Chapter 49
The Werewolf Realm
The Silver Crest Pack
The Alpha of Silver Crest sat alone in his room, his elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked, staring at the floor with eyes that hadn't known rest in years. He had fought wars, survived ancient beasts, and faced the wrath of supernatural kings… but nothing, absolutely nothing, hurt like losing his son.
Axel.
His boy.
His only child.
Gone.
He wasn't there to hold him, wasn't there when his last breath vanished into the cold night. Axel had lost his mother the day he was born, and now—even his father could not protect him from fate.
The Alpha shut his eyes. The grief was still raw, still violent, still slicing through him like a dagger. But this wasn't the moment to break down. His people still needed him.
He inhaled sharply, straightened his shoulders, and stood tall.
This was not the time for sentiment.
This was the time to lead.
He summoned his beta through the mind link. Within seconds, a knock echoed at the door.
"Alpha, you called for me?"
The Alpha nodded, expression stern but weary.
"Yes. I wanted to ask about the race. Have they all settled properly?"
The beta bowed slightly.
"Yes, Alpha. They're all settled. And according to King Johnson's orders, all Goldrens are hidden. I believe every single one across the packs is secured."
The Alpha nodded.
"Good. They must remain hidden. We do not know whe—"
He didn't finish.
A violent, panicked scream thundered into his mind link—the Gamma's voice, shaking with fear.
"ALPHA!!! THE DEMONS ARE HERE!"
The Alpha of Silver Crest froze.
"…What? They're here?!"
His heart dropped, but only for a second. Instantly, he replied through the link:
"Protect all pack members! The Goldrens stay hidden—no exceptions. Inform the vampires and elves. Gather all warriors and get into formation immediately!"
"Yes, Alpha!" the Gamma replied and vanished from the link.
The Alpha turned to his beta, eyes sharp with determination.
"You know what this means. We have to move. We prepared for today, but we still don't know if Roosevelt himself is leading them. Whether he is or isn't—we are not falling today. We fight. We survive."
The beta nodded firmly.
"As always, Alpha."
Deep underground, hidden in magically sealed chambers, the Goldrens—created for war and destruction—felt their blood boil. The scent of battle called to them, screamed to them. Their instincts begged to be unleashed.
But they stayed hidden.
They had to.
Though every muscle in their bodies trembled with the urge to fight.
---
Outside, the battle had already begun.
The earth trembled beneath the stampede of claws, steel, spells, and screams. Blood sprayed across the fields as demons clashed with supernatural forces. But this time—the demons felt something strange… resistance.
Real resistance.
They noticed it instantly.
Some warriors on the battlefield weren't werewolves at all—strange, beautiful beings teleported through shadows and light, casting spells as they moved. Their hair shimmered in colors unseen by mortals. Their bows glowed with ancient magic, and every arrow pierced demons like holy fire.
"This… this is different than last time," one demon growled, slashing through a vampire.
Another demon, dodging three arrows at once, hissed,
"They've gathered help from other realms."
A nearby demon rolled his eyes.
"Fantastic. So now we deal with vampires AND elves? What a joy."
"No witches though," another noted, scanning the battlefield. "Can't see a single witch."
"Of course not. Witches are weak without spells. Elves are better—combat AND spellcasting."
A demon snorted.
"Well… this is a headache. Should we tell my lord about this?"
The demon next to him scoffed.
"Tell him? He hasn't felt anything in years. Emotions died for him long ago."
Another demon paused mid-fight, uncertainty creeping into his voice.
"Is it just me… or are we actually losing?"
The others didn't answer—because they already knew.
They flashed toward the front lines.
An elf waiting there smirked.
"New faces?"
They didn't reply.
Because in the next moment, the air cracked open.
A dark, poisonous fog swept across the battlefield like a living plague.
Werewolves in wolf form dropped instantly, their bodies shaking violently. Whimpers and screams echoed everywhere as wolves collapsed.
The Alpha of Silver Crest felt several of his pack bonds snap at once—sharp, painful, final. His heart raced.
He sprinted to one of his warriors—who had shifted back into human form, trembling violently.
"Alpha…" he gasped, clutching his chest. "I—I can't feel my wolf. I think… the fog… it killed it. My wolf is gone."
Across the battlefield, wolves howled in agony as their wolf spirits were ripped from them.
The Alpha clenched his jaw so hard his teeth nearly broke.
"What is this vile magic? These creatures truly ARE from the pit of hell…" he growled.
This was no ordinary demon attack.
This was strategic.
Cruel.
Evil.
And exactly the kind of move Roosevelt loved.
The Alpha roared:
"Initiate the Realm Formation—NOW!"
Immediately, groups of three formed circles—a werewolf, a vampire, and an elf.
Different species.
One formation.
One strike.
They moved as one.
A vine burst from the elf's hands, glowing green with ancient power. She formed it into a thorned rope, laced with magic deadly to demons.
A demon tried to teleport away but the werewolf lunged behind him, holding him in place with all his remaining strength. The demon snarled and thrashed.
He didn't know the rope drained power the more he struggled.
The demon suddenly stopped moving.
His eyes turned black.
He closed them.
And attacked with his mind.
The elf gasped, freezing, her pupils shaking.
She heard whispers—twisted, cruel, destructive.
The demon was in her head.
"Attack the vampire… kill him… betray them…"
The elf's hands trembled violently.
"Paul!!" she screamed. "NOW! I'm losing my sanity—he's manipulating me!"
The vampire nodded without hesitation.
The werewolf leaned close to the demon's ear and whispered,
"Ever felt defeat before? Too bad—you're already defeated."
He shoved the demon forward.
Before the demon hit the ground, Paul the vampire flashed forward, claws out, and slit the demon's throat in one clean motion.
The demon gurgled,
"…sh—shit…"
and collapsed in a pool of dark, hissing blood.
The elf fell to her knees, panting heavily.
"Great job, guys… that was… gods, that was intense."
The werewolf and vampire nodded, already turning.
Paul cracked his knuckles, blood splattered across his face.
"Next target."