The stench of iron and matted fur hung thick in the air as Len and Kaelan crept along the edge of the underbrush. Up ahead, a clearing spread out beneath a gnarled old oak tree, its twisted branches stretching like emaciated fingers in the moonlight. At the center of the clearing, two packs of werewolves clashed fiercely—their bodies half-shifted, muscles bulging, veins throbbing beneath matted fur. The sound of claws rending flesh mingled with snarls that shook the night. A circle of robed Coven acolytes stood at the edge of the clearing, chanting incantations under their breath, their staves glowing with faint holy light that seemed to amplify the fighters' rage.
"It's the Frenzy Litany," Kaelan whispered, pressing himself low against a boulder. "This incantation warps emotions, turning trivial grievances into bloodlust. The Coven doesn't even need to lift a finger—they just watch the werewolves tear each other apart."
Len's jaw tightened. He'd never seen the massive gray-furred werewolf in the clearing before—an ugly scar slashing diagonally across his left eye, his half-shifted form as imposing as a tower of muscle. His claws were sunk deep into another werewolf's shoulder, his fangs dripping with blood, a terrifying aura of authority radiating from him. From the way the other werewolves cowered, there was no doubt this was the chieftain ruling over the region. Nearby, an acolyte's chanting suddenly grew louder, his staff throbbing in time—and the gray-furred werewolf's movements became even more ferocious.
As if sensing Len's gaze, the gray-furred werewolf snapped his head up. His golden-brown beastly eyes locked onto their hiding spot with uncanny precision, and a wild snarl erupted from his throat: "Intruders! Stinking of vampire, trespassing on our territory—do you crave death?"
Before the echo of the snarl faded, he released his prey and charged toward the underbrush on all fours, his gray fur blurring in the moonlight. The fighting werewolves froze, dozens of beastly eyes turning in unison to Len—eyes filled with contempt, wariness, and the unbridled savagery stoked by the Frenzy Litany. Kaelan reached out to pull Len back, but Len gently shook him off.
"We can't run from this," Len whispered, the Kiss of Shadow in his palm glowing with a faint dark light. "They need to see the truth." He stepped out of the underbrush voluntarily, standing in the clearing as moonlight stretched his silhouette long and thin. The half-shifted werewolves closed in around him, forming a circular "tribunal," their growls and heavy breaths weaving an invisible wall of pressure.
The gray-furred werewolf stopped three meters from Len, his massive claws scraping the ground and kicking up small clods of dirt. He studied Len's strange aura—bearing both werewolf traits and a shadowy glow—and his eyes filled with disgust. "Hybrid abomination! Bringing a vampire ally to gobble up our clan while we're divided?" He jabbed a claw at Kaelan, who moved to speak in defense but was silenced by a look from Len.
Len ignored the insult and pointed instead at the Coven acolytes circling them. "Your real enemies are there." He channeled his werewolf blood, faint gray fur sprouting at the tips of his ears. "When you were tearing into your clansman just now, that acolyte's staff was glowing—and his chanting grew louder. Haven't you noticed? Every time their chanting intensifies, your rage becomes harder to control?"
A murmur rippled through the crowd, and several young werewolves glanced instinctively at the acolytes. A lanky werewolf scoffed: "Don't listen to this mongrel's lies! He's just trying to turn us against the Coven!" he had always been a devout believer in the Coven's "shadow purification" rhetoric. On the other side of the circle, a female werewolf with reddish-brown fur stepped forward. Though less bulky than Gareth, she stood straight and tall, a wolf-tooth stud embedded in her right ear—the mark of Bruna, chieftain of the Red Claw Tribe. Her tribe had lived adjacent to Gareth's for generations, their relationship strained by territorial disputes.
"Gray, hold your judgment," Bruna said, her voice hoarse but firm. Her gold-green beastly eyes scanned the acolytes. "Fights in Gareth's clan started happening more frequently three months ago—and that's exactly when these 'holy light preachers' arrived at my tribe." She pointed a claw at one acolyte. "Last week, when my daughter went berserk and bit a clansman, I saw this one's staff glowing clearly."
Len was ready. He slammed the Kiss of Shadow into the ground, shadow energy spreading along the blade to form a black barrier across the earth. The barrier intercepted a holy light arrow fired secretly by an acolyte, and the hissing of colliding energies silenced all the werewolves. "This is your 'ally,'" Len said coldly. "The Coven claims to help you purge shadow—but the Dark Essence in me can block their attacks. What they really want to purge is every race that refuses to be controlled."
"Utter nonsense!" An acolyte leader stepped forward, clutching a gilded staff. His robe bore a silver sun emblem at the collar—clearly the leader of the group. "We are here by the Coven's order to purge shadow filth! This hybrid carries dark power—he is a walking omen of disaster! He's twisting your minds with sorcery and daring to accuse us in return!" He pointed at Len, the gem atop his staff bursting with blinding holy light. "Look at the shadow aura clinging to him! Look at the vampire at his side! They want to seize our werewolf lands while we're divided!"
The acolyte leader's voice carried the artificial power of "sacred speech," each word dripping with蛊惑. Several werewolves who had been on the fence grew restless, low growls rumbling in their throats. Gray seized the moment to shout: "Chieftain! He's right! This monster is trying to turn us against each other!"
Doubt flickered in the gray-furred werewolf's eyes—the acolyte leader's words had struck a nerve, tapping into his fear of shadow power. Bruna stepped forward immediately, placing herself between the restless werewolves and Len. "Silence! My daughter has never touched any shadow—why did she go berserk? Dare you claim your incantations had nothing to do with it?" She turned to the gray-furred werewolf. "Gareth, before they arrived three months ago, our tribes clashed, yes—but we never tore each other apart like this!"
Len spoke up at the right moment, his voice quiet but penetrating. "If I'd come to seize your lands, why would I stop your fighting? If the Coven truly came to purge filth, why did they shoot me in secret instead of facing me openly?" He wrenched the Kiss of Shadow from the ground, the blade reflecting the acolyte leader's flustered expression. "Dare you tell all your acolytes to stop chanting—and see if these werewolves still go berserk?"
The acolyte leader's face paled slightly, but his tone remained defiant. "Cease your quibbling! Stopping the chant would let shadow spread unchecked! These werewolves went berserk because they were corrupted by your unholy power!" He shot a secret signal to the acolytes beside him. Instead of weakening, their chanting grew faster, and their holy light blazed brighter.
Gray grew frantic at the sight. He lunged at Len with claws outstretched. "Spreading lies! Die!" Len dodged sideways, his shadow claws slashing lightly—leaving only a shallow gash on Gray's shoulder. He'd held back intentionally. "I don't want to fight," Len said solemnly. "But I won't stand by while you let the Coven destroy yourselves."
Just then, the acolytes outside the circle abruptly quickened their chanting. Streams of holy light twisted into whips and lashed toward the werewolves. The gray-furred werewolf roared, spinning around to tear the oncoming light whip to shreds. "Bastards!" He finally saw the truth clearly. His gaze met Len's—still wary, but the hostility had faded. "Is what you said true?"
"Believe me or not," Len said, drawing the Kiss of Shadow and pointing at the acolytes. "But right now, you have two choices: let the Coven use you as pawns and die... or join forces to drive these vermin out."
The gray-furred werewolf lifted his head and let out a long, resonant howl. The werewolves who had been facing off against each other immediately set aside their enmity, turning as one toward the acolytes. He looked at Len, his voice steady. "I am Gareth, chieftain of the Stone Fang Tribe. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." Bruna let out a sharp whistle, and her tribe's werewolves quickly formed a half-moon formation, joining Gareth's clan in a pincer attack. Kaelan stepped out of the underbrush, his silver hair glinting coldly in the moonlight. "I know a path that circles behind the acolytes—we can break their chanting circle."
Len nodded, exchanging a look with Gareth. It was the first confrontation—and reconciliation—between a hybrid and a werewolf chieftain. More than that, it marked the beginning of an uneasy alliance between two once-unrelated forces, bound together by a common enemy.