Lord Of The Lost

William stood frozen, watching the chaos unfold. His [Desperate Situation] instinct flared to life, and his [Super Sense] screamed for him to flee. His wolf instincts told him this was no place for him to interfere. The fight was beyond comprehension, let alone intervention.

All William could do was listen to the deafening roars and track the battle by following the shockwaves tearing through the wilderness.

Mott's strikes were calculated, each aimed at vital points. His goal was clear: to reclaim Sophia. But Iris fought back with equal determination, refusing to let him succeed.

She knew what was at stake. If Sophia fell into Mott's hands, her fragile, newborn soul would be consumed by the violent clash of the witch and werewolf powers within her. Her very existence would be obliterated.

Iris drew strength from an unknown source buried within the Black Forest, slowing Mott's advances and keeping him at bay.

But the ferocious battle could not last forever. After less than a minute, the intensity began to wane.

Iris was left battered and broken, her once-mighty form reduced to half a skeleton, with bloody strands of flesh hanging from her frame. Her original appearance was barely recognizable. Yet, even in this state, the ground beneath her writhed, and countless muddy tentacles rose to envelop her skeletal body, rebuilding her monstrous form.

Mott, meanwhile, stood panting, his aged body trembling and on the verge of collapse. Time had taken its toll on both combatants; one long dead, the other weathered by years of decay.

It was a battle with no victor, a brutal stalemate that left both sides devastated.

Mott's voice was heavy but defiant. "Iris, you cannot protect Sophia. We can destroy her as we see fit. If we tear apart her body, it will only scrape the surface of the foundation she represents. But you… you hesitate, bound by fear and weakness. You're alone."

Iris, her voice faint but unwavering, retorted, "Do you think numbers can outweigh strength, Mott?"

Mott lowered himself onto his front legs, his tone cold and final. "You're a priest; you should understand the insight of werewolves. I've seen your limits. The final victory belongs to us. And when this is over, regardless of the outcome, this town will vanish from the human world."

He tilted his head back and let out a long, mournful howl.

"Woo…"

The sound echoed across the battlefield, and distant wolves howled in reply.

From the shadows, two elite werewolves emerged, their bodies bending and swelling grotesquely as their fur grew wild. They transformed rapidly, charging toward the battlefield, ready to tip the scales in Mott's favor. The fight was far from over.

The sheer power of the Wolf Lord exceeded anything William could have imagined.

Mott's earlier declaration echoed in his mind: it would be effortless for him to destroy the border town. Yet, that was not his primary goal.

First and foremost, the werewolves needed Sophia.

Throughout their brutal battle, both Mott and Iris carefully avoided Sophia's position. Despite his claims of indifference toward her, insisting that he only sought to "dust off the cornerstone of inheritance," Mott could not afford to harm Sophia's essence. She was too valuable.

Mott attacked with relentless ferocity, draining Iris's strength at the cost of his own. But unlike Iris, he had reinforcements. The werewolves under his command were on their way, and two elite warriors had already arrived.

While Mott considered these elite werewolves stunted and unimpressive compared to his prime, they were still a formidable force. Answering Mott's howl, they leaped into the fray, their strength bolstering his campaign.

Suddenly, Iris vanished.

To the untrained eye, she seemed to disappear in an instant, leaving behind only the shockwave of her sonic speed. A ring of white air rippled through the battlefield, proof of her incredible velocity.

But her decayed, skeletal body lacked the agility she had in life.

Mott anticipated her move. With predatory precision, he intercepted her mid-flight, his claws sinking deep into her skull and slamming her into the ground.

Iris thrashed wildly, her rotted flesh falling away in clumps.

"You will go down in history as the traitor who betrayed the werewolf clan!" Mott snarled, his fangs glinting in the moonlight as he lunged toward Sophia.

Crack!

Iris's skull shattered with a sickening snap, but the force of her blow hurled Mott backward. Half her head smashed into his chest, shattering his sternum.

Mott growled in pain, but he retaliated instantly, pinning her down with his other claw. Just as he prepared to strike again, Iris's chest erupted, a grotesque net of flesh and bone sprang out, ensnaring Mott's jaws and halting his attack.

Her voice rang out, filled with defiance and madness, roaring from the depths of her soul.

"Mott, you cannot speak for the werewolf clan!"

Whoosh!

Dozens of massive tentacles, thick as pythons, burst from the ground. They writhed and coiled around Mott's hind legs like living chains, dragging him away from Iris with unstoppable force.

"I'll tear you apart!" Mott roared, his guttural growl reverberating across the battlefield.

The two giant wolves, each the size of hills, clashed in a primal display of savagery and violence. They rolled, snapped, and tore into each other with sharp claws and powerful jaws. Flesh and blood sprayed in every direction as they fought like ancient titans.

Though smaller than Iris, Mott's sturdy frame gave him an edge, but his strength was waning. The relentless tentacles now snaked up his body, binding his limbs and pinning him in place.

As Mott struggled, the reinforcements arrived. The elite werewolves, agile and fearless, swarmed over Iris's massive form like ants scaling a mountain. They leaped onto her skeleton, climbing higher with deadly intent.

One of them, swift and calculating, darted along her exposed ribs, making its way toward Sophia, the fluttering red cloak marking her position.

Iris howled to the heavens. With a desperate burst of energy, she crushed a vial of potion in her claws.

Boom!

A surge of raw power exploded from her, spreading like a shockwave. Iris's decayed flesh turned vibrant, the rotted gray replaced by bright, pulsing red. Her skeletal frame regenerated, and her tail grew a fresh coat of gleaming fur. It was as if life itself had been reignited within her, like a withered tree blooming anew in spring.

Reinvigorated, Iris let out an earth-shaking roar and lashed out with renewed strength. The werewolves climbing her body were flung through the air like ragdolls, hurled dozens, if not hundreds; of meters away.

Mott's howl pierced the air.

"Wolf Lord, grant me your strength!"

An elite werewolf, ready to sacrifice everything, leaped into the air and dove straight into Mott's jaws.

With a sickening 'crunch', Mott's massive, razor-sharp teeth closed around the werewolf, splitting him in two. Blood erupted in torrents as Mott devoured his fallen kin, tearing through flesh and bone like a ravenous beast. He stretched his neck, gulping down the gruesome meal, his body trembling as the stolen strength surged through him.

Iris roared in outrage, her voice filled with fury. "Mott, cannibalizing your own kind will lead to nothing but a wretched death!"

Mott's blood-soaked gaze turned to her, his green eyes now blazing red with madness. "And whose blood do you think runs through Sophia's veins? Whose power did you draw from in that potion you took? I didn't want this! I was 'forced' to do this!"

His words rang hollow, drowned in the chaos of the battlefield.

The fight grew even more brutal. Mott and Iris clashed like ancient titans, their primal savagery unleashed. Teeth tore through flesh, tentacles coiled and ripped, and blood splattered across the battlefield. Mott's belly was torn open, spilling entrails onto the battlefield, but still, he fought on.

Mott, now a patchwork of wounds and scars, looked deranged. His voice wavered between a devilish whimper and an unhinged growl. His hind legs were crushed, bound by the relentless tentacles, and his body sank into a pit of filthy blood and scattered remains. The tendrils beneath him coiled tighter, threatening to drag him into the abyss.

But Iris was faring no better. Her wolf form was nearly gone, her body in tatters, barely clinging to its shape. Worse still, her mind was under siege, invisible hands pulling at her sanity, dragging her into a pit of despair.

As Iris struggled, the werewolves seized their opportunity. They climbed over her skeletal remains, racing toward the sleeping Sophia, her red velvet hat the only bright spot amidst the carnage.

"No!" Iris roared. "Sophia!"

The elite werewolf reached her, clawed hand outstretched to claim their prize.

Bang!

A pulse of raw magic erupted from Sophia's body, hurling the werewolves away like leaves in a storm.

Sophia's eyes snapped open. Once a deep, alluring red like wine, they were now pools of pitch black, radiating an ominous darkness. Her red velvet hat shifted, transforming into a soft black one, adorned with a delicate veil that fell over her face, shrouding her in mystery.

She parted her lips, and a voice, elegant, chilling, and otherworldly, spoke.

"Who dares to harm Sophia?"

Mott froze, shock overtaking him. "The Black Swan?! You're still alive!?"