The first rank of werewolves exploded into motion—charging forward with savage speed, snarls tearing through the air.
The humans did not run.
They braced.
They activated arrays.
And the sky screamed with magic as the first volley of long-range Soul Attacks was unleashed.
The moon hovered overhead, stained a crimson red that bathed the earth below in an ominous hue. It pulsed like a heartbeat. Each beat closer. Louder. More suffocating.
In the Outlands—where civilization thinned and the true wilds began—the earth trembled. Cracks spiderwebbed through the stony plateau that held the dimensional rift. Winds howled unnaturally. Trees bent backward, shivering violently though there was no breeze.
Then the portal flared.
A towering obsidian gate shimmered to life, vibrating with pure, chaotic energy. The ground around it became scorched black, Qi and mana being sucked from the very atmosphere. The world trembled, holding its breath.
