The fires of Tern Hollow still smoked even days after the battle. What was once a borderland village had become a monument of fury, loss, and rising hatred. While both sides counted the dead, new orders spread like wildfire.
The Beast King stood before his war council. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice hoarse.
"I will not sit and wait. Let the humans come with their Light and their gods—my people will meet them with claw and steel."
Around him, his generals thumped their fists against their chests.
"Prepare the second legion," he ordered. "And send the Iron Fangs. I want retaliation in three days."
The elder beside him hesitated. "Your Majesty, our scouts have reported that the Holy Empire is reinforcing every major border. And... the Holy Church has summoned the Inquisitors."
That word made even seasoned generals fall silent.
The Inquisitors—not knights, not priests, but monsters in holy flesh. Loyal only to the Pope. Agents who carried no names, only titles: Blade of Judgement, Eye of the Truth, Voice of the Flame.
"They've been dormant for twenty years," another general muttered. "If they move again... then this isn't just a border war anymore."
The Beast King gritted his teeth. "Let them come. I've bled enough to know fear is a luxury." He turned toward the window, his voice low. "But if this war drags the entire world in... then we must be ready for all kinds of devils."
Far away, deep in the stone corridors beneath a mountain, Ivan sat on a ledge overlooking the mist-filled valley. Kahl and Reeva stood behind him, silent as ever.
"They've begun summoning the Inquisitors," Reeva whispered.
Ivan didn't turn. "I know. I heard it two nights ago in the capital before we left."
"And still we left?" Kahl asked.
Ivan's tone didn't change. "Of course. If I stayed longer, I might've been the next sinner they burned."
He flipped a small coin between his fingers, his eyes scanning the valley. From here, they could see two Holy fortresses on one side, and a Beastfolk watchtower on the other. Each one brimming with troops.
The world was coiling tighter.
In the Holy City, the Pope stood atop the Divine Balcony. Below, thousands of white-robed followers prayed in unison. The sound echoed like thunder.
Beside him knelt six figures, cloaked in pale, emotionless masks. The Inquisitors.
"You are no longer bound by protocol," the Pope said, voice echoing with power. "You are now the flames that will purge the Beastkin and all who dare defy our light."
A tall figure among them, known only as The Voice, nodded once. "It will be done."
The Pope turned toward the people below. "Let the world know—those who harbor beasts, necromancers, and demons will burn. This is no longer war. This is cleansing."
Meanwhile, in a quiet village close to the Beast Kingdom, a squad of Church knights arrived without warning. They dragged villagers out of their homes—beastkin half-bloods, suspected spies, even children.
The head knight raised a holy blade. "By order of His Holiness, all impure blood is to be removed."
Before the villagers could scream, they were cut down. Their houses were set ablaze. A woman's cries echoed long into the night.
One boy escaped.
He ran barefoot through the forest, bleeding, eyes wide with terror. He never looked back.
Hours later, Ivan found him.
The boy collapsed near their camp, half-dead, whispering what had happened.
Ivan looked down at him, expression unreadable.
"So, it begins," he muttered.
He gave the boy a water flask and gently closed his eyes.
"Rest now. The world's is gonna find you and try to kill you. But I won't
The Holy Empire mobilized.
War banners flew from city walls. Entire legions marched, clergy blessed weapons, blacksmiths burned with work day and night. The Light was no longer passive—it was wrath incarnate.
And the Beastfolk responded in kind.
Massive warbeasts were summoned from the deep forests. Ancient rituals were revived. Even those who had lived in seclusion—elders, shamans, lone warriors—answered the call.
The Second Beast Legion marched from the northern gate, over five thousand strong.
Among them walked a warrior unlike the rest.
She was tall, cloaked in red, her arms bound in ceremonial chains. A mask shaped like a fox hid her face.
"Who is she?" a young warrior whispered.
"The Witch of Claws," an older one answered. "They say she once fought an entire Holy battalion alone... and none survived."
The Witch said nothing. She just walked. Silently. Like death on two legs.