The throne room of Castle Ranakun trembled under the weight of silence. Moonlight speared through shattered skylights, painting the dragon-bone throne in silver and blood. Sous was already there, seated sideways on the armrest, one leg swinging, shoes tapping a lazy rhythm against carved obsidian. Korath stormed in at the head of his pack, thirty Ironfang Alphas fanning out in a crescent of fangs and fury.
He saw her lounging on his throne and roared. The sound cracked stone.
Sous smiled, slid to the floor, and charged, wasting no time, smart enough to hide and wait for the party to end that night before sending Kara off, and making her move. A delicate move it was sitting: mockingly sitting in the Alpha's throne, very bold.
Korath met her in the center like colliding storms. His opening hammer-fist split air. She ducked under it, palm snapping up into his chin, lifting him an inch off the ground. Before he landed she spun, heel scything across his temple. Blood whipped in a ribbon. He swung blind; she was already inside, elbow to ribs, knee to gut, rising uppercut that launched him backward through three of his own wolves.
PUNCH!
They recovered faster than he did. Sous became motion. She caught the first attacker's wrist, twisted, snapped radius like dry branches, used the broken arm to fling him into the next. A second wolf lunged; she sidestepped, hooked his ankle, drove her shoe into the side of his knee. Ligaments tore with a wetness.
POP!
He dropped screaming. She silenced him with a stomp that caved his skull.
Korath was back, twin axes flashing. Sous rolled forward under the first swing, came up inside his reach, fingers spearing for his eyes. He jerked away; she settled for raking nails down his cheek, peeling skin to bone. He bellowed, axe haft cracking across her spine. Pain exploded white-hot. She absorbed it, spun low, swept his legs. As he fell she snatched one axe mid-air and buried it in his shoulder to the hilt.
Blood jetted. He ripped the weapon free with a roar, swung the other axe two-handed. Sous caught the handle between her palms, twisted, kicked his wrist, his bone shattered. The axe spun away. She drove her knee into his exposed ribs once, twice, three times until something inside him gave with a sickening sound.
CRUNCH!
The pack closed in. Sous laughed and welcomed them.
She vaulted over a slashing claw, landed behind the wolf, locked his head, twisted until vertebrae burst like gunfire. Another charged; she sidestepped, tripped him, drove her heel through the back of his neck as he fell. Blood painted the marble in frantic spirals. A massive Ironfang tackled her from the side, slamming her into a pillar. Stone cracked against the impact. She jammed her thumbs into his eyes until they burst, then flipped him overhead into three more attackers.
Korath rose through the chaos, face half flayed, shoulder pouring blood, eyes promising murder. He barreled forward. Sous met him head-on. They traded blows faster than sight: fist, elbow, knee, heel. Each impact sprayed crimson. She blocked a killing uppercut on her forearm; bone cracked but held. Used the opening to slam her forehead into his already broken nose, the cartilage pulped.
He wrapped arms around her waist, lifted, crushed. She hooked both thumbs into the axe wound in his shoulder and tore wider. Muscle shredded while he howled, hurled her across the hall. She hit the throne, flipped over it, landed in a crouch on the seat.
Korath charged again and this time, Sous launched off the throne like a missile, shoulder spearing his chest, driving him backward. They crashed through the dragon-bone backrest. Splinters the length of swords exploded outward. On the ground she mounted him, fists raining down in a blur. Jaw shattered. Cheekbone caved. One eye swelled shut.
He bucked her off, surged up, seized her throat with both ruined hands. Something she let him do. Grabbed his wrists, planted her shoes on his chest, fell backward, and flipped him over her in a perfect tomoe-nage. He flew ten feet and landed on his own fallen axe. Blade punched through armor and spine.
Korath spasmed once, tried to rise, collapsed.
Silence fell, broken only by dripping blood and the wet rattle of dying wolves.
Sous stood amid the carnage, shoes slick, arms dripping red, chest heaving. She looked at the twenty-three survivors still on their feet, then at Korath crawling toward her on shattered elbows, leaving a trail of himself.
She walked forward slowly, placed one shoe on the back of his neck, and pressed down until vertebrae cracked like ice. His body went still.
Sous raised her gaze to the pack.
"Kneel."
One by one, every remaining Ironfang dropped.
She stepped over Korath's corpse, climbed the broken throne, and sat properly this time, legs crossed, blood dripping from her fingers onto dragon bone. "I am your Alpha and this day forward, I am creating a new Canas, an old one. The North is rattled. The South surrendered. East, I am your Alpha, now leaves West. Send a messenger to West," said the Alpha.