Chapter 46
The Werewolf Realm
The war loomed closer with every passing hour.
Across the Werewolf Realm, the tension could be felt in the air—heavy, suffocating, unmistakable. Every race, every pack, every warrior was preparing for Roosevelt's next move. No one knew when he would strike. No one knew how.
But everyone knew one thing:
Anything could happen. Anytime.
The clang of metal echoed through the training fields where blacksmiths worked around the clock, forging armor capable of resisting demonic corrosion. Warriors sparred with renewed desperation. Mages practiced their enchantments until their fingers trembled. Even the winds seemed to whisper the same warning:
War is coming.
King Johnson walked through the training grounds with Michael beside him, observing the preparations with a quiet, heavy expression. The ground vibrated with the force of warriors shifting forms—wolves leaping, claws striking, spells bursting in streaks of color.
Michael's crimson eyes scanned the busy field.
"We're at least halfway there," he remarked, nodding lightly in approval.
King Johnson shook his head.
"I doubt that, Michael. Roosevelt is unpredictable. No one knows what he's going to do next."
Michael glanced at his old friend.
"True… but at least this time, we're preparing. That alone puts us far above the others he has destroyed. Roosevelt always wins because his enemies never expect him. They're never ready."
King Johnson exhaled slowly.
"Alpha Levi saved us by telling the truth. If he hadn't… we wouldn't even know Roosevelt has awakened fully."
Michael nodded, though concern clouded his face.
"I haven't seen Erin for a few days now," he said. "She usually checks on the soldiers at least once."
King Johnson chuckled softly.
"Michael, she has family here. Let her breathe. She's probably spending time with them."
"Ah… true," Michael agreed. "That makes sense."
Just then, a blur of golden shimmer streaked across the sky.
A Goldren.
Its radiant wings glittered with sunlight as it glided smoothly above the training grounds, drawing several awed gazes.
King Johnson frowned.
"Didn't we tell them to stay hidden? If Roosevelt attacks now and spots even one Goldren, it'll be a disaster."
Michael sighed deeply.
"I feel bad for them, to be honest. They may be soldiers, but they have emotions too. Imagine being told to stay hidden for days, not knowing when you'll be allowed out. They're powerful beings, not prisoners."
Johnson pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I know, Michael. I'm not heartless. But the threat hanging over us… I can't afford risks."
"I'll talk to Erin," Michael said. "She'll understand."
King Johnson nodded gratefully.
"Thank you."
A moment later, he turned, curiosity flashing in his eyes.
"By the way… aside from dispelling demonic energy, what other abilities do Goldrens possess?"
Michael chuckled.
"Oh, they have more than you think. They can teleport—anytime, even in the middle of battle. Even if they've exhausted all their energy, teleportation is still possible."
King Johnson blinked.
"Impressive. Even Elves can teleport, but not when their energy is drained. Erin really outdid herself."
Michael's lips curved into a proud smile.
"She always does. But that's not all. You know her two elites—Dark Lightning and Ruby Sparks?"
King Johnson nodded.
"Yes, the ones always with her."
"Exactly. Theo—Dark Lightning—can generate thunderbolts with his own body. He moves like a streak of darkness and lightning combined. Fast, lethal, silent. When he fights, his enemies die before they even understand what struck them."
Johnson's eyes widened.
"And Ruby?"
Michael's expression shifted… to a mixture of admiration and mild fear.
"Ruby… is different. Terrifyingly different. Even if a ten-thousand-man army charges at her, she'll walk straight toward them with a creepy smile. She enjoys the chaos—the screams, the blood, the destruction. Her red sparks fly everywhere, cutting through anything. She's a war machine in human form."
King Johnson swallowed hard.
"Both of them sound unbelievable. They'll be crucial in this war."
Michael nodded.
"Absolutely. But that's just those two. The others… well, there's something about Goldrens not many people know."
King Johnson frowned.
"A secret?"
"Yes," Michael said quietly. "And it must never be revealed."
Johnson nodded seriously.
Michael continued.
"Goldrens can appear dead."
King Johnson jolted.
"What? Appear dead? How—do they stop breathing?!"
"Yes," Michael said. "Exactly that."
Johnson stared at him like he had grown two heads.
Michael went on.
"It's one of Erin's most incredible creations. If a Goldren loses all its power during battle, it collapses—its breathing stops, its body turns into golden dust. Anyone watching will assume it died. Even demons wouldn't think twice. But in reality…"
King Johnson leaned in.
"…it teleports."
"To the lake Erin created in the Vampire Realm—the lake made for restoring their power. They sink into it for a few hours, regain full strength, and then they return right back into the battle. It's a perfect illusion. Even Roosevelt wouldn't know the difference."
King Johnson was speechless.
"That's… that's genius. Absolutely genius. Is there anything else they can do?"
Michael nodded.
"Plenty. They can create illusions, cast offensive spells, enter minds, search memories, and use what they find during battle. But this only works on those with weak mental defenses. It won't work on Roosevelt or his higher demons. Maybe on the weaker ones, but the strong ones? No chance."
King Johnson let out a long exhale.
"I had no idea they were this powerful. And we have ten thousand of them?"
Michael nodded.
"Yes. Enough to change the tide—if we use them well."
A silence fell between them, heavy but hopeful. The sound of training continued around them—wolves snarling, magic humming, arrows slicing through the air.
Then Johnson looked toward the horizon.
Dark clouds were gathering. Not natural ones. They swirled unnaturally, pulsing with a faint crimson glow.
"Do you feel that?" he asked.
Michael's expression hardened.
"Yes. Demonic energy. Faint, but growing. He's stirring."
Johnson's jaw tightened.
"Roosevelt is watching."
Michael didn't deny it.
"He always watches before he strikes."
For a moment, both men simply stood there, surrounded by the preparations of thousands preparing for the biggest war of their lives.
King Johnson finally spoke, voice low, steady:
"Then maybe… we truly have a chance of surviving this war."
Michael nodded slowly.
"Hopefully, yes. If fate allows it… we will survive."
But as the wind shifted, carrying that faint demonic presence, neither of them could shake the feeling:
The real battle was about to begin.