The Veil's chamber was a cathedral of carnage, its obsidian walls slick with black ichor, the air thick with ash and the metallic stench of blood. The floor, carved with runes that pulsed red like a dying heart, trembled under the weight of the chasm's hunger, a void that yawned at the chamber's center, its edges jagged with bone.
Magnus Varik stood at its brink, his werewolf form a towering mass of black fur, corded muscle, and amber eyes that burned like molten gold. His claws, long as daggers, dripped with the ash of a bone-wolf he'd slain moments before, its flames extinguished but its void-eyes still haunting his mind. The shard of the Key of Destruction lay shattered at his feet, its obsidian fragments glinting with a darkness that seemed to breathe, their void-energy seeping into the cracked stone like poison.
His scar, a jagged line across his chest, throbbed in sync with the shard's pulse, the curse in his blood a wildfire clawing at his humanity, urging him to claim the Key's power—to become the First Howl's heir or burn Eryndor to ash.
Across the chamber, Isabella stood, her silver eyes blazing through the crimson haze, her cloak torn, her pale skin streaked with blood and ash. Her pendant, now a fractured relic, glowed faintly, its red light casting shadows that danced like specters. Her presence was a blade—sharp, unyielding, and laced with venom, her human facade barely masking the vampire beneath.
Around her, her horde surged, a sea of pale flesh and red eyes, their psychic hisses a storm that clawed at Magnus's mind, whispering of despair, betrayal, and the inevitability of his fall. The Citadel's runes flared, their red light syncing with the chasm's heartbeat, amplifying the hunger that threatened to swallow them all.
Kiera fought at Magnus's flank, her daggers a blur of silver, slicing through a vampire's throat, black ichor spraying across her leather armor. Her leg bled through its wrapping, a wound from an earlier skirmish, but her silver-flecked eyes burned with defiance, her loyalty a fire that refused to dim. "Magnus, end her!" she snarled, parrying a vampire's obsidian claws, her blade sparking, the impact jarring her wounded frame.
Jakob shielded Veyne, his fang-blade broken, its jagged edge clutched in bloodied hands as he dragged her frail form back. Veyne's amber eyes flickered, her runes—once glowing sigils of Suldari magic—now faded, her breath a fragile thread. "Stay with me," Jakob whispered, his voice trembling, his human heart a beacon in the chaos, his scholar's mind racing for a way to save her.
Talia stood apart, her raven-feather tattoos dim under the crimson light, her curved blade flashing as she cut down a vampire, its head rolling across the stone. Her gray eyes shimmered red, synchronized with the ravens swarming above, their caws a dirge, their crimson eyes locked on the chasm as if they saw the evil spirit stirring below—a shadow older than the Citadel, its hunger a void that whispered of ruin.
Gavrek, his Suldari frame scarred and trembling, rose with a snarl, his claws bared, amber eyes flickering with a humanity he'd fought to reclaim. "The Key's not hers," he rasped, lunging at a vampire, his claws tearing through its chest, ichor soaking his gray fur, his wounds bleeding black from the curse's toll.
Ragnar, the Iron Fang, roared from the rear, his warhammer smashing a vampire into ash, its bones scattering like dust. His steel-gray eyes were wild with ambition, his brown fur scorched, his hatred for vampires—a wound from a sister lost to their fangs centuries ago—fueling his fury. "The Key's mine, Varik!" he bellowed, his voice a challenge, his hammer swinging, blood and ichor mingling on its iron head.
Isabella's laugh cut through the din, a velvet blade laced with venom, her silver eyes shifting—human, then monstrous, a flicker of the girl she'd been before the vampire's curse claimed her. "You're all pawns," she purred, her pendant's fragments glowing brighter, their red light weaving a shield around her. "The Key's power is mine, and the Citadel will crown me."
Magnus's roar shook the chamber, his claws lengthening, the curse a wildfire in his veins, its hunger a voice that whispered of power and ruin. He charged, his sword blazing with wolf-blood runes, its edge slashing at Isabella's form. She vanished into smoke, a vampire's trick, reappearing behind him, her claws raking his back, blood spraying across the stone, the pain a spark that fed the beast within.
His fur erupted further, bones grinding as he fought the full transformation, the First Howl's shadow clawing at his soul.
Kiera screamed, a vampire's claw piercing her shoulder, pinning her to the obsidian wall, its fangs grazing her neck. She slashed back, her dagger burying in its eye, ichor gushing, but another tackled her, its claws tearing her armor, blood pooling beneath her.
Jakob hurled himself forward, his broken blade stabbing the vampire's back, ichor soaking his hands, but the creature turned, its claw slashing his chest, blood blooming like a rose across his tunic, his human frailty exposed.
"Jakob!" Magnus roared, his voice a storm, lunging to shield him, but Isabella's pendant flared, a red pulse that knocked him back, his sword skittering across the stone, its runes dimming.
The chasm's hunger surged, its red light blinding, and an evil spirit stirred—a shadow of bone and flame, its eyes voids that burned with the Citadel's wrath, its voice a whisper in Magnus's mind: "Claim the Key, or perish."
Talia's ravens dove, clawing a vampire's face, their talons tearing flesh, but a second creature tackled her, its fangs sinking into her arm, blood pouring from the wound. She screamed, her blade flashing, severing its head, ichor spraying, but her tattoos dimmed, her strength waning, her gray eyes flickering with fear as the spirit's shadow loomed closer.
Gavrek fought alone, his claws a whirlwind, tearing through three vampires, their bodies collapsing into ash, but a fourth drove its talons into his side, black blood spraying, his amber eyes dimming. "Varik… don't let her…" he rasped, collapsing, his Suldari curse a fading ember, his sacrifice a weight that crushed Magnus's heart.
Ragnar's warhammer swung, crushing a vampire's skull, bone and ichor exploding, but Isabella appeared before him, her silver eyes gleaming, her claws slashing his chest, blood soaking his fur. He roared, swinging, but her pendant's pulse blinded him, his hammer falling, his steel-gray eyes dimming as blood pooled beneath him.
The chamber quaked, the chasm's red light erupting, and a new howl—not wolf, not vampire, but ancient—tore from the depths. The evil spirit rose, a colossus of bone and flame, its void-eyes burning, its claws raking the air, its presence a storm that drowned the runes' light. "The Key demands blood," it hissed, its voice a chorus of the damned, its shadow stretching across the chamber.
Isabella seized the moment, her pendant's remnants flaring, a crimson shield forming around her, its light pulsing with the spirit's hunger. She lunged, her claws aimed at Magnus's heart, her voice a hiss. "Your blood is mine, Varik."
He caught her wrist, claws digging into her flesh, her shield cracking under his strength, blood and ichor mingling. Their eyes locked—amber against silver, beast against horror, the chasm's howl deafening. The curse surged, his scar splitting, black blood weeping, the spirit's voice a blade in his mind: "Claim it, or die."
Kiera broke free, her dagger slashing a vampire's throat, ichor spraying, but another tackled her, its fangs sinking into her leg, blood bubbling from her lips. She screamed, her silver-flecked eyes meeting Magnus's, a flicker of defiance fading into peace. "Protect… them," she whispered, her daggers clattering to the stone, her body still.
Jakob screamed her name, lunging forward, but a vampire's claw slashed his throat, blood spraying as he collapsed beside Veyne, his hand clutching hers, his human heart silenced, his scholar's dreams lost to the dark.
Talia staggered, blood dripping from her arm, her ravens falling silent, their crimson eyes dim. "The Key's below," she gasped, her voice faint, her blade falling as the evil spirit's shadow loomed, its claws grazing her, her tattoos dark, her gray eyes empty.
Magnus's roar was a god's wrath, his werewolf form surging, claws tearing through vampires, ichor soaking his fur. He reached Isabella, his sword slashing, but her pendant's pulse knocked him back, her claws grazing his scar, black blood mixing with red, the spirit's laughter a storm in his mind.
A new figure emerged from the chasm—a woman, cloaked in shadow, her eyes black as the void, her skin etched with glowing runes, her presence a chill that froze the air. Her staff of twisted bone pulsed with green flames, her voice a whisper of ruin. "The Citadel claims its due," she intoned, raising her staff, the runes flaring, the chamber convulsing.
The evil spirit roared, its bone-and-flame form lunging, its claws raking the stone, its void-eyes fixed on Magnus. "You are the heir," it hissed, its voice a blade, its hunger a void that threatened to swallow him. The chamber split, stone crumbling, the air a storm of ash and fire, Isabella's vampires surging, their claws endless.
Kiera's body lay still, her silver-flecked eyes empty, her daggers bloodied but broken. Jakob's blood pooled beside Veyne, his hand still gripping hers, their bond a fragile thread in the chaos. Talia fell, her ravens burned to ash by the spirit's flames, her gray eyes dark, her blade buried in a vampire's chest.
Magnus fought, his claws a storm, ichor and blood soaking the stone, but the spirit's claws grazed him, its flames searing his fur, the curse a wildfire that threatened to consume him. Isabella's pendant flared, her vampires closing in, the bone-and-flame colossus a shadow that drowned the light.
Then, a new howl—not from the chasm, but from the shadows beyond the chamber's gates. Ancient, primal, it shook the Citadel's walls, stone crumbling, runes fading, the evil spirit's flames dimming.
From the darkness surged a pack of wolves—massive, silver-furred, their eyes glowing white, their claws etched with runes older than the Suldari. Their leader, a towering she-wolf with fur like moonlight, fixed her gaze on Magnus, her voice a rumble in his mind.
"You are the heir," she said, her white eyes piercing, her presence a fire that warmed his blood. "Come with us, or this place claims you."
The ancient wolves lunged, their silver claws tearing through vampires, their howls shattering the evil spirit's form, its bone-and-flame body collapsing...