Chapter 31: The Forest (IV)

Single Part

The world went dark.

Everything around him—the guards, the blades, the scent of blood—vanished.

The words cut deep, like sharp claws tearing through his mind.

Liam blinked, and for a moment, everything blurred together—Helena, the storm, the taste of iron in his mouth.

Ed.

Ed had stolen her from him.

Liam trembled.

Then something changed.

The wounds across his body closed all at once. A thick vapor rose from the freshly healed scars, as if his own blood were burning. The marks of battle remained, tracing grotesque patterns across his skin. But he felt no pain.

He felt power.

His muscles expanded, his chest grew broader, and his bones cracked within him, stretching, strengthening. His already massive claws grew larger. His eyes burned with an intense red glow, cutting through the darkness like cursed torches.

And then he roared.

The sound was unreal—a savage explosion that vibrated in the chests of everyone around him. The guards stumbled back, and horses hundreds of meters away reared in terror.

Ed felt the roar in his bones.

And in that instant, he knew—something had changed.

Liam was no longer just a werewolf.

He was something beyond.

He turned to Ed, his gaze consumed by fury.

By hunger.

By the promise of blood.

Liam charged.

The impact was brutal.

Ed barely had time to react.

Liam moved like a living fortress, his muscles swollen with ever-growing power. Each step he took sank into the earth, the trees around him bending as if even the forest recognized he was no longer just a monster.

He was something greater. Something that should not exist.

Ed moved.

His sword cut through the air, aiming for Liam's tendons. He was fast. Precise. Deadly.

But it wasn't enough.

Liam dodged effortlessly, his speed now insane for his size. When Ed tried to retreat, the werewolf did the impossible—he twisted on his own axis and, with his leg, delivered a brutal kick to Ed's chest.

The world spun.

Ed was thrown like a ragdoll, soaring through the air before crashing into a tree with a deafening thud. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, and for a moment, everything blurred.

But there was no time for pain.

Liam was already upon him.

The claws came down.

Ed rolled, escaping by a hair's breadth—but the ground exploded from the impact, shards of wood and stone flying like projectiles.

Too fast. Too strong.

Ed pushed himself up in a single motion, spinning his sword in his hand. He needed to think. He needed an opening.

But Liam wouldn't give him time.

The werewolf crawled toward him—a grotesque mix of raw power and unnatural agility. His claws tore into the earth as he advanced, eyes glowing with the hunger of an apex predator.

Ed struck first.

His body moved without hesitation, his sword slicing through different angles. He aimed for the arm, then the side of the neck, then the stomach.

Three strikes. Three precise cuts.

And then—

Steam.

The wounds sealed instantly.

Ed swallowed hard. And before he could react, Liam grabbed him.

The grip tightened.

Ed felt the bones in his arm bending under the absurd pressure of Liam's monstrous hand. It was like an iron vise closing around him, crushing everything inch by inch. Pain exploded in his mind, and he gritted his teeth, trying to force his sword upward, toward the werewolf's neck.

But Liam didn't even blink.

His eyes weren't there—they were somewhere else. In his mind, in his hunger, in the fevered delirium consuming him.

And then—a strike.

A sword slashed across Liam's arm, carving a deep gash that immediately began to close, steam hissing from the wound.

Wilde.

He appeared in a blur, striking again with precision where the monster's joints should be weakest. But even with all his speed, all his strength, it wasn't enough.

"Let him go, you bastard!" Wilde spun his blade again, aiming for Liam's elbow, trying to force a twist.

The werewolf snarled, a sound that was anything but human, and in a single motion, he used his own body to hurl Ed like a projectile straight at Wilde.

"Shit—!"

Wilde tried to dodge, but there was no time. Ed crashed into him with full force, and both were sent sprawling to the ground, sliding over the soaked earth.

Seeing this, Pallas and Don sprang into action.

Pallas didn't hesitate.

He rushed toward Liam, his sword gleaming under the moonlight. His eyes were cold, analyzing every movement of the werewolf, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Liam snapped his head toward him, pupils contracted into bestial slits.

And then, he charged.

Fast.

Unstoppable.

Devastating.

The ground exploded beneath his feet as he leaped, going straight for Pallas with claws outstretched.

Don came from the side, trying to slash the monster's leg to throw him off balance. But Liam twisted in midair, contorting his body in an unnatural way, and with a powerful kick, struck Don in the chest, sending him flying like a ragdoll.

But that gave them the opening they needed.

Pallas ducked at the last second, narrowly avoiding Liam's claws, and delivered an upward slash aimed at the werewolf's chest.

The blade tore through flesh.

Liam roared, black blood spraying as he staggered back.

But he didn't fall.

Instead, he laughed.

Low. Guttural.

The wound closed before their eyes.

However, the flesh where Liam's severed arm had once been began to twist.

From the freshly opened wound, bones cracked, contorting in impossible directions. At first, a human arm emerged from what had once been nothing but a bloody stump. But it didn't stay that way for long. Hair sprouted—first fine, barely noticeable, then thick like the bristles of a wild beast. The nails grew, extending into curved, murderous claws.

Steam rose.

Liam's breath was like contained thunder.

His feverish eyes, consumed by fury and hunger, locked onto the three warriors before him.

Pallas, Don, and Wilde.

They were wounded, panting, covered in mud and blood. But still standing.

"This is a nightmare…" Wilde muttered, gripping his sword tighter.

"If we don't kill him now, we're all dead." Don spat on the ground, firm, but sweat dripped down his face.

Pallas said nothing.

He simply moved.

A step.

Then he charged.

The duel resumed.

Pallas struck first—fast, precise—his moonlit blade gleaming like a silver bolt as he aimed for the werewolf's neck.

Liam dodged, bending his body in an unnatural way, almost as if he had no bones. His eyes locked onto Pallas.

Then he countered.

With pure brute force.

An upward hook.

The claw slashed through the air.

Pallas jumped back at the last second, but not fast enough. The claws scraped against his armor, and a piercing sound rang out as the metal was torn apart like paper.

He was sent flying, sliding through the mud.

"Shit!" Don hurled himself at Liam, putting all his strength into driving his blade through the creature's side.

Liam didn't dodge.

He took the hit.

The sword plunged into the tough flesh, sinking a few inches. But it wasn't enough.

Liam growled, grabbed his own wound, and with a grotesque pull, ripped Don's blade out of himself.

"What the…?"

Then he counterattacked.

Too fast.

A claw struck Don's stomach with brutal force, knocking the air from his lungs. His body doubled over, and Liam swung his arm, using his other hand to grab Don by the head.

"DON!" Wilde ran, desperate.

Too late.

Liam hurled Don against a tree. The impact was so violent that the wood trembled, and Don collapsed to his knees, coughing blood.

Now, only Wilde and Pallas remained.

"We're not going to make it…" Wilde swallowed hard, raising his blade again.

Pallas didn't respond. But his eyes said everything.

They needed a chance.

A single chance to end that monster.

But Liam wouldn't allow it.

He roared.

And charged again.

William emerged from the shadows, his blade slicing through the air in a silver arc as he rushed to save Pallas. Liam was already mid-motion, his monstrous claw rising to tear through the commander's chest.

"Damn—!" Pallas growled, trying to swing his blade in time.

But it was too late.

The strike came like lightning. Fast, brutal, inevitable.

William threw himself to the side, his sword barely deflecting the attack by a hair's breadth. Even so, the impact sent him spinning through the air, his feet sliding through the soaked mud. He positioned himself between Pallas and the monster, gritting his teeth.

"If you're going to die, die fighting," he muttered to himself, assuming a guard stance.

Liam didn't wait. He never did.

With a guttural roar, he lunged at William in an explosion of inhuman speed. His massive paws dug into the earth, sending mud flying in all directions. The air reeked of blood and iron. His eyes burned like embers, locked onto his new target.

William spun his blade, trying to parry, but Liam wasn't something to be parried. He was something that destroyed.

The werewolf suddenly crouched, like a predator preparing to kill. Then, with a leap, he twisted in midair and drove his massive foot into William's chest.

The impact was brutal.

William was flung like a ragdoll, his body crashing against a tree with a sickening crack. He tried to rise, coughing blood, but his vision spun.

Pallas pushed himself up, attempting another charge—but Liam was already on him.

The monster's claw tore into Pallas's shoulder, slicing through armor and flesh like paper.

He screamed.

Liam lifted Pallas off the ground as if he weighed nothing, his claws sinking deeper. He growled, his snout twisting into something that might have been a cruel smile.

Then, without warning, he hurled Pallas across the clearing. The commander soared through the air, crashing into a pile of debris with a deafening thud.

Don tried to strike from behind, his blade aiming straight for the monster's spine.

But Liam already knew.

He spun at the last second, dodging the blow and grabbing Don by the arm.

The snap of breaking bone echoed through the night.

Don howled in pain as Liam slammed him into the ground with enough force to crack it. His vision exploded with stars.

Wilde attacked next.

A sequence of swift, precise, desperate strikes.

None landed.

Liam advanced, his steps sinking into the mud, his chest rising and falling in a frantic, animalistic breath. He wasn't running anymore. He didn't need to run.

Ed was there.

And he was going to kill him.

Wilde staggered forward, gasping, his blade trembling in his bloodstained hand. He had no chance, and he knew it. But retreating wasn't an option.

"You!" His voice came out broken, strained.

"Don't kill him!"

The werewolf didn't respond.

His red eyes gleamed in the darkness.

And then, without warning, he moved.

Too fast.

Wilde never saw Liam disappear. He only felt something cold tear through his abdomen.

The monstrous claw pierced—

The monstrous claw pierced flesh, muscle, and bone as if they were soaked paper.

Wilde froze.

For a moment, he felt nothing. Only the night air filling his lungs, the scent of damp earth, and the heavy breathing of the creature before him.

Then came the pain.

Liam's claw ripped through his belly from one side to the other, grotesque fingers piercing his spine. The sound was muffled, wet—a snap and a tear happening at the same time. Wilde's eyes widened as his entire body convulsed.

The werewolf lifted him off the ground with a brutal yank, his monstrous hand buried up to the wrist inside his abdominal cavity.

Hot blood gushed, flowing down the beast's dark fur in pulsing torrents.

The metallic scent thickened, heavy and nauseating. Wilde's body spasmed violently, his mouth opening and closing as if he wanted to say something—but all that came out was a suffocated gurgle of blood.

Liam watched with animalistic curiosity, his eyes glowing in the dim light. He moved his fingers inside the torn flesh, feeling the organs shift in his grasp, feeling the warmth of life still lingering within that fragile body.

And then, he squeezed.

A grotesque crack echoed, and Wilde choked on a wet gasp. His eyes rolled back as the claw closed around something vital—something that should never be touched, let alone crushed.

Liam grinned.

And tore Wilde in half.

Skin, muscle, and bone split apart like raw meat being butchered by a merciless hand. The spine snapped with a muffled crack, intestines slithered out like slippery serpents, and what remained of the ribcage opened in a grotesque arc.

The rain washed away some of the blood, but not fast enough. The earth drank the pieces that fell heavily to the ground.

William screamed.

It was not a battle cry, nor a shout of rage.

It was pure horror.

His entire body trembled as he watched his friend being reduced to an unrecognizable pile of flesh. His fingers clenched the sword so tightly that his knuckles turned white, but his legs refused to move.

Liam tossed Wilde's remains to the ground as if they were trash and lifted his gaze to Ed.

His next target.