The skies dimmed unnaturally, as though twilight had arrived hours early. Thunder rumbled overhead, and the sudden downpour thickened into sheets, soaking everything beneath. No one had expected this, not with how brightly the morning sun had shone.
Kaelor stood motionless beneath the torrent, drenched from head to toe.
Rain dripped from his hair, clinging to his armor like second skin. His heart pounded against his ribs, each thump loud in his ears as he tightened his grip on his longsword. Eyes sharp and unwavering, he scanned the dense wall of trees and underbrush that surrounded them.
"Form a circle, now!" Hound barked.
At once, the twenty Guardsmen moved with discipline honed through experience and fear, forming a ring of men with Kaelor at the center. Sabers gleamed dully beneath the gray light, their tips tilted forward in readiness, the stance of men expecting death to leap from every shadow.
At first, only the steady hiss of the rain filled the air.
Then came the growls, deep, guttural, resonating from the underbrush like the sound of living drums.
Muscles tensed.
Awoo!
The eerie, guttural howl pierced the rain like a blade. From the undergrowth burst six direwolves, their matted fur soaked, yellow eyes burning with hunger. They raced forward with terrifying speed, beasts the size of small bears, all sinew, claws, and fury.
"Hold!" Hound's voice cut through the tension. "Tighten your grip. Let them come close. Drop to your knees and thrust upward! The rest of you, guard the sides!"
The moment the wolves lunged, the Guardsmen obeyed. In perfect synchrony, six men dropped low, knees bracing the muddy ground, and drove their sabers upward with all their might. The blades tore through fur and flesh, slicing deep into the wolves' throats. The beasts' momentum carried them forward, slamming into other men and sending them crashing into the wet grass.
Before the wolves could recover or deliver a final bite, the flanking Guardsmen slashed down, severing limbs and necks, ending the threat in flashes of steel.
The six beasts lay dead, their black blood mixing with rain and mud.
But there was no time to exhale.
From the dark woods came four more wolves, larger, leaner, and far faster. Their presence radiated menace.
One charged in a blur. Too quick for a human. Guardsman couldn't react in time.
But Jon did.
He intercepted the creature, shoving his saber into its snapping jaws. The force pushed him back, paws sliding through wet mud. Growling, he raised his free hand and slashed across the wolf's face. His claws tore deep gashes along its eye and snout.
The wolf howled in pain, twisting its massive head and flinging Jon and his saber away like a ragdoll. He landed hard but rolled into a somersault, dirt smearing his fur cloak and leather vest.
When he came to a stop, his hand closed over his saber, now lodged in the ground.
But his eyes widened.
The wolf had leapt, straight at Kaelor.
Kaelor's breath caught, the blur of gray-furred death descending on him. A massive torrent of flame exploded from Kaelor's longsword. Time seemed to slow as he shifted his stance, pivoting on his back foot. He widened his legs, bent his knees, and with a roar, brought his sword up in a diagonal arc, channeling every ounce of his strength.
The blade cleaved through the wolf's neck in one clean stroke.
No blood sprayed, the wound cauterized instantly as flames licked across the beast's body. The severed portion of its throat hit the earth with a heavy thud, smoke rising from the charred flesh.
The rain hissed against the burning sword. Flames danced wildly around Kaelor's blade, resisting the storm as if fueled by something more than fire.
"I killed it," he whispered.
His chest heaved, his hands still trembling from the surge of power. When he lifted his gaze, he found all eyes on him. The men stared, some in awe, some in shock.
"Is anyone wounded?" Kaelor asked, his voice low but clear.
"A few bruises," Jon replied, grinning despite his mud stained form. He straightened and looked at his lord with pride, eyes flicking to the smoldering corpse beside him. "But we're alive, my lord. Thanks to your magic."
Hound stepped forward and sheathed his twin sabers. "These wolves might've been a scouting party."
Kaelor nodded. "If they keep sending scouting parties like these," he said with hope, "then we'll kill every last one of them."
Then, his tone shifted as he addressed something more important. "System," he said. "Fuse the dead wolves with the Guardsmen."
[100 FP deducted]
At once, blue flames enveloped the ten fallen wolves and ten chosen Guardsmen. The others, four who hadn't been selected, watched with clenched jaws, waiting their turn, envy and admiration in their eyes.
The transformation began.
Flesh twisted. Bones cracked and reformed. The bodies of men grew, surged, reshaped by the essence of the direwolves. The flames consumed them whole, then dispersed.
Where once stood ten human warriors now stood something altogether different.
Dreadclaws.
Their forms towered with rippling muscle, each one wrapped in sinew and strength. Patches of majestic gray fur lined their arms, shoulders, and backs. Their snouts were now slightly extended, teeth sharper, more beast than man yet retaining every ounce of intelligence, and gaining more.
Their chests rose and fell with measured breaths, each one deeper than the last. Their hearts beat with the power of predators. Their eyes shone with keener perception; they could see the outlines of trees through the rain, hear the flight of insects, and scent every leaf, every drop of blood in the mud.
They looked down at their new forms, clawed hands, thickened frames, and bulging limbs that pulsed with raw potential.
They clenched their fists in wonder.
This wasn't just a change.
It was liberation.
Their former bodies had been cages, frail, weak, human. Now, they were something more.
Kaelor sheathed Ignis, the flame along the blade snuffing out with a faint hiss as the rain eased.
"Let's move. We're not far from the Oasis Basin."
The group began their slow march through the drenched underbrush, the scent of wet leaves and blood lingering. As they walked, Hound stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"Oasis Basin," he echoed. "That's a good name."
Kaelor gave a soft chuckle. "I'm thinking of building a proper town there once we take control. Something hidden… quiet. Deep in the forest, away from the eyes of the Church and the great powers. We'll be too weak to resist them while we're still fledglings."
Hound glanced at him sideways. "You sound like a man with something against the Church."
Kaelor's gaze lingered on the road ahead, but his voice held weight. "I don't hate them. There are good people among them, truly devout hearts with compassion and purpose. But they're the minority."
He paused, eyes narrowing as old memories surfaced, echoes of the previous Kaelor.
"Power has replaced their mercy. Most of them are no longer servants of virtue, just instruments of control."
Hound grunted. "It's not surprising. Even the town head we had decades ago was a kind man once. We didn't even have to hunt for weeks. But over time… he changed. Grew fat with pride, became cruel, and forgetful of the people he had to protect."
Kaelor nodded slowly. "So you're saying I should be careful. That even if I begin with purpose, I could end up becoming the very thing I despise."
Hound smiled faintly, a knowing look in his eyes. "I'm saying… don't lose sight of who you are. Power's a strange beast. It listens well at first, but one day, it starts whispering back."
Kaelor didn't respond immediately. The only sound was the squelch of boots in the mud and the slow patter of lingering rain.
Then he spoke, quiet and firm. "If that day comes, Hound… you'll remind me, won't you?"
Hound gave a low chuckle. "If you're still willing to listen."