The night itself seemed to recoil from Dominic's howl.
It was not merely sound—it was a force, a quake that rippled across flesh, bone, and spirit. Wolves bowed their heads, not out of fear, but reverence. Even the earth seemed to vibrate beneath their paws, trembling with the echo of something older than gods, older than fire.
The Cardinal's banners shivered on the hill, their flames sputtering. His Seraph Blades shifted uneasily, their confidence fracturing. For centuries they had marched into war certain of victory, certain of their divine right to conquer. But now, facing the wolf crowned in golden fire and the Siren whose song cracked chains of faith, that certainty wavered.
Dominic's chest heaved, every muscle taut, every nerve burning. His claws dripped with light not his own, fused with Seraphina's song. Her body trembled in his arms, pale, bloodied from the strain of what she had given him. He lowered her gently onto the torn earth, his gaze never leaving the hill where the Cardinal sat like a spider in its web.
"Rest," he growled softly, his voice vibrating through her bones.
Her lips curled into a faint, exhausted smile. "Don't… hold back."
He bared his fangs in answer.
When he rose, he rose like a storm. His body expanded, golden fire weaving into the black of his fur. His silhouette shifted beyond wolf, beyond man. Horns of flame twisted above his skull, his shoulders bristled with shadows, his eyes molten suns.
The wolves gasped, some stumbling back, some falling to their knees. It was not fear—it was recognition. They were witnessing the shape of vengeance itself.
The Cardinal's voice boomed, cracking through the valley. "Abomination! You dare fuse wolf and witchcraft? You corrupt the divine order with blasphemy!"
Dominic's lips peeled back, his fangs glowing. His voice shook the valley. "I dare."
And then he moved.
One heartbeat he stood beside Seraphina. The next he was across the battlefield, tearing through Seraph Blades as though they were reeds before a flood. His claws cut not flesh but souls—their burning swords clattered useless to the ground as their owners collapsed, their eyes hollow, their prayers silenced forever.
Blood rained. Limbs scattered. Wolves surged behind him, a tide of fur and fury, snapping the lines of the holy army like twigs.
Dominic was everywhere at once. One moment ripping the head from a knight, the next tearing wings from a Seraph mid-flight. He did not fight for survival. He fought for annihilation. Every strike was deliberate, every wound final. He tore, shredded, burned. His rage was not blind—it was sharpened into something surgical, precise. Revenge was not chaos. It was craft.
The Cardinal raised his staff, summoning spears of light that rained down like meteors. They struck wolves, burning holes through flesh, dropping warriors mid-leap. But Dominic only roared, his body blazing brighter, intercepting the spears with his claws. Each one shattered in his grip, exploding into sparks that burned no one but the holy.
A Seraph swooped low, wings aflame, sword raised. Dominic caught him mid-flight, snapping bone with a single twist, then hurled him screaming into the ranks below.
"Do you see?" the Cardinal shouted, his voice straining to hold authority. "He is no leader—he is monster! He will consume you as he consumes them!"
But the wolves did not falter. If anything, they surged harder, their howls harmonizing with Dominic's fury. For the first time, the Church's words failed to root. Doubt found no soil in a pack bound by vengeance.
The Cardinal's lips thinned. His hand trembled on his staff.
Dominic's eyes locked onto him from across the battlefield. Every claw, every tear, every drop of blood was aimed at carving a path toward that single figure. The Cardinal. The spider. The rot at the core.
The wolves knew it too. They gave their bodies to the tide, parting to clear the way for their Alpha. The battlefield itself reshaped around his fury, as though the world understood: this was not battle, this was execution.
The Cardinal raised his staff again, voice cracking with desperate scripture. "By holy decree, by light eternal, I bind thee—"
Dominic's roar cut him off. He launched himself up the hill, claws gouging the stone. Chains of light burst from the ground, dozens at once, writhing like serpents. They snapped toward him, searing, hissing, desperate to contain him.
He met them head-on. His claws slashed, fire and shadow bursting with every strike. Chains snapped, recoiling like whipped dogs. Some coiled around his limbs, burning into his flesh, but he only dragged them with him, muscles tearing, blood boiling, eyes never leaving the man on the horse.
The Cardinal's prayer faltered as Dominic reached him.
The wolf struck.
The horse screamed as claws raked its belly, spilling it open in a shower of blood. The beast collapsed, dragging the Cardinal down with it. His staff clattered from his hand, light dimming, the aura of untouchability shattering like glass.
The battlefield went still.
Dominic towered over him, fire rippling across his fur, shadows seething at his feet. His claws hovered inches from the Cardinal's throat.
The Cardinal spat blood, eyes wild. "Kill me, beast—and prove me right! Prove to them all you are nothing but a monster!"
Dominic's snarl rattled the air. His claws pressed closer, nicking skin, drawing a bead of holy blood that hissed like acid. Wolves gathered below, their eyes fixed on their Alpha.
The Cardinal's lips curved, even as fear flickered behind them. "Do it. End me. And the Church will make you legend—the nightmare wolf who murdered God's hand. They will hunt you beyond death, beyond generations. Your pack will never rest. Your name will be curse."
For a heartbeat, the world froze. The wolves' breath held. The Cardinal's words slithered into the silence like venom.
But Dominic's eyes burned brighter. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned close, his voice a growl so low it was almost tender.
"I don't want your death." His fangs bared. "I want your ruin."
And with that, he slashed—
not across the throat, but across the face.
The Cardinal screamed as his flesh ripped, golden blood spraying. His eyes blinded, his beauty shredded, his holiness defiled. Dominic dragged his claws again, across the chest, the arms, carving the man like a butcher carves meat.
But he did not kill. He marked. He ruined.
When at last Dominic rose, the Cardinal writhed on the ground, screaming, broken, his staff shattered, his light extinguished.
Dominic turned his burning eyes upon the Church's army. His voice thundered like judgment.
"This is your god's mouthpiece. Look at him. Broken. Bleeding. Helpless. This is what your faith protects."
The Seraph Blades faltered. Some dropped their swords. Some fell to their knees, prayers strangling on their lips. The wolves howled, louder than ever, the sound shaking the heavens.
And in that chorus, something inside the holy army broke. Their formation dissolved. Some fled. Some surrendered. Some simply collapsed where they stood, their belief shattered, their faith drowned in blood and fear.
Dominic raised his claws high, dripping with divine blood. His golden fire roared, reflected in the eyes of every wolf, every soldier, every trembling soul.
"This war is not over," he growled. "But tonight—you learn what it means to invoke the wrath of wolves."
The valley echoed with their howls, drowning the Cardinal's screams.
The Church had come to destroy.
But it was Dominic who delivered ruin.