The scent of copper and old ash was instantly replaced by the sickening, sweet stench of torn flesh as Varg's colossal, midnight-black form tore through the center of the hall.
He was no longer just an Alpha; he was a living cataclysm, a mountain of muscle and fangs larger than the heaviest oak feast tables. Moving with a blinding, demonic speed, he drove his massive front paws into the chest of a high vampire, the impact instantly crushing the creature's ribs into jagged splinters.
Before the bloodsucker could even shriek, Varg's cavernous jaws snapped shut around its neck.
With a brutal, whiplash twist of his skull, he tore the head completely clean from the shoulders, his silver-laced fangs dripping with thick, coagulated vampire ichor. He didn't just kill; he systematically dismantled them, using his immense neck strength to hurl the severed, grimacing heads like cannonballs into the remaining dark sorcerers, scattering their bones across the bloody floor.
