It was harder than anyone could have imagined. The vibrations running through the earth, the constant shockwaves of clashing powers, and the overwhelming surges of energy shook every fighter’s nerves. Yet, despite the chaos around them, the Howlers and their allies had to shut it all out. If they lost focus for even a second, if they dared to turn their eyes away from the enemies directly in front of them, they would be torn apart.
They had already agreed on a plan. Every one of them knew what their role was, and every one of them understood what failure meant. This was not the type of battle where they could afford to improvise or let fear dictate their choices. If they hesitated, even for an instant, it would all collapse.
The winged Altered hovering above had been forced to descend, pulled into the melee to lend what strength he could. On the ground, the Altered were struggling. They were facing Werewolves clad in armor and armed with weapons stronger and heavier than anything the Altered fighters had seen before. Even with the advantage of strange abilities, the Altered could barely hold their own.
The Werewolves were fighting like beasts possessed. They took hits that would have crippled ordinary men, blasts that shattered stone, slashes that tore through steel, yet they shrugged them off, charging forward without pause. They fought with no regard for their own bodies, delivering devastating claw strikes even as blood poured from their wounds.
One Altered slammed a fist into a Werewolf’s chest, the impact ringing out like thunder, only to see the beast lunge back to its feet almost instantly. Another Was struck by a wave of energy, blown across the floor, but before anyone could react, it leapt again, fangs bared. The resilience was unnatural, terrifying.
The only small mercy was that as the heavily geared Werewolves crashed into the frontline, the second wave chose to bypass the Altered entirely. Instead of overwhelming the fighters directly, they thundered straight ahead. Their target was clear, the Howlers inside the restaurant.
The Howler members had been holding the line as best as they could, providing cover with their ranged weapons, but the sight of the second wave bearing down forced them to retreat inside. The restaurant itself had been prepared as a trap, though calling it that was generous, it was more like a desperate attempt at fortification.
Inside, the members had set up a layered defense. Some crouched near the walls, weapons ready, eyes locked on the shattered windows where they knew the beasts would come crashing through. On the second floor, teams had taken positions with ranged anti-Altered weapons, looking down at the first floor. Tables and chairs had been dragged into makeshift barricades, spears and blades angled outward from the cover. Every piece of furniture, every scrap of wood or metal, had been repurposed to buy them a fighting chance.
The truth was simple: they weren’t trying to win. They were trying to survive.
The Werewolves burst in with terrifying speed, smashing through the already broken windows and splintered walls. The first to land was immediately met with a spear thrust into its ribcage, sparks crackling as electricity surged down the shaft. From above, several bolts followed, raining into the beast’s body, forcing its muscles to spasm. For a moment, hope flared.
But then, impossibly, it kept moving. With a guttural growl, it wrenched the spear free from the Howler’s grasp. Before the fighter could react, a clawed hand swept across their throat. Blood sprayed across the barricade as the member collapsed, lifeless.
The others felt their stomachs drop. Their weapons weren’t working.
Even these Werewolves, less armored than the first wave, were still empowered by the double buff of the Luna’s howl. They were tougher, faster, and more savage than before. Worse still, the Howler members were already exhausted. They had fought too many battles, burned through too much stamina.
The beasts crashed through the makeshift defenses as though they were paper. Tables splintered, barricades exploded into shards, and bodies were flung aside like ragdolls. Weapons stabbed and slashed, but the Werewolves ignored the pain, focused only on killing.
One man was seized by the chest, lifted effortlessly into the air, and then slammed against the floor so hard the sound echoed through the hall. Another fighter was pinned down, a Werewolf mounting him, claws raking again and again until flesh and bone were shredded beyond recognition.
The Howlers were learning, in the most brutal way, the difference between Altered humans and true Werewolves.
The fighters on the second floor, their hands shaking, leaned over the railings to fire down at the chaos below. They knew the risks. They had known when they volunteered for the first floor that it meant being the first line of death. But bravery didn’t stop the fear from eating away at them.
Even then, they weren’t safe. The Werewolves were relentless. Annoyed by the constant bolts raining from above, several leapt to the walls. Their claws dug deep into the wood and stone, carrying them up the vertical surfaces like monstrous predators. In seconds, they were on the second floor.
The Howlers barely had time to scream before they were struck down. One fighter was swatted so hard he flew off the balcony, his body smashing into the wreckage below. Another was gutted where he stood. Others were dragged from the railing and thrown screaming into the first floor slaughter.
No one felt safe anymore. No one knew where to run. There was nowhere to run. The only path forward was to keep fighting, even as their chances dwindled by the second.
One man stepped back, his hands trembling as he loosed bolt after bolt at a Werewolf climbing onto the balcony. Each step back brought him closer to the wall until, with a dry click, his weapon ran empty. His eyes darted to his supply pack, left on the railing, too far to reach. Panic filled his chest. His fingers clutched the empty weapon uselessly. Could he blind it? Strike at its eye? Anything? Or was this the end?
The Werewolf’s growl gave him his answer. Dropping onto all fours, it pounced, muscles coiled like steel springs, leaping straight at him.
“ARGHH!” the fighter screamed, bracing for the end,
, only for a foot to smash into the Werewolf’s face mid-leap. The blow was so powerful it swung the beast’s entire body sideways, sending it crashing through the balcony’s railing. Wood shattered as the monster’s body plummeted, smashing into the first floor below.
The room froze for a moment.
“Everyone!” Xin’s voice rang out, fierce and commanding. She stood tall, her foot still braced from the kick. “Twenty-five minutes! We just have to last twenty-five minutes! Do whatever you can!”
Xin and the others couldn’t just watch anymore. Even without transforming, even without the monstrous power of the Werewolves, they had stepped forward to fight. Because there was no choice left.
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