Chapter 6 : The Blood moon Arena
The name Korrak was spoken in hushed whispers, carried by the wind like a curse.
He was not just the Alpha of Moonfang—he was its tyrant, its executioner, its god.
His rule stretched far beyond the pack's borders, bleeding into the lands of humans and deviants alike.
His law was simple: obey, or be erased.
For years, the deviants had lived in the shadows, their numbers dwindling under his relentless hunt to Korrak, they were a stain on wolf-kind—mutations, abominations, mistakes the Moon Goddess should have never allowed to exist.
He considered their abilities unnatural, a threat to the purity of werewolf bloodlines.
He ordered them to be culled, branding them as traitors to their own kind.
But it was not only deviants who suffered under his rule.
The human villages at the fringes of Moonfang territory bore the weight of his wrath. At first, Korrak demanded tribute—grain, livestock, weapons; then, his greed grew.
He took their people, forcing them into servitude, using them for labor, entertainment… and worse.
Any human who defied him was made an example of—hung from the trees at the edge of the forest, their corpses left to rot as a warning.
The werewolves of Moonfang, too, feared him. He ruled through strength and terror, crushing any who questioned his authority. Challenges to his leadership ended in gruesome executions, meant to discourage rebellion.
Even Thorne, his Beta, had once dared to challenge Korrak's cruelty—only to be beaten within an inch of his life, his failure a lesson to all.
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The Beta's Revolt
The night was thick with tension, the air buzzing with the scent of blood and smoke. The full moon hung like a cold, indifferent eye in the sky, casting jagged shadows over the Moonfang stronghold—a fortress of iron and stone built on the bones of the fallen.
Inside the war hall, Alpha Korrak sat on his blackened throne, his hulking form draped in a wolf-fur cloak, his golden eyes burning like embers in the dim torchlight.
Before him, warriors knelt—some covered in fresh blood, others bearing the spoils of another senseless raid.
"Tonight," Korrak's voice rumbled, deep and cruel, "we feast on the victory of our strength, the human village to the east lies in ruins.
Their corpses burn as a warning, their children will be raised as slaves, their women—" he grinned, "—will learn their place."
Laughter erupted from the gathered warriors, but one voice did not join the chorus.
Thorne stood near the great stone pillars, his muscles coiled tight with fury. The stench of charred flesh and blood made him sick.
He had been part of Korrak's war machine for years, had seen the horrors unfold time and again, but something had shifted in him.
Perhaps it was Elara—her rejection, her suffering, her survival against all odds. Perhaps it was the deviants, those outcasts he had been taught to see as weak, yet who fought with a strength far beyond brute force.
Perhaps it was the children in the human village—their screams still echoed in his skull.
No more.
His hand tightened into a fist. He took a step forward. Then another.
The laughter died as warriors turned. Korrak's gaze lifted, amusement flickering behind his eyes.
"Something on your mind, Beta?" he asked, his voice laced with mockery.
Thorne inhaled sharply, his next words sealing his fate.
"You are unfit to lead."
The room went deathly silent. A dozen pairs of glowing eyes snapped to him, disbelief rippling through the warriors.
To challenge an Alpha was to invite death—but Thorne did not waver.
Korrak's lips curled back, revealing sharp teeth. "Is that so?"
Thorne stepped fully into the firelight, his jaw clenched. "You have led Moonfang into ruin. You slaughter the innocent. You rule through fear, not strength. You have forsaken the honor of our kind."
Korrak chuckled darkly, rising to his feet. His towering form dwarfed Thorne, but the Beta did not step back.
"You grow soft, Thorne," the Alpha sneered. "Did the cries of the weak finally get to you?"
Thorne growled low in his throat. "The strong protect their own. The strong do not butcher those who cannot fight back."
Murmurs spread through the crowd. Some warriors shifted uneasily. Others clenched their fists, torn between loyalty and their own silent doubts.
Korrak's amusement faded. His golden eyes hardened, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper.
"You forget your place, Beta."
Thorne ripped off his tunic, baring his scars—scars earned in Korrak's wars. He spread his arms wide.
"Then let me remind you," he snarled. "I challenge you for the right to lead."
The words crashed through the war hall like thunder. The Rite of Challenge—an ancient law that no Alpha could refuse.
If Korrak ignored it, his warriors would see him as a coward but if he accepted… one of them would not leave the ring alive.
Korrak's lips pulled into a wicked grin. He wanted this. He relished it.
"Then we settle this under the Blood Moon."
The warriors howled in excitement. The challenge was set.
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The Blood Moon Arena
At midnight, the pack gathered in the Bone Circle—a ring of towering stones etched with the claw marks of fallen challengers. The moon was high, casting an eerie red glow over the battlefield.
Thorne stood at the center, rolling his shoulders, his muscles coiled like a spring. Korrak faced him, a beast of a man, taller, broader, his very presence radiating menace. The Alpha lived for battle.
A warrior stepped forward. "The challenge has been made. The fight will not end until one submits… or dies."
Korrak grinned. "It will end in death."
The moment the signal was given, Korrak lunged like a beast unleashed.
Thorne barely dodged in time, feeling the wind of Korrak's massive claws slicing past his face. He knew he was outmatched in size—but not in strategy.
The fight was brutal. Korrak fought like a monster—relentless, wild, unhinged. His blows shattered the ground, his claws tore through flesh and bone like paper.
Thorne fought with precision, dodging, weaving, countering, striking only when necessary.
But Korrak was too strong.
A crushing blow sent Thorne sprawling in the dirt, blood filled his mouth he barely rolled away before Korrak's foot came down, cracking the earth where his skull had been.
The warriors watched, silent, tense. Some looked eager for Thorne's death—but others were watching closely, eyes flickering with uncertainty.
Korrak had ruled with fear for too long.
The arena was soaked in blood—most of it Thorne's.
He struggled to rise, his limbs heavy, his breath ragged. Korrak stood over him, barely winded. The fight had been brutal, but not fair.
Thorne had underestimated the Alpha's raw, merciless strength. He thought his skill and strategy would be enough. He was wrong.
The warriors of Moonfang watched in stunned silence, some had hoped—prayed—that Thorne would win. That he would end Korrak's reign of terror.
But now, as the Beta lay broken on the ground, it was clear: hope was a foolish thing.
Korrak wiped blood from his knuckles, looking down at Thorne with something that wasn't quite amusing.
"Did you think this was a fair fight?" he mocked.
Thorne growled, trying to push himself up. His ribs screamed in protest.
Korrak clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "You were always loyal, weren't you, Thorne? Always trying to do the right thing. Such a waste." He crouched, grabbing Thorne by the throat and lifting him off the ground effortlessly.
Thorne's vision blurred. He had failed.
Korrak's grip tightened. "You are no Beta of mine."
Then he hurled Thorne across the arena.
Bone met stone.
Thorne crashed against a jagged rock formation, his body crumpling on impact. A sharp pain tore through his side—something had cracked. Maybe broken.
The warriors flinched, but no one moved. No one dared.
This was how it always was. Korrak didn't just defeat his enemies—he broke them. Publicly.
Korrak turned away, wiping his hands as if Thorne was nothing more than a stain on his skin.
"Kill him," he ordered.
The command was simple. Final.
Two warriors stepped forward, drawing their blades.
Thorne tried to move. Tried to shift. But his body was too damaged. His wolf was silent, beaten into submission.
This was it.
But then…
The horn sounded.
Not a Moonfang horn.
A warning.
The warriors stiffened. Even Korrak's expression darkened as figures emerged from the trees.
Thorne's stomach clenched.
Hunters.
They came like shadows—swift, silent, deadly. Clad in dark armor, their weapons gleamed silver under the moonlight.
Korrak turned toward them, but he did not look surprised.
No.
He looked satisfied.
The leader of the hunters stepped forward, his black cloak billowing in the wind. His voice was low, but it carried power.
"Take the weak ones."
Thorne's breath caught.
What?
Before he could react, the hunters moved.
They did not attack Korrak's warriors. They attacked the hesitant. The young. The wounded.
Those who had secretly supported Thorne.
They were dragged into chains before they could even shift.
Korrak folded his arms, watching with approval. This wasn't a betrayal. This was an alliance.
Korrak had been working with hunters.
Thorne's blood turned to ice.
"This is what true strength looks like," Korrak murmured, his voice filled with cruel satisfaction. "You were too weak to rule, Thorne. And weakness… has consequences."
Thorne clenched his teeth, rage and shame warring inside him.
This wasn't just a loss.
It was a massacre.
But before he could act—before he could force himself to rise—a shadow fell over him.
A pair of silver eyes locked onto his.
Elara.
She had arrived. And she was not here to save him.
She was here to end Korrak.