21. The Alpha

The battle raged on—an hour passed, then more.

Yet neither the Tribesmen nor the Hungers showed any sign of fatigue.

They fought with unnatural endurance, their bodies moving beyond human limits as if powered by some primordial fury.

Muscles should have failed.

Lungs should have burned.

But they pushed forward, defying the frailties of flesh, their movements sharp and relentless.

Was it the mad rush of adrenaline? Or perhaps their unbreakable will—the refusal to fall to mere beasts, to die without meaning in this moonlit graveyard?

Whatever the reason, their bodies had become weapons of pure defiance.

They would fight until their last breath turned to silence, until the final heartbeat faded into the night.

For in this moment, they were more than human—they were the storm, the reckoning, the unyielding force that even death would need to claim with struggle.

…

Bloodied but unbroken, Hound stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Kanaz.

Crimson stained them both—yet while Hound's wounds stitched themselves shut before her eyes, Kanaz's injuries remained raw and weeping.

Kanaz was bewildered, but there was no time for them to talk regarding Hound abnormal regenerability.

"Anik... if we can live until the morning light..." Her voice faltered.

A trembling smile, lips bitten bloody.

"Never mind. Just... I'm glad you're here with me till the end."

Hound's crimson gaze softened.

"If we really survive till the morning light," he whispered, voice uncharacteristically gentle,

"let's play like we used to be."

A true smile—his first since captivity—flickered across his face.

Kanaz's breath hitched.

"Then we fight," she nodded, squaring her stance.

"Together. Until our last."

The wolves kept coming.

But with each beast that fell, they stole precious seconds—gasping breaths between slaughter, fleeting moments of peace in their dying world.

The true threat still watched from the shadows.

Standing high on the cliff, the Alpha Moonlit Wolf had not moved since its first appearance—only observed, its golden eyes gleaming with cruel patience as its pack whittled down the survivors below.

Now, as the remaining wolves retreated, a deathly silence fell.

The Hungers and Tribesmen—once enemies, now bound by blood—exchanged glances.

Their battered bodies trembled with exhaustion, but before they could even catch their breath—

—a bone-chilling howl split the night.

A new wave of wolves surged from the darkness, their eyes like embers in the dark.

Despair threatened to crush them. What could they do? Lie down and become meat for the beasts?

No.

Never!

A fire ignited in their chests—not just survival, but pride.

The unyielding defiance of humankind, the rightful rulers in the Realm of Mortals.

They were wounded, but not broken.

They would fight.

They would bleed.

And if they were to die tonight,

they would make the wolves remember—

—the cost of preying on humanity.

With a thunderous impact, the Alpha Moonlit Wolf slammed down from the cliff, its massive paws cracking the earth beneath it. The ground trembled as it began to circle the survivors—its movements deliberate, predatory. Was it studying their weaknesses... or toying with them like a cat with cornered mouse?

Its fur pulsed between shadows and moonlight, a living trick of the night that made its form blur at the edges of vision.

Then—

A roar that shook the bones of every living thing.

The pack attacked in a frenzy of fangs and claws.

But this time was different.

This time, the Alpha itself entered the slaughter, moving with terrifying grace among its lesser kin. Where the common wolves fought with animal fury, the Alpha killed with cold, calculated precision.

One by one, the bodies of the Hungers were piling up, the same as how they saw the burning village of the Tribesman.

One by one, the Tribesman were getting killed by the brutal and savage wolves, like how they hunted for their food in the wilderness.

The Hungers,

The Warriors,

The Women,

and The Children—

—would never see the Sun shine again.

Only four remained after the battle when the Alpha Moonlit Wolf descended.

The Tribe Leader's face twisted with barely human fury—his eyes bleeding to crimson, his snarl becoming something feral. Was it rage alone that reshaped him? Or something darker taking root as he watched his people fall?

Ton stood unbowed, his chest heaving but his spine straight.

This was a hunter who had faced death in the jaws of the wild countless times—he would not kneel to it now.

Pride burned in his eyes, fierce and unbroken.

Let the wolves come.

He had slaughtered their kind before with nothing but a spear and his own two hands.

Kanaz swung her knife mechanically—hope had long since bled from her heart, yet her body refused to surrender.

What strength remained came not from courage, but from the boy fighting beside her.

Her childhood friend. 

Her last tether to a world before blood and moonlight.

While death circled, she would match his blows, strike when he struck, fall only if he fell.

This was no longer about survival, but something purer—

—the unspoken vow between two children who had promised to always face the storm together.

And then there was Hound.

No longer the boy called Anik.

His wounds had sealed, his bruises vanished—but his body gleamed crimson under the moon, painted in blood that could have been the wolves'… or his own.

Yet his eyes held the true horror.

As he stared on the Alpha Moonlit Wolf, something worse than hatred flickered across his face—

—Cruelty, sharp and deliberate.

The kind that comes not from rage, but from something far colder. 

The Alpha's howl split the night—a command.

Its pack moved like shadows, dragging away corpses as the circle around the survivors loosened.

The beast itself stalked forward with unnatural deliberation, its massive frame cutting through the moonlight.

Each step was a taunt, a mockery of mercy—as if offering them one final moment to rise.

When the Alpha's gaze locked onto them with something too intelligent for a beast, the Tribe Leader snarled, surging forward—

—only for Ton to grip his arm.

"No."

The hunter's voice was iron. "This is my hunt."

"Protect your daughter... The tribe needs its leader to survive."

His eyes swept across the last survivors before lingering on Hound—that impossible child who'd cheated death itself.

A tired, bloodstained smile cracked his face.

"Take this chance... Run—Survive. Keep breathing when we cannot."

His voice cracked with the weight of generations.

"Let your life be the monument to ours—every sunrise you see will be our vengeance."