The embers of the dying campfire crackled weakly beneath the looming canopy of trees, casting flickering shadows on the moss-covered stones of the ancient ruins. The Throne of Beasts—an altar carved from obsidian and gold-veined rock—hummed faintly with power, its surface etched in runes that shimmered like stars beneath the moonlight.
The protagonist sat near the edge of the camp, tracing one glowing line on the map the altar had revealed. Beside him, Lyra knelt, her expression tense, eyes narrowed.
"There," she said, pointing to a crescent-shaped mark etched into the left side of the altar's map. "That's the next shrine."
He nodded. "Looks like a few days' journey east. Through what seems to be Chimera territory."
Lyra gritted her teeth. "They're getting bolder. The corruption is spreading faster than we thought."
Just as he was about to speak, the wind shifted. The crackling fire hissed out, smothered in an unnatural gust. Silence fell—not the kind that came with sleep or solitude, but a suffocating absence. Even the insects had gone still.
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
A deep, guttural growl rumbled from beyond the treeline.
The protagonist froze. The sound wasn't unfamiliar—but it carried a heavier weight now, a darker presence. "No," he whispered, standing slowly. "It can't be."
A pair of yellow eyes emerged from the gloom—unblinking, malevolent. The dire wolf stepped into the moonlight, its massive form larger than before, fur darker, muscles rippling with unnatural energy. Jagged crimson veins glowed beneath its skin. A thick aura of corrupted mana bled from its body like smoke.
Lyra drew her sword in one fluid motion. "Is that the same—?"
"Yes," he growled. "But changed. Stronger. It's been... enhanced."
The beast bared its fangs and howled—a sound that ripped through the air like a blade. The stones beneath their feet vibrated, as if the ruins themselves trembled in fear.
The fight began instantly.
The dire wolf lunged with terrifying speed, claws extended. The protagonist shoved Lyra aside and rolled beneath the strike, flames erupting from his palms as he launched a fireburst toward the creature's face. The explosion lit the night, but the wolf barreled through it unfazed, slamming its shoulder into him and sending him crashing through a broken pillar.
"Dammit!" he gasped, pain rippling through his side.
Lyra met the wolf mid-charge, her blade slashing with graceful precision. She ducked a swiping claw, stepped inside its reach, and raked her weapon across its flank. Black blood splattered the stones—but the creature barely reacted.
The protagonist forced himself upright, drawing deeply from his mana reserves. Emberfang's power surged through him, coating his limbs in a shimmering blaze. He sprinted back into the fray, flanking the beast, attacking in tandem with Lyra. They moved like a single mind—her agility complementing his raw power, weaving around each other with practiced synergy.
But the wolf adapted.
It countered Lyra with a sudden leap, jaws snapping shut inches from her neck. She barely dodged, her cloak torn away in the process. A swipe of its tail sent her flying, slamming into a column with a sharp cry.
"Lyra!" he shouted, but the beast was on him before he could react.
It tackled him, claws digging into his chest. He felt his ribs buckle as he struggled to breathe. With a desperate scream, he unleashed a mana shockwave, throwing the wolf off.
He scrambled to his feet, coughing blood. Lyra lay groaning nearby. The beast circled, unaffected by wounds that would have dropped anything else.
"This... isn't natural," Lyra rasped, dragging herself up. "It's not just corrupted... it's possessed."
The protagonist's eyes widened. "By what?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. But it's not just a beast anymore."
He looked to the altar, its runes faintly glowing. A thought struck him—wild and dangerous.
"The altar," he muttered. "It holds ancient mana. If I can connect to it again..."
"You'll overload," Lyra warned.
"We'll die if I don't."
He sprinted toward the altar, dodging the wolf's lunges with bursts of fire-enhanced speed. Reaching the stone, he slammed both palms against its surface. It was like touching the sun. Ancient mana surged into him, wild and untamed, and for a moment he couldn't breathe, couldn't think—
The ruins lit up with radiant fire.
His body burned with the force of it, his veins glowing like lava. Emberfang roared within his soul, a phoenix answering the call. He turned to face the wolf, every breath leaving trails of flame.
The dire wolf hesitated.
The protagonist raised one hand. "You're not going to take this life from me."
He launched a beam of pure mana, laced with fire and raw willpower. It struck the wolf square in the chest, sending it skidding back with a deafening explosion. The stones cracked beneath the force.
The wolf rose—but it limped now. Its breath was ragged.
Lyra rejoined the battle, her blade now crackling with borrowed energy from the altar. She slashed downward, severing one of the beast's back tendons.
The wolf howled in agony.
Together, they pressed the assault. Fire, steel, and mana danced around the beast. Each blow weakened it, until finally, the protagonist leapt into the air and drove a spear of flame into its heart.
The creature convulsed—once, twice—and collapsed.
The silence afterward was deafening.
Lyra stood hunched over, blood trickling down her arm. The protagonist collapsed beside the corpse, breathing hard.
The wolf's body began to decay, breaking apart into smoke and ash. From within the remnants, a small, pulsing crystal emerged—dark purple, wrapped in jagged energy.
Lyra picked it up carefully. "A corrupted core," she said softly. "That's what was possessing it."
The protagonist looked up at her. "We need to find out where these are coming from."
"We will," she said, helping him up. "Together."
They sat against the altar, watching the sun rise through the trees. The world had changed again, subtly but irrevocably.
Their enemy was evolving.
But so were they.