Chapter 50 The War Begins
As the warning cry echoed through the air, every werewolf tensed, bodies lowering instinctively, ready to leap skyward at a moment’s notice. Above them, the sky burned a deep crimson, stained like blood at dusk. From the distant fortress, the vampires began to emerge—dark shapes rising like a storm of bats, circling high above before sweeping toward the battlefield in a deadly wave. Their numbers were overwhelming, dense enough to blot out the red sky, turning it pitch black.
Growls and snarls rippled through the werewolves as their fangs elongated and claws extended, every muscle coiled with anticipation. Meanwhile, Zion and his team moved into position near the edge of the dark forest—an eerie stretch of trees that looked dead and charred, their twisted limbs as black as coal. The forest offered little cover, no real place to hide.
Zion knew they had to wait—wait for the clash, the chaos, the distraction. Only once the vampires fully engaged the main force could they slip through the shadows and make their move toward the fortress.
They waited, tense and still, until the black, swirling mass of vampires crashed down onto the werewolves holding the front line in the clearing.
"Ahhh!"
"You bat bastards!"
One werewolf was snatched off the ground—lifted by the shoulders as a vampire soared into the sky with him. The werewolf thrashed, claws slashing desperately at the vampire’s grip, but before he could land a blow, the creature hurled him upward into the night.
Another vampire intercepted him mid-air, catching him by the leg. The werewolf dangled helplessly, snarling in panic, only to be thrown again—this time to yet another vampire, like a ball in some airborne game. They passed him back and forth, laughing cruelly, treating him like a toy.
Then, when they grew bored, two vampires seized him—one grabbing his arms, the other his legs. Their massive wings beat in opposite directions as they pulled with increasing force.