Six was exhausted but satisfied.
The journey back from the Ironspine Mountains had been uneventful—no bandits, no monsters, no unexpected complications. The cup of giant's toenail shavings sat securely in her satchel, wrapped in cloth to prevent spillage. One more day of walking and she would be home, back to her cabin, her toys, and her prize.
Back to Lemmy Wink.
The thought brought a smile to her ruby lips.
The sun was sinking low in the west, painting the grasslands in shades of orange and gold. To the east, rising like a pale lantern against the darkening sky, was the full moon—bright and heavy and impossibly large on the horizon.
The Wolf Moon, Six realized. The first full moon of the new year, named for the hungry wolves that howled more frequently during the cold winter months.1•2 In the old folklore of her mentor's homeland, this moon was said to stir the blood of predators, to awaken ancient hungers in creatures that walked on four legs—or two.
Six shivered, though not from cold. There was power in full moons, especially this one. Witches who cultivated certain paths could draw strength from its light, and creatures of the night grew bolder under its gaze.
She began scanning the landscape for a suitable campsite. A small copse of trees stood about a hundred yards to her left, offering shelter from the wind and concealment from prying eyes. She adjusted her satchel and started toward it.
Then she heard the howl.
It rose from somewhere to the north—a long, mournful cry that echoed across the grasslands. Six slowed her pace, her hand moving instinctively to the knife at her belt.
Just a wolf, she told herself. Normal wolves. Nothing to worry about.
Wolves were common enough in the Heartland, especially in the wilder regions between settlements. They generally avoided humans unless provoked or starving, and Six was neither weak nor defenseless. A simple fear hex would send any normal wolf running with its tail between its legs.
She resumed walking, keeping her senses alert.
Then another howl answered from the south.
Six stopped dead in her tracks.
This howl was different. Even though it came from far away—miles, perhaps—she could hear it with startling clarity. The sound was deep, resonant, filled with a bass that vibrated in her chest like the rumble of distant thunder. It wasn't the cry of a hungry predator seeking its pack.
It was a challenge.
A declaration.
A hunt.
"What the hell was that?" Six muttered, her eyes scanning the darkening horizon.
Normal wolves didn't sound like that. Normal wolves didn't have that kind of volume, that kind of presence. She had heard wolves howl before—had even used wolf pelts in some of her rituals—and nothing she had encountered produced a sound quite like this.
The first howl came again from the north, closer now. And this time, Six could hear the same unnatural resonance in it. Two creatures, calling to each other across the grasslands, their voices carrying for miles despite the distance.
Her mind raced through possibilities.
Dire wolves? They were larger than normal wolves, more aggressive, but she had never heard of them in this region. Hellhounds? Possible, but they typically stayed close to places of dark magic or demonic activity. Wargs? The intelligent, evil wolves of legend that sometimes served dark masters?
Or...
Six's blood ran cold as another possibility occurred to her.
The Wolf Moon. The full moon rising bright and heavy in the east. Creatures that walked on four legs—or two.
Werewolves.
She had never encountered one personally, but her mentor had told her stories. Humans cursed with the beast within, transformed by the light of the full moon into savage predators that combined human cunning with animal ferocity. They were rare—most werewolf bloodlines had been hunted to extinction centuries ago—but not unheard of.
And they were dangerous.
A werewolf in full transformation was a match for most adventurers. Two werewolves, working together, could take down a small party. And if they caught a lone traveler on the open grasslands with no shelter, no backup, no preparation...
Six looked at the copse of trees she had been heading toward. It suddenly seemed very far away, and very inadequate.
Another howl split the night—this one from the east, cutting off her path back to the Black Forest. Three of them now. Three voices raised to the rising moon, their calls forming a triangle that was slowly, inexorably closing around her position.
"Shit," Six breathed.
She was being hunted.
Six's boots pounded against the forest floor, her breath measured despite the burning in her lungs. She was already cycling—in, hold, release—the Sovereign's Hungering Breath pulling ambient essence into her core even as she ran.
Fifty meters to the ravine. Forty. Thirty—
A blur.
Her eyes caught it too late. Black and grey fur, muscles coiled impossibly tight, limbs bent at angles that shouldn't allow such speed.
Then another.
And another.
Six's wicked path system chimed in;
「 HOSTILE DETECTION 」 Werewolf Hunters (x?) — Level Unknown Formation: Encirclement in progress Threat Assessment: CALCULATING...
"Fuck," Six hissed through her teeth.
They weren't attacking. Not yet. They were herding her.
The wolf-men moved like ghosts made of shadow and sinew—quadrupedal nightmares pumping through the underbrush with horrifying silence. She caught glimpses: elongated snouts, yellow eyes that caught moonlight, claws tearing earth without sound.
Her hazel and green flecked eyes narrowed.
They're testing me. Wearing me down before—
A deep, resonant howl split the night ahead.
Not a hunter's call.
A king's summons.
Six's lips curled into a wicked smirk as the translucent violet screens flickered at the edge of her vision.
「 ORGONE RESERVES 」 5,000 / 5,000 — FULL Thanks, Lemmy~ ♡
The little fairy had been exquisite. Every drop of that sweet, squirming orgone energy now thrummed through Six's meridians like liquid power.
More than enough to play.
「 TACTICAL CALCULATION 」 Veil of Wanton Shadows — Cost: 80 Orgone Chain Casting: x4 recommended Total Cost: 320 Orgone Remaining After: 4,680 / 5,000
"Let's see you mutts keep up," she breathed.
CHAIN CAST INITIATED
「 VEIL OF WANTON SHADOWS — CAST 1 」
Six's body dissolved into violet-black smoke just as claws raked through where her spine had been. She reformed twenty meters ahead—
A spectral copy of herself lingered behind, posing seductively.
Two werewolves lunged at the mirage, jaws snapping on nothing.
「 VEIL OF WANTON SHADOWS — CAST 2 」
Another dissolution. Another reformation. The shadows clung to her like a lover's caress as she slipped through a gap between two hunters.
She passed through one of them—
[Whispered Temptation] applied! Target: Werewolf Hunter Effect: -10% accuracy, mild disorientation, +arousal index
The wolf-man stumbled, shaking his head violently, a confused whine escaping his throat.
「 VEIL OF WANTON SHADOWS — CAST 3 」
「 VEIL OF WANTON SHADOWS — CAST 4 」
Shadows. Mirage. Reform. Shadows. Mirage. Reform.
「 STATUS UPDATE 」
Metric Value
Orgone 5,000 → 4,680
Distance Gained ~80 meters
Mirages Left Behind 4 (fading)
Enemies Afflicted 2 werewolves [Whispered Temptation Debuff]
Cooldown Status Veil on 3-sec lockout
Six materialized on a rocky outcrop, chest heaving—not from exhaustion, but exhilaration. Below her, the werewolf pack scrambled in momentary chaos, snapping at fading afterimages and snarling at their disoriented packmates.
But the chaos wouldn't last.
Already she could see them regrouping, yellow eyes turning upward, locking onto her real position.
And beyond them—emerging from the treeline with slow, deliberate steps—
A massive silhouette.
Easily eight feet tall. Fur black as pitch, streaked with silver like lightning frozen in midnight. Eyes not yellow, but molten gold. A presence that pressed against her psyche like a physical weight. Underneath the wolfs head sprouting from its chest was the upper Torso of a human male!
He wore a crown and carried a wicked looking curved blade that resembled a crescent moon.
「 ENTITY IDENTIFIED 」 THE WOLF KING — FENRIC BLOODMAW Cultivation: ??? (SUPPRESSED) Threat Level: Dire.
EXTREME Willpower: ??? (Estimated: HIGH)
Fenric didn't run.
He didn't need to.
The Wolf King simply looked at her—and smiled with far too many teeth.
"Little witch."
His voice was gravel and thunder.
"You smell of fairy... and the flame of ambition."