Chapter 36.1: Grimfang Invasion (1)
Year 0002, XII Month: The Imperium
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Nothing Much to Do
Snow stretched endlessly across the landscape, blanketing the world in pristine white. The residents of Maya Village huddled by crackling fires, while others lounged in the newly constructed mezzanine, its wooden beams still fragrant with fresh-cut pine. Two months into the harsh winter season had left them with little to do but wait for the thaw.
Fortunately, their autumn harvest had been bountiful. Storage cellars brimmed with preserved meats, dried fruits, and sacks of grain. The villagers had planned well, knowing that the winter season showed no mercy to the unprepared. Now, with survival assured, their greatest enemy was the crushing boredom that settled over the village like the snow outside—silent and pervasive.
Children played games with carved wooden pieces, the adults told tales of past adventures and glory on the battlefield, and they also maintained their weapons and tools with methodical care. No one ventured beyond the walls unless absolutely necessary. Winter in these parts claimed the unwary without remorse.
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The Arrival of the Beasts
Beyond the village's sturdy wooden palisades, four-legged shadows moved with deadly purpose through the forest's edge. The Grimfangs had finally tracked the scent of their fallen packmate—all trails leading directly to this surprisingly human settlement, something that was rarer than an ancient dragon in these parts.
For months, this hunting party had searched tirelessly throughout the northern reaches of the Lonelywood Forest, only to find out that their missing pack mates were not there. Their journey had forced them to traverse territories claimed by rival wolf packs, each fiercely protective of their hunting grounds. Such trespasses typically ended in bloodshed, but these Grimfangs' leader was a battle-scarred veteran whose wisdom equaled his ferocity.
This elder had stood beside their Chief since the great schism, when their pack split from the dominant coalition that had ruled the northern wolves for generations. He knew the ancient protocols—how to request passage, what tributes to offer, and when to show deference to foreign alphas. His diplomatic prowess had prevented a multi-pack war that would have devastated their already diminished numbers.
The Grimfangs possessed a handful of unique abilities that set them apart from common wolves. Their sense of smell was supernaturally acute, capable of extracting complex information about their targets—age, strength, even emotional states. Each pack produced unique pheromones in their urine, creating a sophisticated communication system that functioned like written messages for those who could interpret them.
Their fallen commander had been clever enough to mark his path before meeting his end at the hands of August. These scent markers contained crucial intelligence: the strength of the human settlement, defensive capabilities, and potential threats. The tracking party followed these final communications like a map written in an invisible, fading language.
The journey that should have taken a mere week stretched into months. Aggressive territorial packs forced detours and skirmishes, though the veteran leader's reputation prevented most confrontations from escalating into full-scale battles. Still, they lost two scouts to an especially belligerent pack near the Frostfang Mountains Peaks, an area South-West of their northern packs den, it was a grim reminder of the dangers beyond their own territory.
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The Grimfang Tracking Party
Now, fifteen Grimfangs positioned themselves strategically around Maya Village, muscles tense and ready for the assault. The Chief had granted the veteran Grimfang complete autonomy to handle the situation as he deemed appropriate.
The old wolf considered his options carefully. They could launch an immediate attack, potentially catching the humans unprepared. Alternatively, they could return to their territory, report their findings, and return with reinforcements. The decision weighed heavily upon him, his breath forming clouds in the frigid air as he deliberated.
After careful consideration, the Rarity Soldier Rank Grimfang—a classification earned through countless battles—made his decision. They would test the village's defenses with a small force. If resistance proved stronger than anticipated, they would retreat and reassess.
With a soul-chilling howl that echoed through the snow-laden forest, he dispatched four Average Soldier Rank Grimfangs and one Advanced Soldier Rank Grimfang, all approximately level 10(20) and 10(35) in combat capability. The assault team moved forward with practiced precision, scaling the wooden palisade with powerful leaps.
The leader landed silently within the village boundaries and immediately began cataloging scents. His sensitive nose detected various prey animals—boarats of varying strengths, both domesticated and trapped rabbiets, and human occupants. Most smelled weak, but one scent gave him pause—a powerful entity resided in one of the distant houses, surrounded by lesser beings.
Despite this concerning discovery, the leader remained confident. These humans had slain one of their own, and vengeance would be theirs. He prepared to signal the next phase of the attack with another howl.
The warning came too late—a whistling sound cutting through the air was his only alert before a hurled spear impaled him through the skull with devastating accuracy.
*Puiiikkkk*
The leader collapsed instantly, dead before his body struck the ground.
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Sensing the Looming Danger: A Battle
Inside the village's main hall, August and his team reacted instantly to the haunting howl that shattered the winter silence. Months of training had honed their reflexes to near perfection. A quick glance through frost-covered windows confirmed their fears—dark shapes clearing the walls with supernatural agility.
"Team positions!" August barked, his voice carrying the unmistakable tone of command. "Erik, Bren—take the east flank. Gel, Betty—west approach. I'll engage from the center."
His second team, led by the experienced Uncle Jonathan, took defensive positions around the main building where Aunt Theressa and her children had been hustled into the root cellar, its thick wooden door barred from within.
The fighters moved with practiced efficiency, donning leather armor reinforced with bone plates, which is sturdier than most metal found outside of the forest. August grabbed his favorite spear—crafted from ironwood and tipped with an enchanted Grimfang tooth and Boarat Tusk—and burst through the door.
Spotting the lead Grimfang, August calculated its distance and trajectory in an instant. With a fluid motion, he hurled his spear with lethal precision. The weapon flew true, striking the beast directly between its eyes, striking its skull and brain.
Without pausing to confirm the kill, August unslung his bow, knocked four arrows simultaneously—a technique few archers could master—and released them in rapid succession.
*Swish, swish, swish, swish*
The four arrows flew and cut through the winter air striking their intended target.
*Puik, puik, puik, puik*
Each arrow found their mark, though two Grimfangs managed to twist at the last moment, avoiding fatal wounds. Even so, the arrows penetrated deep, drawing howls of pain and spurts of crimson that stained the pristine snow.
The wounded beasts staggered, disoriented by the sudden assault and the loss of their leader. This moment of confusion proved fatal as Erik, who had positioned himself atop the nearby repurposed house for storage, unleashed his own volley.
His arrows finished the two gravely wounded wolves instantly. The remaining pair attempted to retreat, but August closed the distance with inhuman speed, his enchanted blade tooth, a shortsword severed their heads with two precise strikes.
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More of The Beast Outside
The skirmish had ended almost as quickly as it began, but August felt no relief. Something in his warrior's instinct warned him this was merely the opening move in a deadlier game. He sprinted toward the lookout tower, taking the wooden steps three at a time.
From the elevated position, his keen eyes scanned the tree line. There, partially concealed among the snow-laden pines, numerous pairs of eyes reflected the winter light—watching, calculating, waiting.
August clenched his fist around his bow. This would indeed be a long day for Maya Village. Despite the danger—or perhaps because of it—he felt a familiar thrill course through his veins. This was what he had trained for all his life.
Excitement and concern battled within him as he signaled to his team below. The real test was yet to come.