Chapter 430
The battlefield had become a slaughterhouse.
And for the first time that night, the werewolves—fierce warriors of the north—felt fear creep into their bones.
As the rain of blood and gore finally subsided, Amethyst slowly lowered the shimmering crystal shield.
The surviving werewolves, shaken and wounded, stepped forward—only to be met with a scene of utter devastation.
The once-pristine expanse of ice had become a charnel house, stained deep crimson with the remains of their comrades and enemies alike. Chunks of flesh and shattered bone were strewn across the battlefield, while a thick, dark mist, heavy with the stench of blood and decay, curled low over the frozen wasteland, obscuring the distant horizon.
"By the Moon..." a werewolf warrior whispered, his voice hoarse with shock.
The sight before them was unlike anything they had ever witnessed.
The Zealots—once a relentless force—were now nothing more than mangled corpses, their twisted, unnatural light extinguished. Their contorted remains lay scattered amidst the wreckage, remnants of their tragic, cursed existence. But what truly unsettled the werewolves was not the carnage itself, but the way it had happened—sudden, unnatural, and horrifying in its brutality.
Even hardened warriors, accustomed to war and bloodshed, felt a creeping unease settle in their chests. This was no mere battle.
This was annihilation.
A silence stretched over the battlefield, thick with grief and an unspoken fear of the magic they had just witnessed.