. So... tragically late."
He gestured lazily toward Maravelle, still bound between him and Nyalei. "You came all this way for a broken queen and a war you've already lost. Touching, really. I should thank you for saving us the trouble of hunting you down one by one."
He stepped forward slightly, his eyes glittering with cruel amusement. "Tell me, Thornak, do you still believe strength alone wins wars? Or will you finally kneel... and give me the girl?" His gaze shifted to Nymeria, lingering with admiration and dark intent.
Thornak stepped forward, the ground trembling beneath his paws. Jax's form bristled with restrained power, his eyes locked on the prince like twin storms ready to break.
"You speak too easily for a man hiding behind chains and curses," he growled, voice low and thunderous. "You think a leash on a queen and a few pretty pets make you a king?"
He moved closer, slow and unflinching, each step a promise. "We are not late. We are here. And that's all that matters."
Then, his voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "You want Nymeria?" His lips curled into a cold smile. "Come take her. But understand, what you touch, you will not live to hold."