Bound By The Blood Moon

This side of the field continuously boomed with the sounds of weapons clashing as the earth shook with the sheer force of the warriors' steps.

A clear circle was formed, with demons on its edge as they watched the battle before them. Their eyes could barely keep track of what was happening, but they knew that the result of this clash would decide their fate.

All four demon generals had fallen except one. 

The loudest of them all, with an insatiable lust for battle and blood, held onto his battle axe as he swung down with a force that aimed to split Björn's greatsword and cleave him in two.

"Hahaha. Yes, a battle worthy of my full strength."

With a wide smile on his face and hearty laughs that made the surrounding demons shiver, he swung his sword to meet the axe like he had done a hundred times already.

Their battle had gone on far longer than the others and none of them seemed to be losing stamina. No drop of sweat broke through Björn's skin, and if any had seeped out of Sledgehorn's pores, his immense body heat would have turned it to steam.

There was fury in their eyes as they focused solely on themselves.

Björn charged forward, his greatsword held to his right as he swung at Sledgehorn. The sharp end of his blade met with the flat face of Sledgehorn's battle axe as he parried the attack.

Björn pushed forward with their weapons locked together, aiming to pressure Sledgehorn into letting go of his axe. It worked, but Sledgehorn was a sly fox.

He released his axe and used the momentum of Björn's charge to propel himself into the air. He flipped once, angling his foot as he came crashing down towards Björn.

Not wasting another second, Björn threw his sword into the air as he dashed backwards to create enough distance between them. The might of Sledgehorn's drop kick sent the greatsword flying off towards Björn. Björn stole the sword from its aerial path, stabbing it into the ground beside him.

This wasn't the time to fight without care like he was used to. Sledgehorn was a demon general versed in different combat arts and would use every trick in the book to get an edge.

Sledgehorn walked to his axe while keeping his eyes on Björn, watching his every move. There was a small grin on his face as he taunted Björn.

Sledgehorn looked at the bracelet around his left wrist that had three small skulls. At the start of the war, they glowed bright red. But now, they had turned a dark shade of black, symbolizing that the other demon generals had been slain.

Knowing that he was the last hope, he got fiercer. His skin gained a dark red hue, and his tattoos glowed. He lunged at Björn, aiming for his left side.

Björn, noticing the changes in Sledgehorn, dodged the attack and jumped backwards. He held his greatsword before him, using it to shield himself from any danger as he crouched low.

Seeing the opportunity, Sledgehorn stabbed the end of his axe into the ground as he pulled out a weird-looking dagger from his waist.

It was short and shaped like a cone, but had twists on it like a spiral. The hilt was shaped like a T, with its blood-red colour matching Sledgehorn's skin.

The moment Björn laid his eyes on the dagger, he felt an immense sense of danger and every nerve in his body screamed at him to run. Panicking, he looked around him as he saw members of the Triform struggling to their last breath to slaughter the demons.

Shutting his eyes tightly, he thought of his life since he had been turned. His carelessness and wild nature that the werewolf blood amplified. His desire for more strength and endless thirst for war. His callous leadership of his tribe who stood behind him no matter what.

Everything had built up to this moment.

He took one deep breath as he steadied his eyes, fierce courage filling them as they washed away every hint of doubt. He would win; he had to. Billions of lives were dependent on this battle.

"Coopertego!"

Björn's armour flashed with blue light before a helmet appeared on his head, very similar to the ones worn by Viking warlords but far sturdier. He couldn't do this half-hearted any longer or he wouldn't even know how he died. To him, Sledgehorn was a wounded beast who was ready to put his life on the line to slay his hunter.

Sledgehorn stabbed the dagger into his chest, screaming in pain. Seconds later, the dagger sank into his chest and his eyes turned a dark shade of red. His tattoos glowed with a pulsating light, with his veins bulging underneath his skin. 

He laughed, his voice far deeper and louder than before as he swung his axe over his shoulder.

"Come, young werewolf king. Your end is here."