The Final Howl

Chapter 50: The Final Howl

The wind howled through the ravaged forest, its wailing cry echoing like the mourning of the earth itself. Trees stood as broken witnesses to the battles fought, their bark stained with blood and ash. Smoke curled toward the bruised sky, the aftermath of magic and rage clashing like titans. Yet in the eye of the storm, there was silence.

Elvis stood on the blood-soaked hilltop, her hair tangled with sweat and dirt, her white armor cracked and glowing faintly. Around her, warriors gathered, some limping, others bloodied, all with their eyes fixed on the dark figure ahead. Lyric.

The Shadow Warden. The corrupted heir. The monster born of vengeance and black magic.

He stood tall despite the wounds slashing across his obsidian armor, his face partially hidden beneath the hood of shadows. His eyes—voids filled with flickering embers—locked onto Elvis like a predator. Around him, the remnants of his army hissed and slithered: beasts formed of shadows, witches wrapped in flame, and spectral soldiers moaning for blood.

Alexander stepped up beside Elvis, his presence a wall of unshakable strength. His black armor shimmered under the fading light, the mark of the Alpha glowing on his chest. Together, they were the North's last hope.

Lyric's voice shattered the silence. "You think you've won? You've only delayed the inevitable."

"No," Elvis replied, loud and unwavering. "We've come to end it."

The battlefield trembled as power surged. The two armies screamed and clashed once more, but the center was clear—reserved for the final battle.

Elvis and Alexander charged, their forces spreading behind them like wings of vengeance.

Lyric met them with a roar, and the sky cracked with lightning.

They collided with the force of gods.

Elvis's sword struck first, blazing with the light of the moon, the gift of the ancient wolves. Lyric blocked it with a blade of black flame, the impact sending shockwaves across the field. Alexander circled swiftly, shifting midair into his wolf form—an enormous beast of shadow and fury. He lunged for Lyric's flank.

But Lyric vanished into smoke.

He reappeared behind Elvis, blade raised, but she spun, her wolf magic flaring. A protective barrier sparked between them, forcing Lyric to retreat.

"You think light alone can destroy me?" he hissed. "I was born from your ancestors' betrayal!"

"You chose darkness!" Alexander growled, shifting back into human form with a roll of his shoulder. "They offered peace. You wanted a throne of bones."

Lyric laughed—a twisted, broken sound. "Then let's see who rules the ashes."

He raised his arms. The dead rose.

All around them, corpses from the battlefield clawed out of the earth—friend and foe alike. The ground writhed with the damned.

Elvis's heart thudded, but she didn't hesitate. She raised her sword and howled. The ancient cry of the White Wolf echoed over the land, and her pack responded. A glowing wave of silver erupted from her, burning away the shadows and silencing the dead.

But it drained her. She stumbled.

Lyric grinned. "You're not strong enough."

"I don't have to be," she whispered.

Because she wasn't alone.

Alexander caught her, pressed a kiss to her temple, then stepped forward, summoning his full power. Fire exploded from his hands—not ordinary fire, but flame imbued with the love of his bloodline, the protection of his ancestors, the rage of a thousand fallen warriors.

He and Lyric clashed in a brutal dance of flame and shadow. Blades met, spells cracked through the air. Every impact rippled across the earth. Elvis steadied herself, then joined again, side by side with the man who held her heart.

Together, they forced Lyric back.

But he was not finished. He screamed, unleashing a pulse of darkness that sent everyone flying. Warriors tumbled. Magic flickered. Elvis was thrown hard against a stone. Blood spilled from her lip. Her vision swam.

Through the ringing in her ears, she heard Lyric begin to chant.

A summoning spell.

"No," she gasped.

A rift opened in the air—dark and endless. Something writhed beyond it. A creature ancient and formless. A true god of destruction.

Elvis forced herself to stand. "Alex!"

He was already moving. He dove between Lyric and the rift, unleashing a barrier of fire. It flickered. The god-thing shrieked, stretching long arms toward the world.

"We need to seal it!" Elvis cried.

"I'll hold it!" Alexander shouted back. "You focus on Lyric!"

Tears burned her eyes, but she turned, faced Lyric.

He raised his hand, gathering another spell. But Elvis was faster. She closed the distance, her blade flashing. Lyric blocked—barely. They fought again, a flurry of magic and steel, fury and pain.

"You're nothing!" he roared.

"I'm everything you hate!" she screamed. "Because I still have hope!"

She stabbed. Deep. Her sword pierced his armor. Lyric howled.

He retaliated, cutting her arm, but she didn't back down. She drove the blade deeper, pushing until light exploded from the wound. Her magic poured into him—purifying, searing.

He screamed.

The rift trembled.

Alexander shouted behind her. "Now, Elvis!"

She pulled back, raised both hands, and called on everything—the wolf, the witch, the legacy. She became light. Her form shone like a star. She cast the spell of sealing, the final gift from her Queen Mother's bloodline.

A net of light wrapped around the rift. Alexander poured in his power. Their magics fused. The rift screamed.

Then—it closed.

Silence.

Lyric fell to his knees. Smoke rose from his body. His eyes—human now—looked up at Elvis.

"I… just wanted to be seen," he rasped.

"I saw you," she whispered. "That's why I had to stop you."

He collapsed, vanishing into ash.

The battlefield was quiet.

No more shadows. No more screams.

Elvis turned. Alexander knelt, breathing hard. She ran to him, fell into his arms.

"It's over," he murmured.

"Yes."

Around them, warriors slowly rose. Cheers broke out. Howls of triumph. The White Wolf and her Alpha had done the impossible.

They didn't feel like heroes. Not yet.

Too many were lost.

But the war was over.

And from the ashes, peace could rise.

---

That night, under the full moon, the wolves sang. A song of mourning. A song of victory. A song for the future.

Elvis and Alexander stood together, hands entwined, scars glowing like constellations.

They had faced the darkness.

And won.