Chapter 320
The first wave hit like a tsunami of muscle and fury. The engineered werewolves moved with impossible precision—not wild beasts, but tactical predators. Each movement calculated, each attack a coordinated strike designed to overwhelm.
Fenris met the lead werewolf's charge with a primal roar that shook the forest. Their collision was a thunderclap of muscle and bone, two apex predators locked in a battle that transcended simple physical combat. But something was different. These weren't natural werewolves. These were something else entirely.
Lyra's magic exploded around her—not defensive, but offensive. Roots erupted from the ground, magical tendrils wrapping around attacking werewolves, magical fire burning with an intensity that went beyond normal flame. Each spell was a living weapon, responsive and intelligent.
The lead werewolf was unlike anything Fenris had encountered. Scars crisscrossed his body—surgical scars. Precise. Intentional. This was no natural transformation, but something engineered.
"What are you?" Fenris snarled, blocking a strike that would have torn through ordinary flesh.
The engineered werewolf's laugh was cold. Mechanical. "The future," he responded.
Blood sprayed. Fenris felt a moment of shock as one of the tactical werewolves scored a hit—a precision strike that cut deep. But his werewolf healing was instantaneous, the wound closing almost before the blood could fall.
Lyra's magic reached a fever pitch. The forest itself seemed to fight alongside her—trees bending, roots rising, magical energy creating a battlefield that was alive and responsive. Her spells weren't just attacks—they were living things, each magical construct intelligent and adaptive.
"They're not natural!" she shouted to Fenris. "They're engineered!"
The tactical werewolves moved like a single organism. Where one attacked, others covered. Where one was injured, another immediately filled the gap. This wasn't a pack. This was a weapon.
Fenris caught a glimpse of something metallic beneath the skin of one werewolf—implants. Technological augmentations that went beyond natural transformation.
A tactical werewolf leaped at Lyra. She met it with a magical barrier that wasn't just defensive—it was offensive. The barrier became a weapon, magical energy cutting through the attacking werewolf like a living blade.
"Who created you?" Fenris roared, tackling the lead werewolf.
The response was chilling. "Progress," the engineered werewolf said. "Evolution doesn't happen by accident."
More werewolves emerged from the shadows. This wasn't just an attack. This was an invasion.
Lyra's magic reached a crescendo. The forest floor became a living battlefield—magical energy and werewolf fury creating a war zone that defied natural law. Trees became weapons. Roots became traps. Magic and primal fury danced a deadly dance.
Fenris felt something fundamental shifting. These weren't just opponents. They were a statement. A challenge to everything he understood about his own nature.
Blood mixed with magical energy. The forest floor became a canvas of destruction and transformation.
The lead werewolf's eyes held something beyond animal fury. Something calculated. Something planned.
"We are the next stage," he said.
And then the real battle began.
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