Max
The northern flank of the ridge was a bloodbath. But that had been expected. This stretch of forest is narrow, sloped, and boxed in on three sides—it was always the worst place to hold a line.
Midnight Valley sent their worst here—the ones who don’t just fight, they hunt. A claw tore through my side in the first wave of wolves, and now every breath feels like fire being dragged through my lungs. But I don’t fall back. I don’t have that luxury.
The line holds because I hold it.
I duck under a swipe, slam my shoulder into a wolf’s ribs, and send him flying across the forest floor. Another lunges quickly, taking his place. I catch him between my jaws, twist my body, and drive him onto the ground. His bones crack, and he doesn’t get up again.
We’ve nearly finished clearing this side
