The Citadel's heart was a crucible of fire and shadow, its red-lit chasm pulsing like a wound torn into the earth's core. The air was thick with the stench of ash, blood, and ancient decay, the walls throbbing with runes that bled black ichor, their whispers a chorus of hunger older than Eryndor itself.
Magnus, in full werewolf form, clashed with the bone-wolf—a towering horror of flame and ivory, its skeletal frame wreathed in crimson fire, its void-eyes burning with the First Howl's wrath, an echo of the primal god that forged the curse in his blood. His claws raked bone, sparks erupting like stars, the ground splintering beneath their titanic struggle. Each blow shook the chamber, stone cracking, dust raining from the vaulted ceiling where ravens swirled, their crimson eyes glinting like blood-drops in the dark, their screams a hymn to the Citadel's malice.
Magnus's scar burned, the curse a molten tide surging through his veins, urging him to surrender to the beast, to tear and consume. His amber eyes blazed, fangs bared, as he roared, the sound shaking the air—a challenge to the bone-wolf's unearthly howl.
Above, Isabella's vampires swarmed, their red eyes flashing, their psychic hisses clawing at his mind like talons, whispering of failure, of betrayal.
Kiera fought at his flank, her daggers a blur, slicing through a vampire's chest, black ichor spraying across her leather armor. Her silver-flecked eyes burned with defiance, though her leg bled from a fresh gash, her movements sharp but strained.
Jakob shielded Veyne, his spear trembling in his grip, her frail form slumped against him, her runes flickering like dying embers, her breath a faint whisper of life.
Gavrek crawled through the rubble, his scarred Suldari frame trembling, claws scraping stone, his amber eyes clouded with pain and a flicker of humanity, his broken plea—"Help me…"—barely audible over the chaos.
The bone-wolf's howl erupted, a sound that shattered stone and bled Magnus's ears, the curse exploding within him, a wildfire that threatened to consume his soul.
He lunged, fangs tearing into the wolf's shoulder, bone splintering like dry wood, but flames surged, searing his fur, the heat a brand against his flesh. His roar was primal, raw, as he hurled the beast into a wall, cracks spiderwebbing across the runes, their black ichor weeping like tears.
Isabella's voice cut through the din, velvet and venom, her pendant glowing at her throat, its red light pulsing in time with the chasm. "Magnus, you fight for scraps," she taunted, her silver eyes glinting from the shadows. "The Key offers godhood—why die a dog?"
He snarled, claws flexing, the curse urging him to rip her throat out. "You'll burn first, leech," he growled, his voice a storm of rage and pain, the beast clawing at his restraint.
A new scent pierced the chaos—ash and wind, sharp and human, cutting through the reek of blood and fire.
A wiry woman leapt from the chasm's edge, her cropped black hair stark against pale skin, her gray eyes flashing red in the crimson light. Raven-feather tattoos glowed on her arms, their intricate patterns pulsing faintly, as if alive.
She wielded a curved blade etched with Old War runes, its edge slashing a vampire's throat, ichor spraying like ink across the stone.
The ravens swarmed her, not attacking but circling, their caws a mournful dirge that echoed the Citadel's hunger.
She landed beside Jakob, her movements fluid, predatory, her voice sharp but haunted, like a blade nicked by years of battle. "Get the girl out," she snapped, her blade flashing again, felling another vampire. "Or she's dead."
Jakob's spear steadied, his eyes wide with shock, but his voice held firm. "Who the hell are you?"
"Talia," she said, her tone clipped, her ravens diving to claw a vampire's face, their crimson eyes synced with hers. "The Citadel's my prison. Help me break its chains, and I'll guide you to the shard."
Magnus's golden eyes narrowed, the bone-wolf charging again, its void-eyes burning brighter, flames licking its ivory frame.
He dodged, claws raking its flank, fire scorching his arm, the pain a spark to the curse's hunger.
Talia's raven-bond pricked his instincts—ally or trap? Her scent, her tattoos, her haunted gaze hinted at a past tied to the Suldari, to the Citadel's curse.
Kiera shouted, limping forward, her daggers dripping. "Magnus, she's with the birds! Trust her, or we're done!"
Isabella's pendant flared, its red light merging with the chasm's pulse, and the bone-wolf grew, bones knitting, flames roaring like a forge.
Magnus tackled it, their bodies crashing into the chasm's edge, stone crumbling under their weight.
Talia's blade flashed, severing a vampire's head, its body collapsing into ash.
"The shard's below, Varik!" she yelled, her voice cutting through the chaos. "The wolf guards it!"
Gavrek staggered to his feet, claws lengthening, his growl weak but defiant. "She lies…" he rasped, amber eyes flickering. "The Citadel owns her… like it owns me."
The shard's call pulsed deeper, a blade in Magnus's scar, its rhythm syncing with his heartbeat, urging him to shift fully, to claim its power.
The curse screamed, the beast within howling to kill them all—Isabella, Talia, even his pack.
The bone-wolf's jaws snapped, inches from his throat, flames searing his chest.
Kiera's daggers faltered, a vampire's claw gashing her deeper, blood soaking her leg.
Jakob's spear snapped under a vampire's strike, leaving Veyne exposed, her amber eyes fluttering, her runes fading.
Talia's ravens dove, their claws raking the bone-wolf's void-eyes, black ichor spraying.
Magnus seized the moment, his claws plunging into its chest, flames scorching his flesh, bone shattering under his strength.
The wolf howled, a sound that tore the air, its body collapsing into a smoldering heap of ash and ivory.
The chasm erupted, red light blinding, and a new howl—not the wolf's, but deeper, older—echoed from the depths below, a call that shook the stone and stirred the curse in his blood.
Isabella's silver eyes gleamed from the shadows, her smile a promise of ruin. "The true shard wakes, Varik," she purred, her pendant pulsing, her vampires retreating into the dark.
The ravens scattered, their caws a warning, and the Citadel's walls whispered of blood and sacrifice yet to come.
Magnus stood, fur receding, sword in hand, amber eyes burning through the dust.
The pack—Kiera, Jakob, Veyne, Gavrek, and the enigmatic Talia—gathered, bloodied but unbroken, as the chasm's howl called them deeper, toward the shard and the First Howl's shadow.