In the heart of the city of Milk and Honey, under the silvery glow of the moon, a group of extraordinary beings gathered. These were the Giant Shadow Werewolves, their fur as white as snow, adorned in gleaming silver armor that shone like stars in the sky.
At their helm stood their commander, a towering Werewolf with eyes ablaze. This was the head guard of the city. Tonight, they ventured beyond the safety of their walls, into the desolate wasteland that stretched out like a sea of shadows, to face the impending army of undead horrors.
The Guard commander stepped forward, his eyes scanned through his surroundings looking at the faces of each Werewolf guard before him.
These were the best of the best that City could provide at this time. Each one of them was at the early stages of the deep demon realm.
From a pouch, he removed a blue vile, and a barrel filled with water was brought forward. The Guard Commander opened the bottle. he closed his eyes slightly and the blue vile in the bottle glowed like little stars dancing in the bottle.
This made the Werewolves become astonished.
After all, only those of the Alpha bloodline can activate the Blood of the Primordial beast like this. It was one of the many things that made the Alpha Family very special. Once a person gave up on the competition for the throne of Alpha, they automatically forfeited the privilege of this ability.
Rumors had it that the previous Alpha killed off all his competition, every brother and sister that challenged him.
It seemed like the rumors were not totally true.
The Guard commander raised his head at the people before him, "Yes, you all now know, and you will take this secret to your graves. I have Alpha blood in me, and I'm brother to the Previous Alpha. I will apologize, this is the best that I can activate the blood. It's nothing like the boost someone like Curtin or even Victor can do, but this should be enough power boost for the battle ahead of us.
My brothers! We fight not just as guards for our city but as a pack for our Honor. Hear my words! Each paw is a brother's paw. Each claw is a brother's weapon," as he spoke, he poured the vile into the barrel of water and each Werewolf stepped forward to drink it.
Under the silvery glow of the moon, the guard commander, with eyes ablaze, stood tall amidst the Giant Shadow Werewolves. His voice, deep and resonant, cut through the night like a clarion call, stirring the hearts of his comrades.
"Brothers and sisters of the moonlit night," his words carrying the weight of centuries of bravery. "Tonight, we stand on the precipice of destiny. The shadows of the undead loom large, threatening to engulf our beloved city of Milk and Honey. But fear not, for we are the guardians of this land, the protectors of its people, and tonight, we shall prove our mettle."
His eyes glinted with determination, reflecting the silver light of the moon above. "We are not merely soldiers; we are the embodiment of courage, the defenders of hope. The blood that runs through our veins is that of heroes, and our ancestors watch over us with pride. We shall face this darkness together, for in unity, we find our strength."
He raised his clawed hand, the moonlight illuminating the golden armor that adorned his formidable frame. "Look around you, my brethren. See the faces of your comrades, the flicker of bravery in their eyes. We are a family bound by honor, loyalty, and an unbreakable spirit. Tonight, we fight not just for ourselves, but for the generations yet unborn. We fight for the beauty of our city, for the laughter of its children, and for the peace that dwells within its walls."
The commander's voice swelled with passion, echoing across the barren wasteland. "Let our battle cry pierce the heavens! Let it remind the undead that they face not just wolves, but warriors of indomitable will. Let them tremble at the might of the Giant Shadow Werewolves!"
His words reverberated through the ranks, kindling a fire in the hearts of his comrades. With renewed fervor, the Werewolves howled in unison, their voices merging into a symphony of bravery and defiance. The night seemed to quiver with their resolve as if nature itself acknowledged their courage.
The guard commander met the eyes of each Werewolf, his gaze unwavering. "Tonight, we carve our legacy into the annals of history. Let the tale of our bravery inspire generations to come. Remember, my brethren, that we are not just warriors; we are legends in the making. Now, let us march forth with heads held high and hearts ablaze. For Milk and Honey, for our kin, and for the undying spirit of the moonlit night!"
With a resounding howl that echoed across the wasteland, the Giant Shadow Werewolves charged into the night, their spirits aflame with the commander's call to arms. In that moment, they were not just a guard, but a beacon of hope, a force of nature, ready to face any challenge that dared to threaten their home.
As they charged forth, their bodies crackled with blue electricity that made them literally swell up, their power getting an extra boost as it threatened to burst out of their bodies.
As they charged through the city gates on all fours, they moved like the wind, the sliver of the moonlit reflecting on their bodies.
High up on the city gates, Clawed watched the happenings. He did not interrupt their charge or immediately jump into battle but merely stood like an observer.
He looked into the night, at the horizon and the dark that covered the distant land that advanced ever closer.
The wasteland was a desolate expanse, littered with the remnants of mutated beasts and the remains of unfortunate humans. Tonight, these fallen creatures had risen, their bodies twisted by dark forces into grotesque mockeries of life. The undead army, numbering a million strong, advanced like a tide of death toward the city.
Their leader, a sinister figure with eyes as purple as amethysts and a glowing purple stone on his chest, directed their malevolent charge from the back of a giant worm.
The air crackled with tension as the Giant Shadow Werewolves charged for battle.
The stench of decay hung heavy in the air, and the ground beneath their paws trembled in anticipation. With a thunderous roar, they charged, their silver claws unsheathed, their fangs bared in primal fury.
The clash was as fierce as it was brutal. The Werewolves tore into the undead horde, their claws slashing through rotted flesh and brittle bone.
The air was filled with the scent of iron, as blood mingled with the earth. The sounds of battle were deafening – the gnashing of teeth, the crunch of bones, and the unearthly moans of the undead, all mingled into a symphony of chaos.
In the midst of the battle, the Werewolf commander observed a peculiar pattern. No matter how many limbs they severed, or how many bodies they crushed, the undead seemed unstoppable. It was only when the commander noticed the purple-eyed leader, directing the horde with calculated precision, that a plan formed in his mind.
With a howl that resonated with determination, the commander rallied his troops. They focused their attacks on the leader, the one guiding the relentless onslaught. They realized that by targeting the head, they could sever the connection between the leader and his horde, rendering them powerless.
It was not hard to find a route to lead the Werewolves for the commander of the Undead.
Unknown to them, this route was intentionally created. The moment they thought that they were going to be able to end the battle, Giant Scorpions came out from the ground on all sides... It was a Trap.
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