Chapter 36: The Corrupted Howl
The howl rippled through the air like a physical force, making the very ground tremble beneath them. It wasn't a simple beast's cry. It was something twisted, unnatural—corrupted.
A primal shudder ran through Lyrian's body. His breaths came unevenly, his vision blurring for a moment as pain flared from the deep gash along his ribs. Too much blood lost. Too much strain. The Evernight Ember stirred faintly, but even it felt sluggish.
Elyreina was the first to react, turning sharply toward the thickening mist. "Something's coming."
Reynard wiped the blood from his lips, gripping his sword tightly. "Not something. It's already here."
From the shadows, two glowing amber eyes emerged—piercing, predatory, filled with unrelenting hunger. The creature stepped forward, and the very forest seemed to recoil.
A monstrosity.
Its body was that of a titanic wolf, but grotesquely deformed. Patches of its fur were missing, revealing blackened, vein-ridden flesh. A second head—partially formed—protruded from its shoulder, its mouth frozen in a silent, grotesque snarl. Thick, bony spines jutted from its back, and its tail, longer than any normal wolf's, split into tendrils that writhed unnaturally.
And the stench.
Rot. Blood. Decay mixed with something deeply wrong.
Dorian took a sharp step back, hands trembling. "That… that thing isn't supposed to exist."
The corrupted beast let out a deep, guttural growl—a sound that vibrated through their bones. Then, without warning—it lunged.
Lyrian reacted first—barely. He raised his sword just in time, swinging to intercept. The beast's claws met steel, and the impact sent a shockwave through his arms. His sword arm buckled. Too strong. Too fast. The corrupted beast twisted its body unnaturally, slamming its tail into Lyrian's side. The force sent him flying, crashing hard against the ground, his breath leaving him in a choked gasp.
Reynard darted in, sword glowing with mana, aiming for the beast's legs to cripple its movement. His blade bit deep into its hind limb, severing muscle—but the creature didn't even flinch. Instead, it twisted mid-motion, lunging with terrifying speed. Reynard barely had time to react before a massive claw raked across his chest, sending him tumbling.
Dorian, gritting his teeth, raised his hands—mana surging around him. He clenched his fingers, and space itself distorted. A rift tore open in front of him—warping the battlefield. The beast lunged—only for its front half to twist violently, as if pulled by an unseen force. For a moment, it struggled.
Selene took the chance. From her position atop a fallen tree, she nocked an arrow in a flash. Three arrows—glowing with faint silver light—whistled through the air, aimed at its eye, throat, and chest. The beast reacted inhumanly fast. Its tendril-like tail lashed out, deflecting the first two arrows mid-flight. The last one embedded itself in its shoulder, piercing deep—but the wound immediately began to seal.
Selene's eyes widened. "It's regenerating too fast—"
Then the beast moved. Faster than before. It barreled forward, ignoring Dorian's spatial distortions—its corrupted power resisting the pull of the warped space. And it went straight for Lyrian.
Still struggling to push himself up, Lyrian barely saw it coming. The beast was too close. Too fast. Its massive maw opened, ready to rip through him. There was no time to dodge. No time to block.
Something snapped inside Lyrian. His body felt like it was being crushed from the inside. The exhaustion, the wounds, the constant strain of battle—it all pressed down on him like an unbearable weight. His vision blurred. Everything slowed.
No.
He forced himself forward, barely thinking—his legs screaming in agony, his breath shallow. The Evernight Ember roared inside him. And this time—he didn't suppress it.
Black flames erupted. The temperature around them plummeted as an unnatural darkness swallowed the battlefield. The corrupted beast hesitated, its monstrous eyes locking onto him—and for the first time, there was something like fear in its expression.
Lyrian's body trembled, his veins burning like molten fire. His vision pulsed, the world distorting. Then—he moved. In a single moment, he was in front of the beast. His sword, now wreathed in blue-black fire, carved through the air—and struck.
The blade sank deep into the beast's chest. It howled—a sound that tore through the sky. For the first time—it wasn't regenerating. The fire ate through its flesh, through its veins, through its very essence. The beast thrashed, twisted, screamed. And then—it burned. The black flames devoured it completely. Until nothing was left but ash.
Lyrian staggered, his vision darkening. The Ember within him pulsed wildly—unstable, hungering, demanding more. He barely felt it as his legs gave out. Someone caught him—Reynard. The noble boy, despite his own injuries, managed to keep Lyrian from collapsing fully. His grip was firm, his face unreadable.
The others were silent.
Selene's bow hand trembled. Dorian exhaled heavily, still clutching his wounded shoulder, his spatial distortions fading. He stared at Lyrian, something cold flickering in his gaze. "What… the hell are you?"
Lyrian barely heard him. The last thing he saw—before the world faded into blackness—was the look in Reynard's eyes. Not fear.
Something far more dangerous.
Recognition.