Chapter 29:
The Werewolf Realm
White Moon Pack
"Alpha Draven, something very strange has occurred in the Red Moon Pack,"
A warrior reported, urgency etched into every word.
"Creatures—monsters from an unknown source—attacked their northern border. Many warriors were slaughtered. They only managed to save the pack members because the creatures didn't enter the residential area. According to survivors… these things were fast, ruthless, emotionless… deadly. The situation is critical."
Alpha Draven's face darkened. The weight of his role pressed on his shoulders like an iron chain. "This is indeed serious. Send word immediately. Strengthen the guards on every wall. Our warriors must protect—"
Before he could finish, another subordinate burst in, sweat and panic dripping from his brow.
"Alpha! Urgent message!"
"Speak," Draven commanded, voice calm yet cutting like steel.
The warrior bowed, trembling. "The Silver Crest Pack… they've been attacked as well. Their Alpha heir… he's dead."
Draven froze, disbelief striking him like a thunderbolt. "What? Axel? Axel is dead? But… he's one of the strongest heirs in the region! How could he fall so easily?"
"No one knows, Alpha," the warrior admitted, voice quivering. "But… we fear the creatures might be heading for us next."
Draven opened his mouth to issue a command when a mind-link suddenly sliced through the air, crackling with panic and static.
"Alpha! We're under attack!" his beta's voice screamed through the bond. "It's those same dark-winged creatures! They're fast—too fast—I don't—"
Draven's voice thundered, cutting through the chaos. "Gather the old, the young, every woman and child. Take everyone underground. DO NOT allow those monsters near them!"
"Yes, Alpha! I'll get as many as I can!" The link went dead.
But the Beta of the White Moon Pack could not save everyone.
Children were dragged screaming into hiding; mothers cried out as they were torn from their young; elders fought valiantly, but the creatures were relentless. One elderly wolf shielded two pups, only to be ripped apart without mercy. Another child clung to the Beta's leg as the monsters shrieked and lunged, claws slicing through the earth like sharpened steel.
The Beta fought with all his strength, his blades a blur of motion, his body drenched in blood and sweat. "Get the hell away from them you creepy monster!" he roared, placing himself between the hidden survivors and the approaching monstrosities.
The creature stopped, tilting its head. A horrifying, mocking smile curled across its face.
"The creepy monster that's about to kill you," it said, voice smooth, cold, and calm.
The Beta froze. They could speak.
Still, he refused to falter. If he fell, everyone behind him would die.
---
On the main battlefield, Alpha Draven fought with the skill and ferocity of a born leader. Unlike most warriors, he managed to wound one of the creatures—but their regenerative powers were nightmarish. Flesh he burned sealed instantly; bones he cracked snapped back as if untouched. Every strike he landed seemed to vanish before his eyes.
Then he felt it. A presence older than the mountains themselves, heavier than the weight of the world.
Time slowed. The wind stilled. Even the earth beneath his paws seemed to pause.
Every werewolf stiffened instinctively, sensing what no one could name. This was an Alpha—but not of wolves. Something far older, far worse, had arrived.
The figure walked toward Draven with silent grace, each step exuding authority and silent menace. His eyes were crimson, like molten blood, burning with intent. The creatures scattered, instinctively bowing to this new power.
Draven's heart froze.
"You… you killed Axel," he breathed, fury and desperation mixing into a potent storm. "Why? He was innocent!"
The ancient being made no sound. No words. Only action.
In a blur, it attacked. Swift, precise, unstoppable. Draven blocked, dodged, and struck, barely keeping pace. But the creatures Draven had faced before moved like mortal soldiers; this… this was something beyond comprehension.
One second was all it needed. One second of distraction.
Draven slipped in the blood-soaked dirt. The being's hand landed on his face, a chant slipping from its lips in a language that burned the air itself. Then it leaned close and whispered something in his ear.
Draven's eyes widened in horror.
Then—
BOOM.
His body exploded in a shockwave that tore through the battlefield. Wolves and creatures alike were hurled back. Silence fell, heavy and suffocating, a silence so loud it screamed in the ears of every survivor.
The battlefield froze. Not a creature stirred. Not a warrior breathed.
And then—the truth sank in with terrifying finality: the Alpha's link was gone. Dead. Completely.
The remaining creatures turned away, indifferent. Their task completed, they melted into the shadows as suddenly as they had appeared.
---
The wails began.
Crying mothers, warriors, and pups shook the ground with grief. The Alpha bond snapped violently in the hearts of every werewolf connected to it. Panic spread like wildfire.
Word of the tragedy traveled fast. Within hours, the White Moon Pack was in chaos. Messengers fled the battlefield, delivering the grim news across the werewolf realm:
An Alpha killed.
A pack destroyed.
Another warning delivered.
The creatures did not stop. They would return. And when they did… the realm might not survive.
---
Pierre, Beta of the White Moon Pack, staggered through the carnage. His claws were bloody, his armor torn, but his mind was clear—just barely. He had saved what he could. Children trembled at his side, mothers clutched their young, and elders leaned on him, too weak to stand.
"This… this cannot be happening," Pierre, whispered, voice trembling. The air still vibrated with the echoes of Draven's death, and the sight of the battlefield made his stomach turn.
"Alpha !" Pierre's voice broke through the chaos. The bond hummed faintly, a lifeline in the madness.
"We need to regroup. Now."
Pierre guide the survivors toward the hidden tunnels beneath the pack territory. Every shadow seemed to twitch, every sound a possible attack. Fear clawed at them, but Pierre kept his focus razor-sharp.
Even as they reached relative safety, Pierre could feel the heavy weight of despair pressing down. The ancient being's presence lingered in his mind, its eyes burning into his soul, a promise of horrors yet to come.
"We… we'll survive," Levi murmured to himself, gripping his sword. "We have to survive. For Alpha Draven. For the pack."
But deep down, he knew it was only the beginning. The White Moon Pack had entered its darkest era, and nothing would ever be the same again.