The wait was long and terrifying.
As time dragged on, the weight of their plight began to settle more heavily on the townsfolk. Some clutched their javelins tighter, others stared blankly at the horizon, sweat pooling in the crooks of their arms despite the cool air.
The rain had finally stopped, leaving behind a gentle breeze that whispered through the leaves and broken branches. But the silence it brought did not soothe, it only sharpened the dread that loomed over them all.
Kaelor sat at the base of the gate, Ignis across his lap, eyes fixed on the distant hill. His heart was calm, but his hands, his hands wouldn't stop trembling.
And then he saw him.
A figure leapt from the crest of the hill, darting down into the valley below.
Hound.
He whistled sharply as he ran, signaling the coming storm.
Kaelor rose to his feet, slowly unsheathing Ignis. His gaze lifted to the sky, now streaked with hues of burnt orange and deep violet. 'Dusk.'
Their long wait was over.
The wolves were here and they came like a tide.
A flood of dark fur and glowing eyes poured into the valley, chasing after Hound with relentless fury. The ground seemed to tremble beneath their charge, their snarls echoing like distant thunder.
Kaelor slammed his palm against the wooden wall.
Roots exploded from the earth just behind Hound, forming a brutal barricade three feet high and just as thick. The first wave of direwolves, caught mid-leap were impaled instantly. Others crashed into the wall of thorns and bark, shrieking in pain as sharpened roots pierced eyes, shredded bellies, and cracked ribs.
Ten wolves died screaming, their blood painting the ground red.
But the rest, almost a hundred, leapt over or skirted the trap, their eyes burning with bloodlust.
Still hundreds of meters away, but closing fast.
Hound reached Kaelor's side, panting. Kaelor gave a tight nod and slammed his hand down once more.
Another bunch of roots erupted this time at the two-hundred-meter mark. Seven more wolves were claimed, but most leapt over in time, their instincts sharpened by the screams of their dying kin.
There wasn't much space left.
Kaelor extended his arm, and roots surged again, this time not as traps, but as barriers. From both sides of the town gate, thick, spiky roots shot outward, forming a six-foot-tall funnel-like corridor. Now, only two wolves could pass through at a time.
A forced choke point.
The Guardsmen left their Mountain Sabers sheathed and raised their javelins. With discipline born of desperation, they formed a tight phalanx near the corridor's mouth. Their makeshift spears, branches sharpened to deadly points, were braced and ready.
"Kill these beasts!" Jon bellowed, his voice rising above the chaos.
Together, the front line drew back their arms, then thrust forward with unified might.
The first two wolves were skewered, wood splitting hide and muscle with sickening cracks. Blood sprayed. The javelins were withdrawn and thrust again.
Again.
And Again.
Each wolf that dared charge into the narrow corridor was met with merciless precision. Kaelor stood behind the formation, eyes locked forward, Ignis burning dimly at his side.
Behind Kaelor, the townspeople stood frozen, wide-eyed and trembling at the sight before them. The Guardsmen, both human and Dreadclaw, fought like cornered beasts, pushing back the tide of wolves with sheer grit and blood-soaked determination.
More bodies piled at the mouth of the choke point. The corpses of wolves, stacked like logs, created unstable footing for both predator and defender.
One wolf, more cunning than the rest, leapt onto the heap of its fallen kin and sprang over the line, landing in the heart of the phalanx. With a vicious snap, it bit down on a Dreadclaw's neck, slamming him to the ground.
Before it could tear deeper, two human Guardsmen reacted, thrusting their javelins through the wolf's ribs. It gave a dying snarl and collapsed beside the injured Dreadclaw.
Groaning, the Dreadclaw shoved the heavy corpse off his body and staggered to his feet. He yanked off the thick bear-fur coat wrapped around his shoulders and touched his bruised neck. The hide had taken the brunt of the bite.
Without it, he would've died.
"Push!" came Jon's roar through the storm of growls and screams.
The Dreadclaw turned. Over a dozen wolves now lay dead within the corridor, but the line was breaking, not from strength, but from the sheer number of corpses underfoot. The pile had become a ramp, giving the next wolves better angles to leap or break through.
Awoo!
A chilling howl rang across the field.
From the hilltop, the massive 7.5-foot-tall Wolf King stood, its silhouette framed by the last light of the setting sun. With that single call, the tide shifted.
The regular wolves retreated at once, pulling back with surprising discipline.
In their place, ten alpha direwolves emerged from the treeline, larger, eyes glowing with uncanny awareness. Their presence sent a ripple of dread through the line.
The moment they charged, everything changed.
The javelins shattered.
Their sharpened points splintered against the thick hides of the alphas, some barely scratching the fur.
"Fall back!" Jon bellowed, voice sharp with urgency. He unsheathed his Mountain Saber, and the others followed, retreating swiftly while drawing their heavier weapons.
But the alpha wolves were faster. One lunged, jaws clamping down on Jon's shoulder with a sickening crunch. He grunted in pain, driving his blade into its side, but the cut was shallow.
With a growl, the beast flung him into the root wall. He slammed against it, and before he could recover, the wolf lunged again, this time sinking its teeth into his thigh.
Jon let out a roar, not of fear, but rage.
His claws erupted from his fingers with a fleshy snap, and he lashed out, raking the alpha's face with savage fury. Blood sprayed as the beast yelped, trying to retreat.
But Jon wasn't finished.
Ignoring the searing pain in his leg, he leapt onto the wolf's back. His jaws opened unnaturally wide and he bit down hard on the wolf's neck. His claws sank deep into the flesh, his wide paws planted firm in the bloodied mud, refusing to let go.
And Jon wasn't the only one.
Across the battlefield, as the alpha wolves overwhelmed the Dreadclaws, something changed.
The air turned feral.
Faced with death, the Dreadclaws lost their restraint, the flickers of humanity dimmed. They stopped fighting like men… and began to fight like monsters.
Howling, biting, clawing, they turned the battle into a primal brawl. The alpha wolves were stronger but the Dreadclaws had numbers.
And the choke point allowed only three alphas in at a time.
Kaelor extended his hand again. Roots burst from the ground, another command to the Earthenwood Palisade. But this time, the roots he summoned were instantly torn apart, shredded by the sheer force of the charging alpha direwolves. Their hardened hides and bone-breaking strength overwhelmed the natural barricades with ease.
Kaelor's vision swam. His knees buckled slightly, and his connection to the Earthenwood Palisade flickered, then snapped entirely, like a cord stretched to its limit and finally frayed.
He gasped, staggering back.
It felt as though the earth had rejected him.
Or perhaps... he and the wall had simply reached their limit.
"My Lord! The roots are going down!" Hound's voice rang.
Kaelor's head snapped up, blinking away the blur in his eyes.
The towering root barricade, his game changing defense, was shrinking.
The magic that sustained it was collapsing, drained by exhaustion and damage. Once six feet tall, it had already dropped to four and falling fast.
Beyond it, the wolves drew closer as their leader descended.
Their eyes glinted with savage anticipation. The moment the barrier fell, they would surge through, all of them.