"Monsters don't fear blades. They fear becoming prey."
---
The Ravenscourge elite stepped back.
His feet dragged across the ash and roots. His snarling lips curled—not in dominance now, but disbelief. He looked between Selene and the shape rising behind her. A wolf—massive, smoke-bound, and otherworldly—mirroring her breath. Echoing her fury.
"You... you shouldn't be able to do that," he muttered.
The firelight flickered in his terrified eyes.
Selene took a step forward. Her dagger gleamed, dripping red.
"I didn't ask what I'm allowed to do," she said.
The beast behind her moved with her—phantom paws echoing her stride, silver eyes burning like twin moons.
The Ravenscourge growled low, trying to regain control.
Trying to pretend he wasn't afraid.
"Your pack is dead," he spat. "Your bloodline's ash. You're just a runt—playing at power."
Selene didn't speak.
She ran.
---
Her blade flashed.
He blocked with one arm—too slow.
The dagger slid across his bicep, slicing deep. Blood gushed.
He howled in rage and lunged again, both claws aimed at her face.
She twisted left, letting the phantom wolf move through her. Its translucent fangs mirrored hers as she slashed upward—
Straight across his throat.
Not deep enough to kill.
But enough to silence him.
He fell to his knees, gargling, clutching his neck.
Selene stood over him, panting.
This wasn't like training. This was chaos. Her body trembled with too much adrenaline. Her thoughts crashed into each other. Her wounds burned. Her heart thudded in her ears.
But she didn't hesitate.
She drove the dagger into his chest—straight through armor, through ribs, into heart.
A burst of silver light exploded on contact.
The beast behind her roared, and for a split second, Selene saw her own reflection in its monstrous eyes.
Bloodied. Broken. But rising.
The Ravenscourge twitched—then stopped moving.
First blood.
Selene staggered back, eyes wide.
He was dead.
She killed him.
---
The forest around her fell eerily quiet.
The burning trees hissed. The night wind carried the smell of scorched fur and spilled entrails. Somewhere, a dying wolf whimpered once, then went still.
Her dagger dripped.
Her arm bled freely.
Her throat felt torn from the howl that wasn't hers.
And still—she stood.
Then a voice echoed through the burning woods.
Not a scream. Not a growl.
A whistle.
Sharp. Cold. Commanding.
Every remaining Ravenscourge warrior froze. Even those still tearing apart the last defenders paused mid-slaughter.
Selene turned toward the sound.
A figure emerged from the smoke—cloaked in shadow, wrapped in dark armor etched with blood-red glyphs. No face, no scent, no sound.
But Selene felt it.
The weight.
The rage.
The power.
The figure raised a single hand—and pointed directly at her.
"That one," the voice said. Calm. Cold.
"Bring me the runt alive."