The night bled into silence after the wolf's ashes scattered across the barren ground. The prince lay sprawled upon the earth, his chest heaving, his body a battlefield of clashing powers.
Every nerve screamed. His veins burned as though molten metal flowed through them, while his bones creaked with an alien pressure that sought to break them apart and rebuild them into something unrecognizable.
And above all—his horns. Those jagged, half-formed protrusions throbbed with a life of their own, pushing, twisting, clawing against his skull. The sound was unbearable: a wet, cracking grind echoing inside his head.
He dug his claws into the soil, trying to hold himself down, trying not to rip his own head apart.
Kill. Devour. Rule.
The wolf's essence snarled inside him, refusing to be silenced.
Then came the Codex—its voice smooth as oil, cruel as ever:
"Balance unstable. Fusion incomplete. Accept the beast fully, or be torn asunder."
"Shut up!" he roared, voice cracking, black fire spilling from his throat.
His scream sent Lira stumbling back, her eyes wide with terror. For a moment, she saw not a prince, not even a man—just a silhouette in the dark, writhing and crowned with horns, his shadow split between man and beast.
But she did not run.
She dropped to her knees beside him, hands hovering, trembling but determined. "Prince! You'll tear yourself apart—stop fighting it like this!"
Her words only made him snarl, fangs bared, breath coming in growls. His vision blurred, split between two realities: one where she was a girl with desperate eyes, another where she was prey, soft and fragile, her heartbeat so loud it drowned the night.
His claws twitched toward her throat.
"No!" He slammed his hands into the ground instead, carving deep gouges into the dirt. His chest heaved, sweat and blood soaking his torn clothes. "I won't… I won't let it…!"
The Codex's voice cut through, merciless:
"Every fusion carries a price. Each bloodline you claim tips the balance. Too much—and you will not remain."
His eyes flickered, crimson burning brighter than before. His voice was barely human when he growled back:
"Then I'll master it. I won't be your puppet. I won't be its beast!"
The Codex only laughed, a sound like grinding chains.
---
Minutes crawled by. Lira pressed a rag torn from her dress against his bleeding chest, though the wounds stitched themselves shut as she watched. His body was healing—too fast, unnaturally fast—yet every regeneration brought a new crack in his sanity.
At times he muttered nonsense, growling in voices not his own. At times he whispered his siblings' names, curses sharp as blades. And sometimes—worst of all—he simply stared at her with a hunger that was not his.
Still, she did not leave.
When his horns split further, she held his head steady against her chest despite the heat scorching her arms. When his claws scratched the ground dangerously close to her legs, she whispered fiercely, "You are not a beast. You are the prince. Remember that. Remember yourself."
Her words wove through the storm like thin but unbreakable threads.
And slowly, slowly, the frenzy dulled. The black fire receded. His claws retracted, leaving only bloody fingertips.
Finally, with a shuddering breath, he collapsed into her arms, unconscious but alive.
When dawn came, the world seemed quieter, though unease lingered in every shadow. The prince stirred, his body stiff, his mind raw. He opened his eyes—and saw her.
Lira sat beside him, pale from exhaustion, but awake. She had not slept. When she noticed him, her lips pressed into a thin, relieved smile.
"You came back," she whispered.
His throat was dry. His voice cracked as he asked, "Back… from what?"
Her eyes flicked to his horns. The jagged growths caught the morning light, stark against his pale skin. "From becoming something you're not."
He touched them, wincing as pain lanced through his skull. They were real. Permanent. The beast's mark on him.
The Codex stirred again, whispering with mocking satisfaction:
"You resisted—for now. But each fusion drags you closer. Too much hunger, and nothing human will remain."
His hand curled into a fist. He wanted to scream, to rip the thing out of his soul—but he couldn't. The Codex was him. The wolf was him. He was no longer just a prince.
He was something else. Something in-between.
And the most terrifying thought was this: some part of him liked it. The strength. The hunger. The thrill of survival against all odds.
He rose, unsteady but resolute. His shadow stretched before him—longer now, twisted with subtle shapes not his own.
"I won't let you take me," he said to the Codex, voice cold. "I'll master you. I'll master this hunger. Even if it kills me."
The Codex chuckled, as if amused by his defiance.
"Then prepare, little prince. For the price has only begun."
Lira rose beside him, dusting ash and dirt from her clothes. She glanced toward the horizon, where smoke coiled faintly into the morning sky.
Her expression darkened. "Prince… look."
He followed her gaze. Beyond the barren ridges, a smear of fire and banners marked the distance. An army camp.
His stomach clenched. He had no strength to face an army—not yet. But fate had never granted him time to breathe.
The Codex pulsed in his veins, hungry.
"Another feast approaches."
The prince clenched his fists, the echo of the wolf's howl still burning in his blood.
"Then let them come."
The distant drums of war thudded faintly across the wasteland. Smoke rose higher. And with every step toward it, the horns upon his head ached—reminders of the price he could never escape.
The drums grew louder. Slow, steady, merciless.
Each beat seemed to crawl into his veins, syncing with the pulse of the Codex. His horns throbbed, his blood roared. For a terrifying heartbeat, he thought his body might simply give in—collapse into ash, or worse, sprout into some twisted beast that even Lira would recoil from.
He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the phantom echo of the wolf's heartbeat thudding against his own. Two rhythms, out of sync, wrestling for dominance.
"Prince…" Lira's voice was soft, but it snapped him back from the abyss.
She stood at his side, one hand hovering near his arm but not quite touching—as though afraid her touch would push him over the edge, and yet unwilling to withdraw completely. Her eyes were rimmed with sleeplessness, but they held something he had not seen directed at him in years. Not fear. Not disgust. Not pity.
Conviction.
"You fought it," she whispered. "You fought it—and you're still you."
The words landed like daggers. He wanted to believe them, but doubt chewed through him like acid. Still me? His claws hadn't retracted fully, his horns burned with every twitch of his thoughts, and his shadow… it stretched wrong, twitching as though alive.
"Still me…" he murmured, tasting the lie.
The Codex stirred, amused:
> "Identity is a chain you cling to. Break it. Let the beast define you. You are stronger this way."
He snarled under his breath, forcing the whisper back. But its hunger bled into him, turning the drums in the distance into a promise instead of a threat. An army camp meant bodies. Bodies meant souls. Souls meant strength.
He hated how his blood heated at the thought.
The climb toward the ridges was grueling. His muscles screamed, every step dragging the weight of two natures gnawing at each other. Lira trailed close, her hand occasionally steadying him when his knees buckled.
Once, he stumbled so hard he fell against her. For a brief, startling moment, he felt her heartbeat hammering against his chest, fragile but unyielding. He pushed himself away, muttering a curse, but she didn't flinch.
"You don't have to fight this alone," she said, eyes fierce despite her exhaustion.
His throat tightened. He wanted to tell her she was wrong, that of course he was alone—that everyone who had ever walked beside him had either mocked him, abandoned him, or tried to kill him. But the words refused to form.
Because she was still here.
Even after seeing his fangs, his horns, the hunger in his eyes—she was still here.
The thought unsettled him more than the Codex's whispers.
By nightfall, they reached a ridge overlooking the plains. Below stretched the army camp—hundreds of tents, bonfires flickering, banners torn by the wind. Soldiers drank, laughed, sharpened their blades.
The smell of cooked meat drifted up, mingling with sweat, steel, and blood. The Codex purred at the scent, its runes flaring beneath his skin.
"Essence density: high. Estimated yield… significant."
His body trembled with the urge to leap down, to tear through them, to feed until the gnawing hunger inside him was drowned. His claws extended without command, scraping stone.
Lira noticed. Her hand darted to his wrist, gripping it with surprising strength. "Don't."
He turned his head slowly. Her eyes met his—no fear, only defiance.
"You'll lose yourself if you give in now," she said. "You told me you'd master it. Prove it."
His jaw clenched. For a moment, he considered snapping at her, ripping his arm free. But her words struck deeper than any blade. Master it. That had been his vow. If he surrendered now, he'd be nothing but a beast wrapped in princely rags.
He exhaled slowly, retracting his claws. The Codex hissed its displeasure, but he forced it down, locking the hunger behind layers of sheer will.
For now.
As the night deepened, they found a hollow in the ridge where shadows cloaked them. Lira collapsed first, exhaustion overtaking her, but not before making sure he lay down too.
He didn't sleep. Couldn't. The Codex kept whispering, and every flicker of the campfires below was a reminder of the feast denied.
But as he sat there, horns aching, claws itching, he glanced at Lira's sleeping face. Dirt smeared her cheek. Her clothes were torn. Yet she slept leaning toward him, as though even in dreams she trusted he would not let the darkness consume her.
He almost laughed. A bitter, broken sound that never left his throat. Trust. In him.
He closed his eyes, muttering to the night, to the Codex, to himself:
"I'll pay the price. But on my terms. Not yours."
The Codex only chuckled in the depths of his mind.
> "We shall see, little prince. We shall see."
- Cliffhanger
At dawn, the first horns of the army blared. Soldiers gathered, armor clattering. A warlord stepped from the largest tent, his voice carrying across the plains.
The prince's eyes narrowed. His blood surged, his horns burned, and the Codex whispered like a lover at his ear:
"Devour him… and the outcasts will kneel."
He knew then—his next step was inevitable.