I stood atop the ridge, eyes narrowing as the dark shapes stormed through the forest below. The air thickened with twisted mana, and a cold shiver ran down my spine. Three powerful auras pulsed like blazing beacons nearby demons, no doubt.
As the commander of the guards, he stood at the front of the charge. A quick glance over his shoulder showed the guards assembling—eyes wide, bodies trembling, yet forcing themselves into formation. Over a hundred strong, the defenders of Velrith scrambled to meet the enemy.
The orcs drew closer, their guttural roars shaking the air. One hundred fifty against a thousand—an impossible fight. Still, there would be no retreat.
"Attack!" he bellowed, surging forward.
He dove headlong into the horde, his greatsword flashing with deadly precision. Each swing reaped the lives of orcs, the clash of steel and the cries of the dying merging into a deafening storm. Despite being outnumbered, the guards fought with ferocity. Against the five hundred orcs in the vanguard, they tore through the ranks, cutting down the spawn rank warriors one after another.
Then—
Crack!
The ground beneath him split, claw marks gouging deep into the earth where he had been standing a heartbeat before. He leapt back, blade ready.
Boom!
A massive black werewolf landed in front of him, its claws gleaming, lips curled into a cruel grin.
"You're good," the beast growled, voice dripping with mockery. "To react to my strike so quickly… I wasn't even trying. I thought demi-lions were slow—but it seems I was wrong
The commander's grip tightened on the greatsword. The werewolf towered over him, muscles like coiled steel beneath its dark fur, amber eyes burning with predatory hunger.
Without warning, it lunged.
Clang!
Steel met claws, sparks bursting into the air as the force of the blow rattled his arms to the bone. He slid back two paces, boots grinding furrows in the dirt. The beast's grin widened.
It came again, faster—slashing low, then high, the rhythm chaotic. The commander twisted aside, parrying one strike and letting another skim harmlessly off his shoulder guard. His counter came in a brutal arc, the greatsword carving a silver path toward the creature's ribs.
The werewolf pivoted, but not fast enough—steel bit into flesh, spilling a hot spray of black blood.
It didn't even flinch.
"Good," it snarled. "It will be more satisfying when I tear you apart."
The beast's claws swept out in a vicious cross-strike. He ducked, only to feel a sudden kick slam into his chest, sending him skidding across the ground. Breath burned in his lungs as he rolled back to his feet, just in time to see the werewolf charging again.
The commander's instincts screamed. At the last second, he sidestepped, pivoting on his heel. His sword came down in a cleaving strike—
—only for the werewolf to catch the blade in its bare claws. Sparks exploded between them as the beast forced the weapon aside, its muzzle inches from his face.
"Not bad… but not enough," it whispered before hurling him back toward the raging battle.
He hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb the impact. Around him, the minotaurs pressed closer, and through the chaos, the werewolf advanced with slow, deliberate steps—like a predator savoring the hunt.
While they were of the same rank, as a demon he was faster, stronger—his movements a blur even to the trained eye. Around them, the battle was collapsing into chaos. My men slammed into the minotaurs head-on, blades ringing against crude, jagged steel. The towering beasts—five hundred strong and of scourge rank—tore through the lines with terrifying ease, each swing of their greatswords sending guards sprawling in broken heaps.
"Transform!" I barked, my voice cutting through the din of war. There was no time for hesitation—we would lose the village and every soul in it if we delayed a second longer.
The horde pressed forward, crashing into the outskirts of Velrith.
Fwip! Fwip! Fwip!
The guards fell back a step, their eyes narrowing as they reached inward, tapping into something older… something primal. Then it began—Partial Transformation, a skill every demihuman awakens after becoming a novice.
Fur sprouted across arms and shoulders, scales glistened under the torchlight, and their frames swelled with new muscle. The air was thick with the scent of awakened power. They grew in height, their features twisting into something less human… and far deadlier.
Clank! Clank! Clank!
They surged forward again, their blades meeting minotaur steel in a flurry of sparks. This time, their movements were sharper, faster, and their strikes landed with lethal precision. The minotaurs, who had moments ago carved through men like wheat, now found themselves staggered—forced to fight instead of slaughter.
The commander spat blood into the dirt, his muscles screaming in protest. The werewolf was close now, claws dragging furrows into the earth as it approached.
Around them, Velrith's guards were locked in a desperate struggle—steel clashing against orcish axes, minotaur blades cleaving men in two. The roar of battle was deafening, but in his ears, a low, primal growl rose from deep within his chest.
The werewolf tilted its head. "Ah… there it is. I thought I smelled a beast in you."