Lord Of The Lost

The bright moon hung low, casting its pale gaze over the wilderness, silent and watchful.

Even as the Ice Knight dissolved, his face; carved from frost, remained focused on the Black Forest. His head, the last part of him to disappear, whispered faintly, "I'm here… to support… you…"

And then, he was gone.

The power of the scroll was spent.

The raging blizzard disappeared, leaving behind only echoes of its wrath. The biting cold dissolved into the air, and the once-turbulent battlefield fell silent.

---

The land was left scarred by the storm. Patches of unmelted ice and frost lingered, scattered across the ground like remnants of winter refusing to yield to spring.

The elite werewolf stood frozen in his final pose, claws extended in defiance, his body an eerie, bloodied ice sculpture. He had pushed beyond his physical limits, delivering one last, desperate strike against the blizzard's fury. But the cold had claimed him.

"Woo…"

The wolves howled, their cries echoing across the wilderness. From another direction came faint replies, a haunting call-and-response in the night.

William, cradling Sophia in his arms, hit the ground hard but was unharmed. He blinked in confusion, realizing he was completely intact despite the devastating attack.

The moment the Wolf Lord's claws struck, time seemed to stutter. Everything froze in an instant, his thoughts suspended as if reality itself had skipped a beat. And then, suddenly, he was on the ground.

He glanced down at Sophia. Her dark eyes, once pitch-black, had returned to their bright, wine-red hue. The soft black hat atop her head shimmered, transforming back into her familiar red one.

At first, Sophia's gaze was unfocused, dazed. Then, clarity returned, and her face twisted with emotion.

"...Sister," she whispered, the word barely audible.

Her lips trembled as tears welled up in her eyes. She lifted her head and cried out, her voice a heartbreaking wail that pierced the night.

"Grandmother!"

In the distance, the rotting giant wolf, Iris, stood as a shattered husk. Her body had been torn apart, ribs spread wide and driven deep into Mott's form. Flesh and bone fused grotesquely, binding the last living Wolf Lord and rendering him immobile.

With the last of her strength, Iris growled, her voice weak but resolute.

"Take her away!"

William didn't hesitate. Spreading his black wings, he launched into the air, holding Sophia tightly.

The moonlight bathed the scene below as Sophia struggled against his grip, her small hands reaching desperately toward Iris.

"I'm not leaving!" she sobbed, her voice breaking. "I want to stay with you!"

Tears streamed down her face as she cried out into the night, her voice full of despair and longing. But William's wings carried them higher, away from the battlefield, leaving behind the fallen and the fading echoes of battle.

"Sophia!"

Mott's bloodshot wolf eyes gleamed with madness, red streaks spilling like tears. His roar pierced the night, wild and furious, filled with unrelenting rage.

The pressure on Iris's ribs intensified, her frame struggling to hold the crazed Wolf Lord. But no force seemed capable of stopping Mott now.

"Even if it costs me my life… even if my wolf soul burns to ash, I 'will' take you back! The fate of werewolves belongs to a werewolf!"

He let out a guttural howl, the sound rippling through the blood-soaked battlefield.

"Iris!" Mott bellowed. "A dead Wolf Lord 'cannot' defeat a living one! You're at your limit, beyond it! You're already dead!"

Bang!

Iris's ribs shattered under the strain, pieces of bone exploding outward.

Mott staggered forward, rising slowly from the carnage. His hulking form dripped with blood, his skin flayed and torn, exposing raw muscle beneath. He looked like a monster reborn in agony.

At his feet lay half of Iris's broken wolf head, surrounded by scattered fragments of rotted flesh and shattered bones. Yet even in pieces, Iris fought on. Her detached limbs and writhing tentacles crawled back toward Mott, clinging to his body like living chains, trying to slow him.

"ROAR!"

Mott unleashed a deafening roar that seemed to split the very air.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The ground trembled as shockwaves erupted from his massive frame, the air detonating in cascading blasts. White waves of force rippled outward, tearing apart the battlefield. Blood and flesh flew in all directions as Iris's limbs were flung from his body, scattering like debris in a storm.

The attack swept across hundreds of meters, its sheer power leaving nothing untouched.

Even William, carried by instinct and [Desperate Situation], couldn't escape the onslaught. His entire body felt like it was being torn apart, like a tiny ship caught in a relentless tsunami.

Sophia raised her trembling hands, conjuring a magical barrier to shield them. But without the Black Swan's [Eternal Night Guardian], her defense was fragile, unable to withstand the force of a Wolf Lord's might.

Crash!

William's eardrums ruptured, blood streaming from his ears as the roar shattered his senses. Holding Sophia tightly, he plummeted to the ground like a wounded bird, crashing hard into the wreckage below.

Mott's roar spared no one. Ordinary werewolves fell to their knees, clutching their ears, howling in pain as blood poured from their heads.

Mott towered over the battlefield, his voice still a thunderous decree. "Next, I will end every life here! Every building! Nothing will remain! I'll raze it all! Bury it all with me!!"

---

When the storm of destruction finally settled, silence fell over the devastated battlefield.

Mott's labored breaths echoed, his colossal form swaying. His scarlet, bleeding eyes scanned the ruins around him. He stood alone, the last figure towering over a wasteland of blood and death.

A monstrous sight; skinless, raw, and feral, he was a wolf lord reborn as despair incarnate.

Iris, or what remained of her, lay scattered across the ground. Her body was destroyed, her limbs torn apart. The only piece left intact was half of her wolf head, still clamped onto the tentacles buried in the earth, refusing to be cast aside.

Even in this state, Iris's gaze turned to the sky, to the full moon glowing faintly above.

The night wasn't over.

Her voice, weak and faint, rose from her fractured form.

"Mott… you still haven't killed me…"

Bang!

Mott snarled and brought his massive paw down, crushing Iris's broken wolf head underfoot. The earth shook as he pressed down, his glowing red eyes glaring at the remnants of the only one who had dared to stand against him.

The ground trembled violently before sinking into the earth.

Mott sneered, his voice filled with scorn. "Iris, do you think I'm a fool? You've merged with the Black Forest, I can't truly kill you. But why should I? All I want is—"

Boom!

A fireball slammed into Mott's massive body, but it was no more than a spark against his towering form. He barely flinched.

Sophia, trembling and barely able to stand, clutched her hands together, trying to summon another spell. Blood streamed from her ears, her knees knocked together, and her fragile frame quaked with exhaustion.

Her voice broke as she screamed, anger and desperation mingling in her cry. "Don't hurt my grandma!"

Her chest heaved, her small, wolfish features distorted with emotion as strands of her hair turned wild, marking her transformation into a wolf girl.

Nearby, William staggered to his feet. Blood dripped from his ears, his head spinning, but his grip on his spear tightened. He couldn't hear the chaos around him, but his resolve burned through the haze.

He raised his weapon and fixed his gaze on Mott.

'The border town might fall... but if there's even a sliver of hope...'

He steadied himself. 'Then I'll risk everything.'

"Sophia," Mott rumbled, his voice filled with disdain, "look at yourself. You have neither the strength of a werewolf nor the power of a true witch. Which path will you take?"

Mott took a step toward her, his enormous shadow swallowing her trembling form.

He wasn't going to wait any longer. If he took Sophia now, he'd finish what he started, razing the entire border town to the ground.

Whoosh!

An arrow cut through the air and struck Mott's muscular form, barely piercing the flesh. He didn't flinch. Slowly, he turned to face the source of the attack.

There stood an old, weathered hunter, his face lined with years of toil. Dust clung to his boots and coat, and his hands trembled slightly as he lowered his bow.

"I am Bob," the hunter said between ragged breaths, his voice steady despite his exhaustion.

Mott's expression didn't change as he took another step forward. With terrifying ease, he crushed the old man under his massive paw. The ground cracked beneath the force, leaving behind a mangled figure, blood pooling around the lifeless form.

Mott glanced down at the mess, his voice cold and indifferent. "Your name? Your purpose? None of it matters to me."

But Old Bob wasn't done yet.

From his broken body came a faint, raspy voice.

"The moonlight... bears witness. The goddess bears witness..."

The words were barely audible, but their weight carried through the stillness.

"If I have a son... I will guide him to the hunter's path. I will ensure he knows his mission... that he never strays from it... Hunters are born to protect their homes... to face the dark with unwavering faith. Even if the beasts are relentless, we will stand against them... until our souls no longer belong to us... until the goddess leads us to her light."

He coughed weakly, his voice growing fainter. "Forgive my son's mistakes, goddess... I've set him on the right path. Let my faith prove... hunters never falter in the moonlight... even as we fade..."

Mott sneered, leaning closer. "Your faith is meaningless. Hunters are relics of the past, abandoned by the Moonlight Goddess, just as the werewolves were cast aside by the original moon. No amount of devotion will change that."

Bob's voice wavered, but his conviction didn't falter. "Witness me... I am Bob. I have a son... I ventured into the Black Forest... and I found him..."

With those final words, Bob's voice faded, his body growing still.