The Alpha's Fury
The Ironfang Hollow trembled with rage.
News of the bridge's destruction spread like wildfire through the den, carried on snarls and smoke. The blood supply lines were gone. The flow of Darnholm steel, arcane relics, and food reserves severed in one calculated strike.
To Warrick Bloodfang, it wasn't just sabotage.
It was humiliation.
The monstrous Alpha stood before his inner war circle, claws dug into the granite floor, grinding the stone beneath him. His chest heaved with restrained fury, breath steaming like a furnace.
"They dare touch my bridge?" he growled.
"My valley?"
Commander Sarl knelt before him, bloodied from the punishment already delivered. "The Moonborn's Alpha… Alaric… he leads them personally now. This wasn't a raid. It was a declaration."
Warrick stepped forward—towering, feral, veins bulging.
"He wants war? Then let the world drown in it."
He slammed his fist into the stone table, shattering it into jagged shards.
Then his tone changed—from rage to control, from predator to tactician.
"We respond not with anger… but with terror. They struck our body. We strike their soul."
He turned to his seers—twisted remnants of what were once druids, now corrupted by blood magic and Ironfang rituals.
"Begin the Rite of Shadowbinding."
Gasps. Even Sarl looked uneasy.
"That rite hasn't been—"
"I know what it does," Warrick snapped. "I know what it costs. I want a fear-tide unleashed. Let the Moonborn see their own fallen warriors rise under my command."
He looked around the room, eyes wild, half-maddened by power.
"We're done reacting. We hunt. We burn. We turn."
---
Moments Later – Barracks Below
Thorne watched the chaos unfold, hidden beneath a veil of silence. The news of the bridge's collapse had shaken the rank-and-file. Not just because of the loss—but because the Moonborn had outmaneuvered them. Ironfang warriors weren't used to being beaten.
And now… they whispered about Warrick's madness.
"He means to summon the Shadebound," one grizzled wolf said, tail flicking nervously. "The last time those rites were used, the dead walked backward and the rivers turned to ash."
"Better than starving," another said. "Better than looking weak."
Thorne turned away. He had to get a message out—to Alaric. This wasn't just war. It was becoming something else.
---
Elsewhere – Ritual Chamber
The seers had begun the circle.
Six captured Moonborn corpses were laid out—each bound in thorns and etched with sigils burned into their flesh. Candles flickered unnaturally. One of the corpses twitched.
Warrick watched with a hunger that was not just animal—it was godlike.
Behind him, Sarl whispered, "They'll come for your head if this fails."
Warrick chuckled. "Then let them come. I'll feed it to them when I'm done."
---
Final Scene – Darnholm Court
Far to the south, word of the bridge's fall reached the Darnholm throne. A senator paled as the map shifted.
"They've severed the northern reach."
Another noble stood. "Warrick will retaliate. He must. Shall we pull our support?"
The Queen-Regent narrowed her eyes.
"No," she said coldly. "Let the beast bleed the rebels. And when they've both torn each other open…"
She smiled faintly.
"…we'll decide who rules the ashes."