The King stumbled back, his crimson eyes narrowing in frustration as he raised his blade to parry Eryon’s relentless assault. Blood seeped from a wound on his shoulder, staining his dark armor, and his breaths came in short, labored bursts. The realization was beginning to dawn on him—Eryon wasn’t just a grieving wolf. He was a force of nature, and he wasn’t stopping.
Desperate to turn the tide, the King extended a hand, his voice ringing out across the battlefield. “Come to me!” he commanded. The Shadowbound, those that hadn’t already fallen to the wolves, surged forward in response, their twisted forms converging on the clearing.
Eryon braced himself, his claws ready to take on the horde, but before they could reach him, Isla and Draven arrived. Isla’s silver eyes burned with determination as she charged into the fray, her blade flashing as it cut through the Shadowbound with brutal efficiency. Draven followed close behind, his massive frame a blur of motion as he tore into the creatures with his claws.
The three of them fought seamlessly, their attacks coordinated and devastating. Isla’s ferocity and Draven’s strength kept the Shadowbound off balance, allowing Eryon to focus on the King.
Eryon lunged forward, his claws raking across the King’s chest and leaving deep gashes. The King stumbled, his crimson eyes widening in shock. “This isn’t possible,” he snarled, clutching his chest as blood seeped through his armor. “You’re nothing compared to me!”
Eryon’s lips curled into a grim smile, his amber eyes blazing. “I’m more than you’ll ever be,” he said, his voice cold and steady. He delivered a crushing blow to the King’s side, sending him sprawling across the ground.
The King groaned as he tried to rise, his movements sluggish and unsteady. For the first time, fear flickered across his face. His gaze darted to the Blood Moon overhead, as though searching for some unseen salvation.
From the edge of the clearing, Lyra watched, her silver eyes wide with a mixture of fear and determination. Her hand tightened around the hilt of her knife, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. She took a deep breath, then stepped forward.
“Eryon,” she called, her voice cutting through the chaos.
Eryon turned, his expression softening as he saw his sister standing there. She held her knife tightly, her hands trembling but her gaze steady. She stepped closer, her voice resolute. “We end this.”
Eryon nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. “Together,” he agreed.
The King struggled to his feet, his movements slow and unsteady. His crimson eyes burned with desperation as he looked at the two siblings advancing on him. The tide had turned, and for the first time, the King realized he was facing the end.