The forest grew darker the deeper Ernest walked.
The air here was heavier, damp with the musk of predators. The trees towered like pillars of a cathedral, their trunks scarred with deep claw marks. Bones littered the ground—shattered skulls, snapped ribs, gnawed femurs bleached pale in the moonlight.
Each step sank into soil rich with the stink of blood. Even the insects were silent here.
Ernest's small frame moved silently between the trees, his pale face faintly illuminated by moonlight. His clothes still bore stains from the goblin massacre, and though his body was tired, his eyes were alight with cold determination.
He had not returned to the estate. He had not rested.
The gods had looked at him once already. He could still feel that weight pressing into his soul, the suffocating terror of a divine gaze. But instead of fear, it had left him hungry.
Hungry for more.
If the gods can see me, then I must grow stronger before they see me again. Stronger, sharper, until I can command them.
The wolves had been nothing. The goblins, a useful experiment. But now he needed more. Something bigger. Something that would push his Voice to its limits.
That was when he heard it.
A low growl, deep and rumbling, like thunder rolling across the earth.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled. His body, still that of a child, screamed at him to flee. But Ernest only smiled faintly, cold and sharp.
"This is it."
The growl came again, closer this time. The underbrush trembled. Then, from between the trees, two eyes opened—burning red, gleaming with malice.
The Direwolf emerged.
It was massive, towering above him, its shoulders higher than his head even at four years old. Black fur bristled like a mane of knives. Its fangs, long and jagged, gleamed wet in the moonlight. Scars crisscrossed its body—this was no mindless beast, but a predator that had killed and survived for years.
Its gaze locked onto him.
Ernest's breath hitched—not from fear, but from exhilaration. His heart pounded with savage joy.
Yes. This is the crucible I sought.
The Direwolf snarled, saliva dripping from its fangs, then lunged.
"Kneel."
The Voice cracked through the night like a whip, heavy with mana.
The Direwolf's body trembled mid-leap, muscles locking for a heartbeat. Its claws gouged furrows into the soil as it fought the command.
Then, with a deafening roar, it broke free.
It hit the ground running, eyes blazing, and lunged again.
Ernest twisted aside. The wolf's massive paw swiped through the space where his head had been a second earlier, smashing into a tree trunk. The wood cracked and splintered, half the trunk collapsing under the sheer force.
Ernest's small body stumbled, his sleeve tearing as branches clawed his skin. His chest burned from the near miss.
Too strong. Too much will.
The wolves had crumpled instantly. The goblins had resisted, but their minds fractured. This beast—its will was iron, honed by survival. His crude, blunt commands were not enough.
The Direwolf growled, circling him, muscles bunching beneath its scarred hide.
Ernest steadied his breathing, eyes sharp. If brute force won't work, then I'll cut deeper.
"Stop."
The wolf's charge faltered for a heartbeat before it forced itself forward, snarling. Ernest's lips curled faintly.
"Blind yourself."
The Voice surged, threading into the beast's instincts. Its eyes flickered, bloodshot. It snarled, shaking its head violently, claws raking across its own face. Thin lines of blood streaked down its snout.
Good. Progress.
The Direwolf howled, maddened by pain, and lunged again. Ernest dove aside, rolling across the dirt, his small body screaming in protest. He staggered to his feet, panting, eyes gleaming with cold fury.
"Feed."
The wolf froze, jaws snapping at the empty air. Its hunger flared unnaturally, instincts clawing to obey.
Ernest's voice sharpened, merciless.
"Feed on yourself."
The beast convulsed. Its massive jaws twisted downward, teeth sinking into its own foreleg. Flesh tore. Blood gushed, dark and hot. The Direwolf shrieked in rage and agony, thrashing violently, but its own instincts betrayed it, forcing its fangs deeper.
Ernest's lips curved in a thin smile, his pale face smeared with dirt and blood.
"Yes… that's it. Obey."
The Direwolf staggered, blood soaking the soil. Its leg hung mangled, but its hatred blazed hotter than ever. It howled, shaking the trees, and charged once more, desperation lending it strength.
Ernest stood his ground. His body trembled, exhausted, but his eyes never wavered.
"Bite your tongue."
The wolf's jaws snapped shut. A wet crunch filled the air. Blood poured from its mouth, staining its fangs crimson. Its howl became a gurgle, choked and wet.
It stumbled, eyes blazing with fury, saliva and blood spraying as it staggered closer.
Ernest's chest rose and fell sharply. His body screamed for rest, his head pounding from the strain. But his voice was cold, steady.
"Die."
Mana surged like a tidal wave, pouring from him into the word.
The Direwolf froze mid-lunge. Its body convulsed violently, eyes rolling back, muscles locking. Then, with a final shudder, it collapsed heavily into the dirt.
The ground shook as it fell. Silence consumed the forest once more.
Ernest stood over the corpse, his small body trembling, drenched in sweat. His chest heaved, blood dripped from his cut arm, but his eyes gleamed with merciless triumph.
The Direwolf's blood pooled at his feet. Its massive body lay still, its once-burning eyes dimmed forever.
Ernest exhaled slowly, steadying his breath. His lips curved into a smile—cold, sharp, satisfied.
I won.
But victory was not enough. He had learned.
Commands against strong wills were wasteful. His Voice alone could not shatter a predator like this. But when he dissected its instincts—hunger, pain, fear—he could twist them into weapons.
That was the key.
Not brute force, but precision. Not domination, but dissection.
He crouched beside the wolf's corpse, his small fingers brushing its blood-matted fur. His voice was soft, almost reverent.
"This is how I'll break them," he whispered. "Not with strength. With precision. Piece by piece, until even gods have nothing left but obedience."
The forest was silent but for his breathing. Then, faintly, the distant sound of armored boots.
Ernest's eyes flicked toward the direction of the estate. Lantern light glimmered faintly between the trees.
A patrol. Knights of House Aldery, sweeping the forest edge.
His bloodied hands curled into fists. If they found him here, standing over a Direwolf's corpse, questions would be asked. His secrets could unravel.
He melted into the shadows, his small body slipping between the trees as the knights drew nearer.
Ernest is crouched in the darkness, blood-soaked and breathless, watching armored men pass within arm's reach.
If they turned their heads, if they looked too closely, if they saw the blood dripping from his hands…
Everything would collapse.