The force of the impact was so powerful that Verial's body shot into the air like a projectile, cutting through the chaotic battlefield and smashing into the center of a solid boulder. The stone cracked under the werewolf's weight, creating a spiderweb of fractures.
The Fenrir transformation vanished instantly, dissipating like smoke in the wind. Verial fell to his knees, struggling to catch his breath as his previously massive body shrank back to its original size.
Kala walked toward him with a slow, almost rhythmic step. Her aura still pulsed, illuminating the wreckage. The werewolves, who only seconds ago believed in victory, froze. Their leader, their invincible king, lay in the dust.
"This... this is impossible..." Verial rasped through clenched fangs, blood gushing from his nose and mouth, staining his tattered fur.
Kala stood over him, and her predatory smile deepened, baring her fangs. "Any last words, puppy?" she asked quietly, though there wasn't a hint of mercy in her voice.
Verial raised his trembling head, his eyes flashing with desperation. He wanted to say something - perhaps curse his fate, or scream out his unfulfilled dreams of ruling the forest - but he was given no chance.
Kala's talons drove straight into his chest with a squelch, piercing his heart clean through. The succubus lifted his body with one hand, holding him aloft on her impaled palm. Verial spat out thick blood, twitching in a final convulsive reflex.
"I don't really feel like listening to your barking anyway," she hissed directly into his face.
Verial looked at her in disbelief. He, the future ruler, the great player and conqueror, was dying like a common animal at the hands of someone who wasn't even a primary player in this grand world.
His gaze slowly glazed over until finally, after a brief struggle for every gasp of air, he stiffened and died with his eyes wide open. He never discovered that throughout this entire time, he had only been fighting a subordinate of the true Demon King.
[Lysandra killed a Werewolf Hero. Hero Soul +1!]
[Kala killed a Werewolf Hero. Hero Soul +1! SKILL STONE +1!]
High above them, Lilith smiled icily at the system notification. Gently but firmly, she moved Mina's hands away from her breasts and set the small succubus aside.
"Alright, playtime's over," Lilith said. She looked at Mina and pointed to the largest cluster of still-fighting wolves. "Create a massacre over there. Let them feel that there is no hope left for them."
Mina nodded with a flash of madness in her eyes. She stretched out her hands, and a forest of terrifying, black, thorny vines suddenly shot from the ground as she used the majority of her mana.
The plants came to life, coiling around and piercing over fifty werewolves in a fraction of a second. Their screams were cut short as they were hoisted upward like macabre decorations for the battlefield.
Lilith spread her wings and activated her Origin Aura. The air around her thickened, growing heavy with dark majesty. She flew down low, hovering just above the remaining terrified werewolves. Her silhouette, bathed in violet light, emanated such dread that the surviving soldiers fell to their knees, unable to bear her mere presence.
"You may yet live if you surrender!" her cold, commanding voice cut through the silence of the night. She pointed a hand at the hanging corpses of her enemies. "But if you dare to resist, you will face my wrath and end up like these wretches!"
The werewolves were completely broken. Their world lay in ruins - their chief was dead, an army of skeletons surrounded them, and before them stood not an "undead corpse," but a powerful Demon with an aura that threw them to their knees.
"Mercy, Mistress!" one of them wailed, throwing his weapon into the mud. "We surrender! We beg for mercy!" "We will serve you! Just don't kill us!"
A notification flashed before Lilith's eyes, the one she had hoped for so much:
[210 Wolves have sworn an oath of fealty to you. Do you wish to accept them as your vassals?]
She looked down at them, her smile becoming sweet and venomous at once. Her new mine had just gained a complete crew of strong and hardy miners.
Lilith landed softly on the blood-soaked earth, her wings folding with satisfaction. She looked at the surviving cluster of werewolves, who cowered before her in silent terror.
"Who was your leader here?" she asked, sweeping her gaze across the ranks.
The survivors instinctively looked toward the mangled carcass of Verial. Lilith snorted contemptuously, barely dignifying the corpse with a glance. "That carcass no longer barks. I asked who commanded after that dog?"
The werewolves hesitantly directed their gaze toward Lysandra's ice sculptures, where their second-in-command rested, frozen forever with an icicle through his heart. A vein throbbed on Lilith's forehead, and her hand clenched into a fist.
"Fine, change of strategy," she muttered under her breath, then raised her voice: "Which of you wants to be the new leader now? Who has the courage to take this pack by the throat?"
A deathly silence fell. The werewolves, previously proud and aggressive, now avoided her gaze, staring at their own paws. A minute passed, stretching like an eternity for the survivors. Lilith felt her eye begin to twitch, and the aura around her grew heavy and stifling with irritation.
Damned, indecisive dogs... I have to show them everything, she thought.
Her gaze settled on a werewolf standing in the front rank. He stood out - he was tall, but his fur wasn't pure. He had specific, large white patches on his chest and shoulders. In the culture of these werewolves, this was a mark of shame.
Pure black fur was a symbol of masculinity and strength, while white was reserved for females. This individual, named Varg by the pack, had been an outcast for his entire thirty-year life. The males looked down on him as a "half-man," and the females avoided him entirely, deeming him unworthy of mating.
At thirty years old - which for their race was a mature, almost elderly age - Varg had never known intimacy, nor had he sired an offspring. It could be said he was the village punching bag.
Lilith pointed her finger at him. "You."
Varg froze. He looked around uncertainly, but seeing the empty space around him, he pointed a trembling finger at his own chest. Lilith nodded and walked up to him. When he stood on two paws, they were nearly the same height.
"Yes, you. What is your name?"
"V-v-varg..." he stammered, his jaw clacking with fear.
"Varg. Good, I'll remember. From today, you are the leader of this... how did it go? Blood Mountain Village? Blood Spear?" Lilith furrowed her brow, trying to recall Verial's roar.
"Blood Fang Village, M-mistress..." Varg corrected her in a whisper, wanting to be helpful, though he immediately regretted his boldness.
"Exactly! Blood Fang!" Lilith struck her fist into her open palm. "See? You've got a head on your shoulders, you'll do."
Varg opened his muzzle, his chest heaving. He wanted to scream that it was a mistake, that he was a laughingstock, that the white spots on his shoulders were a sentence, not an honor. He wanted to beg her to choose someone else, anyone else, just not him.
He didn't even manage to get the first word out.
Lilith's hand shot forward with the speed of a viper. Her demonic fingers, tipped with talons that only a moment ago seemed delicate, clamped around his throat like a steel vise. Varg felt his oxygen cut off instantly, his windpipe creaking under inhuman force.
Before he could even wave a paw in defense, Lilith jerked him upward. She did it with such ease it was as if she were lifting a feather, not a hundred-plus kilogram, muscled werewolf. Varg's legs left the ground, and he hung in the air, flailing helplessly.
Lilith's talons bit slightly into his skin, and the violet glow of her eyes filled his entire field of vision. Varg struggled desperately, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. Lilith pulled his face so close to hers that their noses nearly touched.
The scent of the succubus hit the wolf's nostrils - sweet, addictive, smelling of honey. Suddenly, despite the mortal terror, Varg felt a strange warmth spreading in his lower abdomen. His "little friend" below, which had been useless for thirty years, suddenly began to wake up.
The werewolf didn't understand what was happening. He felt a paralyzing fear of her power, but simultaneously a wild, primal desire.
"Listen to me carefully, Varg," Lilith hissed, her voice cold as ice even though she smiled sweetly while tightening her fingers on his throat. "You will take these mutts of yours and create a new settlement next to my mine. You will be good little wolves and you will dig for treasures for me until I tell you that you can stop. Do you understand?"
The other wolves watched this scene, shaking with terror. Lilith's aura was so thick they felt as if they were standing before a firstborn demon from the oldest legends. Varg, struggling for a gasp of air, nodded feverishly.
Lilith let him go, and he collapsed to the ground, choking and massaging his sore neck. The Monarch turned to the rest of the pack, her voice becoming powerful and heavy with authority.
"Hear me! from this day forward, this is your new leader! she pointed at varg. "If anyone disobeys his order, it will be equivalent to disobedience toward me!"
A cold smile bloomed on her face, and a wave of her Origin Aura hit the werewolves with the force of a battering ram. All 210 wolves immediately fell to their knees, letting out a choral, submissive howl, welcoming their new leader and their new mistress.
Varg slowly rose from his knees, looking at his trembling hands. From an ugly duckling, from an outcast everyone could kick, he had become the most important being in the pack in a single instant. He looked at Lilith - beautiful, cruel, and terrifying - and knew that from this moment on, his life belonged solely to her.