20. Moonlit Wolves

"Hold your ground!"

The Tribe Leader, his body battered and bleeding, barked the order to his last remaining warrior.

Behind him, Ton stood panting—the final barrier between the ravenous enemy and the women and children at his back.

The women clutched the little ones close, shielding them like a mother hen sheltering her eggs.

Meanwhile, the Hungers cackled wildly, savoring their prey's desperate last stand.

To them, this was a game—a cruel, drawn-out feast where the tribesmen were nothing but playthings.

Then—a bone-chilling howl shattered the chaos.

All movement ceased.

Tribesmen and Hungers alike froze, their eyes snapping toward the source.

There,

atop a jagged cliff, bathed in moonlight, stood a massive, furred beast. 

It was a Moonlit Wolf, its fur shifting between black and white like a living shadow, blending seamlessly into the night under the moonlight.

The beast locked eyes with them—savage, unblinking—and for a heartbeat, the world stood still.

Then, from behind it, emerged dozens… no… hundreds more.

The pack varied in size from big to small—but none matched their Alpha, a monstrous titan as large as three adult men combined.

Saliva dripped from their jaws as they waited, muscles coiled, for its leader's final command.

In an instant, the battle between the Hungers and the Tribesmen was forgotten.

Some fighters stumbled back, their weapons trembling in their hands.

Fear—primal, suffocating—crawled up their throats.

Now…

The Hungers are experiencing what it is to become the prey, waiting to be digested.

…

Hound watched as the Hungers and his Tribesmen clashed against the savage horde of Moonlit Wolves.

Pained screams and feeble cries twisted together with the wolves' ghastly howls, dancing in the Bone Orchards like a horror song.

And then—other beasts came.

They lurked at the edges, silent spectators to the slaughter.

Different breeds of wolves, owl-like creatures with gleaming eyes, small feline shapes, even snuffling pig-rats—all drawn by the scent of blood, yet none daring to intervene.

It wasn't that they wouldn't want to partake—it was that they couldn't.

Beast law was absolute.

To steal another predator's prey was akin to them replacing it.

This was the unwritten rule of the Bone Orchard: The strong devour the weak.

Even the Skinless Leopards, who normally hunted alone or merged with other beasts' packs, obeyed this law.

They were not natural enemies of men—but if they saw humans slaughtering their prey, taking more than their share… even them… a non-aggressive beasts towards human—will transform into something brutal—slaughtering them in return.

Kanaz clutched her small knife with trembling hands, her grip weak and unsteady.

Fear consumed her entirely—like a mouse trapped not by one cat, but by a sea of fangs and claws.

Under the pale moonlight, her tears shimmered, tracing silver lines down her cheeks as she wore a broken smile—one that had long since surrendered to despair.

Her gaze lifted to the Moonlit Wolf perched atop the jagged cliff, its shifting fur a living shadow against the moon.

For a moment, it seemed to swallow the sky itself.

Then, as if accepting the inevitable, she tore her eyes away and looked around her—

The women clung to the children, shielding them with their own bodies—yet some had already fallen, lifeless on the blood-soaked earth, their wounds still steaming in the cold night air.

Beside them, the corpses of Moonlit Wolves lay twisted in final snarls, their fur matted with gore.

Her friends trembled, their breaths shallow, eyes wide—waiting for the inevitable.

The warriors of her tribe, what few remained, formed a crumbling wall of flesh and defiance.

Some fought on despite missing limbs, their stumps still dripping as they swung broken weapons.

Others lay half-devoured, their sacrifices barely slowing the tide of fangs.

Her Uncle Ton hacked desperately at any beast that slipped past, his strikes growing weaker with each passing moment.

Her father—the Tribe Leader—stood like a ruined monument, his body was full of claw marks and teeth.

Blood foamed at his lips as he roared, but the sound was more man than monster—not nearly enough to turn the tide.

And the Hungers?

They fought like Demons as they are.

Where a wolf bit, they bit deeper.

Where fangs tore flesh, they ripped whole chunks and swallowed them thrashing.

This was fate's mockery—

forcing the doomed to struggle,

to gnash their teeth in defiance,

even as the abyss swallowed them whole.

Kanaz smile withered like a dying ember.

She had made peace with death.

At least, she thought, Anik was safe—

—far from this slaughter.

Then—

—movement beyond the carnage.

A small figure in a tattered black cloak.

Eyes like smoldering blood, crimson tears streaking down his cheeks like molten rock.

For a heartbeat, she smiled again—

—then horror tore through her.

"DON'T COME!" Her voice shattered the chaos, raw and broken.

But Anik was already running—

—sprinting straight into the grave joining them in death.

…

Anik—now called Hound, took in the nightmare before him.

The battlefield was like an abstract art—piles of Moonlit Wolves, Hungers, and Tribesmen tangled in death.

Limbs bent at unnatural angles, glistening entrails strewn like grotesque vines, organs painting the earth crimson.

With every step, another body fell; with every breath, another life ended.

Then—His Barbarian Rage, with the influence of his Incite of Blood, transformed him into something new.

His small frame contorted, muscles writhing beneath his skin like snakes, sculpting him into something lean and lethal.

Purple veins surged beneath his paling flesh, glowing faintly as if lit from within.

His tan skin bleached white, stretched tight over his new, predatory form.

With a guttural, shattered roar, he launched himself into the slaughter.

Hound's arrival brought no hope—

—only stunned silence.

The wailing women and children stared, their tear-streaked faces twisting in confusion, disbelief.

This was no savior.

This was the outcast, the forsaken child they had branded a traitor.

Yet here he stood—

—fighting beside them in their final moments,

dying as one of their own.

Hound's crystallized dagger dissolved into a web of razor threads, dancing between his fingers.

Guided by primal instinct, he wove them through the air—slicing through Moonlit Wolves with terrifying ease.

But with each kill, the threads grew duller, weaker... until one finally snagged in the thick fur of a massive wolf.

The beast wrenched its head back, jaws like a bear trap yanking Hound forward.

For a heartbeat, Hound hung suspended—a hair's breadth from those knife-like teeth—

—until the Tribe Leader slammed into the Moonlit Wolf, knocking it aside.

"Foolish kid!" the Tribe Leader bellowed, blood dripping from his wounds.

"You should've fled when you could!"

"I... I can't leave you all behind..."

The Tribe Leader stared at him—eyes fractured with grief, yet burning with resolve.

"Then guard our backs," he commanded, voice rough as stone.

No questions.

No doubts.

Not about Hound's ability to manipulate blood, nor the unnatural glow of his veins and crimson eyes.

Only this: A child of their tribe had returned to stand with them.

And that was enough.

They all knew the truth.

Dawn would never come for them again.

This fight wasn't for survival—it was defiance carved in blood. If the beasts wanted their flesh, they'd pay for every mouthful in teeth and screams.

Such was the law of the wild: Become the Hunter, or become the Haunted.