Chapter 1404: Wings in the Storm
Among all the Howler outposts under attack, there was one holding out better than the rest, a modest little coffee shop tucked away on a street corner. It wasn’t because of luck or location. It was because the Altered stationed there were working together. Not just fighting side by side, but in perfect sync.
Trained for group combat, they were blending their unique skills with precision, coordinated counters, layered formations. Defensive Altered held the front lines, ranged fighters picked off enemies from behind, while close-combat experts tore through any werewolf that got too close. Others, with more peculiar abilities, made it downright impossible for the werewolves to fight properly.
One Altered, for example, fired out streams of green goo that latched onto the werewolves’ hands. The moment it attached, their deadly claws were rendered useless, replaced with floppy, soft pads. They couldn’t slash. They couldn’t even grip.
And that was all the opening the larger, more transformation-heavy Altered needed.
They bulldozed straight through the werewolves, delivering earth-shattering blows that sent their enemies crashing through the very windows they’d come in from, hurled back into the street like ragdolls.
But even with these tactics, there was one trait that continued to trouble the Altered.
Werewolves were relentless.
Burn them. Slash them. Hurl them through walls. They’d still rise. Still charge. Still fight like nothing had touched them.
“This isn’t good,” Crawley thought, scanning the battlefield from his perch on the coffee shop’s rooftop. He stayed high, surveying the chaos below, searching for werewolves who had taken damage, ones who looked like they might stay down if finished off quickly.
He summoned a barrage of attacks from above, dark projectiles raining down on the weaker enemies to put them down permanently.
“I’m doing what I can to shift the momentum,” he muttered to himself. “But even now, I can’t keep up with all of it.”
He could feel the morale slipping.
The Altered were fighting hard, but many were starting to feel like they were trapped in a loop. They’d just take down an enemy with everything they had, only to see it get up again like nothing happened.
That kind of thing? It shattered the spirit.
“Soon, some of them are going to start thinking this is hopeless,” Crawley said. “That the enemy is endless. That this fight has no finish line.”
Still, there was one advantage the Altered had, their large energy reserves and rapid recovery. They could keep fighting for hours on end. But endurance wasn’t just physical. The real concern wasn’t stamina, it was the mental toll. Most of them had never been in a battle before.
The real question is… when will they break? Crawley wondered. It’s already been close to an hour. Can they handle another? Two more? Then what?
A swirl of dark feathers erupted around Crawley’s body, forming a small vortex of swirling black before he shot down from the rooftop like a missile.
In a flash, he crashed into the park area where the bulk of the werewolves were pouring in. He extended his arms, and feathers began to gather and compress around them, shifting, solidifying, until they formed two massive black blades.
His wings still flared from his back, and he dropped into a fighting stance immediately.
A werewolf lunged at him with its claws extended, but Crawley didn’t flinch.
He parried the slash with one blade, skimming past the claws like a swordsman deflecting a strike. Then, with his free hand, he plunged the second blade straight into the creature’s stomach.
A clean, fatal strike.
As another werewolf bolted toward the coffee shop, Crawley leapt into the air. He twisted mid-flight, wings catching the wind, and shot forward like a human arrow.
Both blades aimed forward, he collided with the charging werewolf, piercing it clean through and sending it flying into the distance, its body disappearing far beyond the street’s edge.
Without pause, Crawley landed, spun, and moved seamlessly into the next skirmish. He darted between enemies with speed and grace. His dual blades slashed through fur and bone. His wings blocked attacks from the sides and even served as blunt weapons when needed.
He was fast. Ferocious. Untouchable.
Compared to the regular werewolves, Crawley was something else entirely. Even an Ironfang would have needed to bring everything they had to take him down.
After his near-death encounter with the Phoenix group, Crawley had gone through a transformation, not physical, but mental. He had pushed himself harder than ever. No longer content with theory and lectures, he trained relentlessly, refining techniques, creating new ones, and preparing himself for war.
He’d spent too long as a teacher.
Now, he was a warrior.
And yet, despite his change, some things hadn’t shifted. Not completely.
The Howlers had saved him when he was at his lowest. Meeting Gary had changed the course of his life. The students he once taught were still behind him, fighting, risking everything.
They were still his students.
And as their teacher, he had a responsibility to stand in front of them.
Not too far from the battle, atop a nearby building, Ylva watched everything unfold with a narrowed gaze.
“That Crow Altered is too strong,” one of the werewolves beside her muttered. “You might need to intervene to stop him.”
“Intervene?” Ylva repeated, amused. “For someone like him?”
“If I stepped in, yes, I’d win. But it would take far too much effort. Besides, that’s not part of the plan.”
She extended her hand. Her nails sharpened into long, glinting talons.
“But you’re right about one thing… It’s time we did something.”
Without warning, she stabbed her clawed hand into the werewolf beside her.
The creature didn’t scream, instead, its muscles bulged, veins pulsed, and its eyes burned with newfound strength.
“Let’s clear this place out.”
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