The stand-off between Morwen and Wat Tyler erupted in an instant. Morwen lunged first, her claws slicing through the air with a feral shriek, but Wat proved faster. His body blurred as he slipped to the side with unnatural speed, the sound of air parting in his wake. He countered with a sudden movement, drawing back his fist, and for the briefest moment a glowing sphere of raw energy shimmered around it like a heartbeat made visible.
Morwen's mind screamed in warning. That force—his Heartstone power. If it touches me, I won't withstand it. Her body shifted instinctively, widening the gap between them. But Wat was merciless, dashing forward, his fist a blur of light. She twisted away just in time, the ground beneath her exploding as his blow struck earth instead. The impact sent shockwaves tearing outward, the soil cracking open as violent tremors shook the clearing. Stones splintered, trees shuddered, and dust rose in choking clouds.
Morwen steadied herself, golden eyes burning through the haze. This display did not surprise her—she had faced his might before, years ago in Ironford Village. She remembered the same quakes, the same devastation, and the same cruel grin he wore even now.
She lunged back at him, claws flashing silver in the moonlight, each strike aimed with deadly precision. Wat dodged with infuriating ease, weaving between her blows like a shadow that refused to be caught. Then, with sudden brutality, his hand shot out and clamped around her wrist mid-swing. Energy rippled outward from his grip, and vibrations surged violently into her bones. Morwen's body stiffened as pain thundered through her arm, her jaw clenched as blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.
With a roar of defiance, she drove her free fist into his face. The strike landed solidly, snapping his head aside, yet Wat merely straightened with a smirk, unaffected. "I am far stronger now, Morwen," he said with venomous pride. "The Paladins would never have spared me had I remained weak. Their mercy was reserved for power—and I wield it without restraint."
Before she could break free, his seismic-charged fist slammed into her gut with a crushing force that seemed to rattle her very bones, the shock reverberating through her chest and spine. The impact hurled her backward, her heels gouging deep furrows into the torn earth as she struggled to halt her momentum.
Soil sprayed up around her, stones cracked under her sliding weight, and the taste of blood filled her mouth. Still, through the haze of pain and the burning in her lungs, she forced her body upright. She gasped, clutching at her abdomen, but even as her knees threatened to buckle, she refused to fall, her golden eyes locked on Wat with a mixture of defiance and fury.
Meanwhile, the battlefield grew more chaotic. Rickstar found himself entangled in the crossfire. The two lycans, loyal to Morwen, circled him with predatory precision. He raised his sword in time to parry one's claws, but the other darted past, her eyes locked on Alfonso, who still knelt bound and frail. Rickstar lunged to shield the old man, only to be cut off by the male lycan, whose growl rumbled like thunder. "You face me, paladin," the beast snarled.
Steel clashed against claw, sparks scattering into the smoky night. The male lycan's strength bore Rickstar to the ground, pinning him beneath relentless strikes. Fangs hovered inches from his throat. The chance for a killing blow was there—but Morwen's command, never kill a human, stayed the beast's hand. Struggling beneath the crushing weight, Rickstar shouted hoarsely, "Wat! They have Alfonso!"
The cry drew Wat's attention. His head whipped around, eyes narrowing. That single distraction was all Morwen needed. She lunged, her claws raking for his chest. Yet Wat was cunning; his hand snapped up to seize her wrist once more, and with a savage uppercut he smashed his fist into her jaw. The blow cracked like thunder. Morwen's vision went black, her body flung lifelessly to the ground like a broken doll.
Seizing the moment, Wat turned toward the female lycan, who was nearing Alfonso. With a leap, he struck her from behind, his kick driving her sprawling. She regained her footing with desperate grace and lunged back at him, but Wat caught her mid-air, twisting with monstrous strength before slamming her into the earth. His palm pressed against her muzzle, and the hum of Heartstone energy pulsed through his hand. The vibrations surged violently, crushing flesh and bone with merciless finality. Her struggles ceased. The light in her eyes faded.
"No!" the male lycan howled in despair. His grief turned to frenzy as he swung wildly at Rickstar, but Wat ended his rage with brutal efficiency. He hurled the lifeless female lycan body at the male lycan, knocking him off balance, then pounced. His palms clamped around the lycan's skull, his words dripping with scorn. "You scrawny dogs should have stayed in the forest. You never belonged in the world of men." And with a sickening crack, he ended the beast's life.
Morwen's blurred eyes fluttered open. Through the haze of agony, she saw her last companion fall, murdered before her. Rage surged, but her body barely moved. She tried, struggled, but the earlier blow had broken her. Wat turned, slow and deliberate, every step toward her echoing like the march of death.
He loomed over her, sneering. "This is the moment, Morwen. My fists carry more power than your claws will ever know."
The clouds above shifted, drifting apart to unveil the full moon. Its silver light bathed the battlefield, glinting against blood. Wat chuckled darkly. "Ah… the moon favors you tonight. No matter. I'll finish you before it changes a thing."
His fist came down like a hammer, but Morwen's hand shot up, claws catching his blow mid-air. A guttural, beastly snarl tore from her throat. With a violent twist, she forced his wrist sideways until bone snapped and he dropped to one knee. Her breaths came in harsh, primal growls as her body convulsed. Fur bristled, muscles swelled, and her form contorted into something more feral, more terrifying—the legendary Fenrir Form. Few among the lycans had ever awakened it, a gift of the moon to the strongest of their kind. Speed surged through her limbs, her senses sharpened to razors, and her very presence radiated a savage might.
Wat staggered back, eyes widening despite himself. He gritted his teeth and snapped his wrist back into place with a sickening crack, his face grimacing but betraying no pain. "So… Fenrir Form," he muttered. "Impressive. But this fight isn't over, Morwen."
Her growls deepened as she glanced at the corpses of her fallen companions. Grief and rage merged into a storm. With sudden speed, she vanished, reappearing before Rickstar, her claws slashing mercilessly. His cry split the night as her claw ripped into his shoulder, tearing flesh and bone. His sword clattered uselessly to the ground as he collapsed, blood pooling beneath him.
Wat dashed forward, aiming to strike her from behind. Morwen sidestepped, evading, but his body twisted with ruthless grace, and his kick slammed into her crossed arms, sending her skidding back. Their gazes locked—Wat's burning with hatred, Morwen's with unyielding fury.
Rickstar writhed, clutching at the ruin of his shoulder, his consciousness slipping away. Wat glanced at him, his lips curling. "Morwen! This is not over!" He let out a sharp whistle. From the treeline, a dark horse thundered forth. With practiced ease, Wat hauled the dying paladin onto the saddle, mounting in one smooth motion. Rickstar groaned faintly, nearly unconscious, as blood drenched his armor. In moments, they vanished into the trees.
Morwen could have pursued. She felt the strength of the moon coursing through her veins, urging her to run them down. But Alfonso still lay in chains. With a guttural growl, she forced herself toward him. Her form shuddered, shrinking, fur receding, until she knelt once more in her human guise. She reached out and helped the frail old man into a sitting position.
"Mr. Alfonso! You're hurt," she pleaded, panic cracking her voice. "We must find a doctor!"
His face, pale and bloodied, turned faintly toward her. "Morwen… you've grown… into a fine woman," he whispered, each word rasping with pain. "I heard… you lead your father's people now. I… I am so…" His breath broke into violent coughs, blood staining his lips. "I…" But his words never finished. His eyes clouded, and his head fell limp against her shoulder.
"No!" Morwen screamed, clutching him. Tears carved lines through the soot and ash on her cheeks as sobs tore from her chest. She remembered him as she had in childhood—her father's equal, his dearest friend, the man who gave her people a chance to dream of peace. And now, he was gone.
For a long while, she wept, her cries echoing into the night. But eventually, the tears dried, and her sobs ceased. Her eyes, once full of light, grew cold and blank. In the hollow that grief left behind, rage took root. Wat Tyler had taken everything—her companions, her kin, and now Alfonso.
Morwen rose slowly, every movement heavy with grief and fury, her fists trembling as though the very earth quaked through her veins. Her voice emerged as little more than a whisper, hoarse from screams and sobs, yet carried a steel promise that resonated in the night. Her golden eyes, rimmed with tears and rage, locked on the shadow where Wat Tyler had vanished, and every syllable dripped with lethal intent.
"Wat Tyler… I will kill you. I will strip away your victories, break your strength, and take every last breath from your chest until even your name is lost to silence."