The first thing the crowd heard was the sound—sickening, primal. Bones snapping and grinding, tendons tightening with grotesque tension. Muscle bulged beneath Callum's skin like something trying to burst free from within. His back arched unnaturally, shoulders hunching forward as his spine cracked and extended. His scream turned to a guttural growl, muffled by the sound of his jaw stretching, reshaping—his teeth lengthening into savage canines.
His skin split open in places before being overtaken by coarse brown fur that spread rapidly across his transforming body, covering him like wildfire. His arms thickened into powerful limbs ending in elongated hands, each digit tipped with claws like curved daggers. His legs bent back at the knee into digitigrade form, muscles knotting and swelling with unnatural strength as his feet reshaped into paws made for sprinting and ripping through flesh.
Callum Duncan was gone. In his place stood a beast—towering over seven feet tall, his figure broad and imposing, breathing heavy through a lupine snout lined with fangs. His eyes glinted gold in the dim forest light, his ears twitching to every sound. The full form of a werewolf—primal, brutal, undeniable.
Gasps tore through the crowd. Some shouted in horror, others in stunned awe.
"W-W-Werewolf!?" Quincy blurted out, her wings pausing mid-beat. "Callum Duncan is a werewolf!?" Her voice, laced with genuine disbelief, echoed throughout the coliseum.
The effect was immediate.
The VIP stands stirred—heads snapped toward the arena. Even the Emperor of Aeruna narrowed his eyes. Only Tianteng remained still, resting her chin on her fingers with a small, knowing smile.
In the fighters' waiting room, every eye was locked on the scene, expressions ranging from speechless confusion to quiet recognition.
Vilak faltered. His fingers gripped his staff, knuckles white. "…Attack," he muttered, barely above a whisper.
But the skeletons heard it. Obedient, mechanical, and fearless, they surged forward.
Callum raised his head—fur bristling, jaw twitching. His snarl rumbled through the trees like thunder through a hollow canyon.
Then he charged.
A blur of motion. Dirt and dead leaves exploded behind him as he launched forward on all fours, claws digging into the forest floor. The skeletons didn't stand a chance.
Callum lunged, claws wide, and the moment the swordsman skeleton closed the distance, he tore through it like wet parchment. Steel clashed against bone for only a second before the werewolf's raw strength pulverized it—splintering ribs, cracking the skull, shattering it down to dust mid-swing. The archer skeleton raised its bow, but the knight skeleton threw itself in front of Callum's charge to shield its ally. A valiant effort—wasted. Callum's claws sheared through the shield like bark, through the armor like silk, and through the skeleton like it wasn't even there. Its spine cracked with a sickening crunch as it folded under his weight.
The archer loosed its arrow just as the knight fell. The shaft struck Callum square in the chest—then simply fell out, his wound closing before the arrow even hit the ground. He was already on it. With one feral snap, his jaws crushed the skull in a single bite. The bones clattered to the ground, twitching once before going still.
Only the robed mage remained, the tip of its staff crackling with flame as it launched out a fireball. The explosion bathed the forest floor in heat and smoke, and for a split second, it looked like Callum had vanished.
Then he exploded through the smoke, skin burned, fur scorched—but it was already healing. Flesh reknit, muscle tightened, and he moved faster than anything his size had a right to. Before the mage could lift its staff again, Callum was on it. His massive claws slammed it into the earth, bones splintering under the impact until nothing was left but broken limbs and dust.
In seconds, all four skeletons were gone—erased by brute force and speed that defied logic.
Callum turned.
Vilak hadn't moved.
He stared, pale as death, lips parted slightly in disbelief as the towering werewolf locked eyes with him. His staff trembled slightly in his grip. He gulped.
In the stands, Dirk watched the devastation unfold with stiff fingers curled against his legs. "So that's the strength of a werewolf…" he murmured.
"Don't compare yourself," Lia said, nudging him lightly. "You're a lycan. You've got your own kind of strength. Different… but still strong." She was still watching the arena though—like most of the crowd, her attention gripped and unwilling to let go.
In the fighters' waiting room, Xain blinked a few times before casually raising a hand. "Alright. Raise your hand if you knew Callum was a werewolf."
No one moved.
"Didn't think so," he muttered.
"I doubt any of us saw that coming," Edluar said with a light laugh as everyone nodded in agreement.
"I don't think our necromancer stands much of a chance," Bryanard added, his voice flat—like he was speaking from hard-won experience.
"You think?" Amos scoffed, taking off his hat and scratching his head. "Fighting a werewolf's a shit idea even on a good day. You don't win unless you cheat or run."
In a VIP stand, Samwell leaned forward with both brows raised. "Who could've thought this match between unknowns would be this interesting?"
Beside him, Matthew remained silent. His eyes were still wide, and his posture a little too stiff. The sight of a werewolf had clearly left him rattled.
In another VIP stand, Zara leaned forward slightly. "This is absurd," she said sharply, her eyes locked on Callum. "Just what is with this year's lineup of fighters?"
"This will definitely put certain expectations on anyone watching the tournament for the first time," Prince Mark agreed, folding his arms in thought.
In yet another VIP stand, the Emperor of Aeruna stared at the scene below, still as stone. "Fascinating. Is this what the Tournament of Greatness is always like?"
"Hmm, maybe," Tianteng answered, the smile never leaving her lips. "I suppose you'll have to attend next year as well to find out, my Emperor."
Back in the arena, the forest of death twisted around Callum as he charged again, his heavy footfalls thundering through the blackened dirt. Twisting trees and dry, brittle roots didn't slow him at all—he tore through the terrain like it wasn't even there.
Vilak, breathing fast now, rammed his staff into the earth.
"R-Rise and protect me!" he shouted.
And they rose.
Dozens of skeletons—not just human, but animal as well—burst from the soil. Wolves, bears, horses, and warriors alike, forming a chittering, clattering wall of bone just as the werewolf leapt into the air, claws raised high, descending with the force of a falling boulder.