I was Drafted Into a War as the Only Human

"Aghhh!"

Fenara let out a guttural snarl as another slash tore into her forearm. Blood welled up instantly, soaking into the striped fur along her bicep and splattering across the obsidian ground below. The sting of it burned like hot iron against her flesh, but she couldn't flinch—not now.

The tide of the battle had flipped.

Moments ago, Fenara had dominated the field—her brute strength and honed reflexes keeping her opponent on the back foot. Tara had been just another insect to swat.

Now?

Now she was being hunted.

Tara, cloaked in golden streaks and black blur, moved faster than Fenara's amber eyes could follow. Each time she blinked, another wound bloomed across her body. Only her raw animal instincts kept her alive—reflexes that had carried her through hundreds of battles. Without them, she'd have been decapitated long ago.

Still, she was bleeding. Deep, jagged lacerations marred her body—across her ribs, down her thighs, slicing through the fur on her shoulders. She was breathing harder now, her lungs aching, the metallic scent of her blood thick in her nostrils.

Fenara's head snapped side to side, scanning the battlefield for any sign of Tara. All she saw was chaos—generals clashing, magic erupting. Izzox zipped past in a blinding flash, locked in combat. The ground rumbled beneath the ogres' brawl nearby. And overhead, chunks of Atius' dismembered corpse still rained down like grotesque hail.

But Tara? Nowhere.

Her heart pounded in her chest—thud-thud-thud-fast and wild. She couldn't see Vorn, couldn't see the Human. They were behind her somewhere. Irrelevant now. Only Tara mattered.