The plan was a rousing success, the large pack of wolves and Direwolves were desperate to get revenge for their alpha’s murdered mate. Maatilani and the others continued to fire their arrows into the swirling quagmire below, everything had gone as planned up to this point. Even now the Direwolves were pushing ever deeper into the encampment, yet even with their large frames, immense strength, and primal ferocity, they were not invulnerable. Already two of the five beasts were lying collapsed upon the earth, dozens of broken, bleeding, and screaming bodies scattered in their vicinity. A third was engaging with the soldiers around the command tent, its injured body barely managing to hang on.

At this point in the battle the wolves had been almost entirely wiped out, only a handful remained alongside the larger variants. Whereas the last remaining pack leader took charge, the alpha continued its push through the enemy encampment. Rushing right past the tent where carved chunks of its dead mate had been placed, and when observing the camp below it was clear that its trajectory was towards the hillock where the Scholar and his team had positioned themselves.

“Maati, fire one more volley. Then pack whatever remaining ammunition we have, we are leaving.” None questioned the order, firing one more volley, this time towards the ongoing battle around the command tent. With the soldier’s attention drawn to the wounded Direwolf they failed to defend against the volley of arrows which struck them in the back, many stumbling from their wounds and allowing the large wolf to break free from the encirclement.

To his credit the commander stepped forward, the one named Iphiclus, with spear and shield he personally faced off against an enemy twice, maybe three times his size in order to protect the wounded to his rear. An honorable move, but a foolish one when considering his value, a target that the Scholar himself could not ignore. Mounted upon his steed, the Scholar kept steady, raised his bow, and took hold of broadhead arrow, its goal to punch through the target’s thin bronze cuirass. The thick iron tip would have little trouble punching through the much weaker metal armor, crushing, and tearing the soft tissue beneath.

But the arrow would not be loosed, the timing and direction of the wind were paramount when accurately striking a target at such range with such a weighty arrowhead. The bow remained trained, the horse steady as the battle below inched towards its climax. While the rest of the squadron of outriders finished collecting their gear and mounting up, Maatilani rode up beside her lord, eyes focused on the point where his arrow was directed.

Her focus on the target and the escalating battle, which was not as one sided as one might have at first imagined. The Commander, Iphiclus danced to and fro, his impressive and experienced footwork keeping him one step ahead of the wounded beast. After one or two blows to the shield the man had realized the danger in getting bogged down, the force from each strike capable of shattering bones and causing damage even if mitigated using the shield. So instead, he had dropped his shield and focused entirely upon his footwork, holding his spear firmly in both hands, slapping away and redirecting the strike of the meaty paws using the thick metal shaft.

With each deflection the man was able to throw in a counter of his own, a vertical slash here, a thrust there, little by little the wounds began to grow. The beast grew weaker as its blood flowed in rivulets, coloring its brownish fur a dark crimson. Time was on the man’s side; his remaining men had just finished off the two wolves and now their attention was on the faltering monster. Rather than rushing in blindly they chose instead to stay back, picking up nearby spears and hurling them into the exposed flanks and rear. Soon enough the beast faltered, making one last futile attempt to eliminate the prey before its eye, only to have its strength give out and for the man to pounce upon its neck and plunge his spear deep into its skull.

Iphiclus stood triumphantly atop his conquest, the men roared out in unison, a similar scene played out across the battlefield as the last remnants of the pack were either put to flight or had their lives snuffed out. Only the Alpha remained amongst the pack leaders, and it had freed itself from the camp, its focus solely upon the hillock and the tiny bundle hanging from the Scholar’s saddle. It was in that moment that the direction of the wind changed, the commander stood atop his kill, his chest exposed to the world, with only his cuirass for protection.

As the Scholar prepared to release his fingers from the tightened bowstring the situation changed yet again. Maatilani’s spear flung out at incredible speed, swaying left and right similar to a desert cobra, and impacted against its intended target, deflecting the projectile away from the Scholar’s steed. The javelin had emerged from the darkness of the tree line, cutting through the air with incredible speed and precision, the force of which could be seen in the way that Maatilani’s arm shook from the aftermath of deflecting the dangerous weapon.

With his focus broken, the Scholar gave up on his initial target and switched to the more imminent danger caused by the giant man breaking through the tree line at a rapid pace. “Go NOW!” The Scholar yelled out his orders before releasing his arrow in the direction of the giant. Even if it was on short notice, with the minimal distance between the two, the Scholar’s aim was accurate enough. The powerful arrow cut through the darkness with incredible speed before reaching its goal, only it was not received by its intended target, instead meeting a thick slab of iron which came down in a vertical slash that shattered the arrow into pieces. Shards of wood and iron barely fazing the man as the cleaver returned to its original position.

The attack had stopped the giant in his tracks, the power behind the arrow forcing him to halt his pursuit for an instant. An instant was enough however, as the Scholar did an about face the second the arrow had departed its resting place and galloped off away from the danger. Menos who had hunted down his target was left empty handed, watching as his prey slipped away into the distance.

Knowing that he had little chance of catching them now, he instead switched focus to the massive beast barreling towards him. Slight wounds marred the Direwolf Alpha’s otherwise jet-black coat, its yellow eyes glowing in the darkness accompanied by the sound of gnashing jaws. For whatever reason, the alpha had avoided engaging in the quagmire below that it had initiated, instead rushing over to the hillock a short distance from the rear of the camp where the riders had taken up position.

However, now the riders were gone, out of reach of both combatants. Menos angered by his failure, and the Alpha angered by the loss of much more could do little to quell their anger. It was only natural that this pair of predators would come to blows immediately upon contact.

With a deafening howl the Alpha charged first, rushing toward the giant Menos, who barely reached the Alpha’s neck. The beast opened its mouth wide, snapping them closed with a force that caused the air to be displaced. Menos, sensing the danger had dodged at the last second, the jaws instead closing upon a nearby tree and snapping it in two, the top half of the tumbling down the side of the hillock. Menos appeared unperturbed, his eyes glowing red beneath his mask, a long thin smile stretching across his face as he unsheathed his war cleaver, “Come Doggy…”.

Belying his large size, Menos was unusually nimble, knowing that he could not match the creature in pure strength he instead focused on avoiding the blows before countering. A similar tactic to that employed by Iphiclus in dealing with his own opponent, unlike Iphiclus’s enemy, the Alpha was in a relatively undamaged condition. Meaning its speed, power, and senses were still in top condition. Yet even so, Menos still managed to make short work of the creature, taking advantage of the Alpha’s urgency and his own unnatural strength.

The first debilitating blow came when Menos evaded deeper into the tree line, the alpha taking the bait in its rage and quickly finding itself in a disadvantageous position. The Alpha losing use of its right eye as Menos pounced down from a hanging branch and carved through the orbital bone and eye socket. Having lost half its vision, the Alpha could not stop the cleaver from shearing through the tendons on its right hindlimb. After which it received another blow, this time a diagonal slash cutting through its front paw.

Each attack was precise but possessing the strength to cut through the layers of thick iron like fur and muscles. The wounds carefully chosen in order to immobilize the beast thereby eliminating its greatest strength. Left blind and immobile the creature could do little but growl and whimper as the bloody giant approached to deliver the final blow. There was no hesitation as the cleaver came down upon the Alpha’s neck, slicing meat, bone, and fur without problem, his hand reaching over and lifting the massive head of the vanquished beast.

Thus came an undignified end to the Wolf King of the Naulos Mountains, seeking revenge for his dead mate and cubs, the ancient Direwolf was finally brought down. Yet who could be considered the true monsters, the beasts who fought to avenge their family, or those who used them as expendable chaff. At the very least the villages surrounding the Naulos mountains would not need fear attacks upon their livestock or persons in the foreseeable future.