Emberfang’s high officer, General Var’Zhul, sat slumped in his stone chair. His clawed fingers dug into his hair, yanking strands out as frustration and anxiety gnawed at his nerves.
“Where is that damn runner?!”
He had sent the swiftest team out hours ago, a trusted group of soldiers riding the fastest mounts who should have returned by now. Wartorn was not that far.
If his hunch was true—if those mongrels had truly invaded—it meant Emberfang was next. He had been screaming at the fools in charge of the outer defenses for days, yet there were not enough warriors to man the walls properly against a giant army. Tens of thousands of trained dogkin warriors would not be stopped by Emberfang’s current forces. If the battle-hardened veterans of Wartorn had crumbled, then what hope did they have after being ordered to send large numbers to reinforce the north?
His claws dug deeper into his scalp while he breathed raggedly, unevenly.
“Think. Think!”
His head snapped to the side, eyes landing on the trembling, naked elf woman chained to the post in the corner of his chamber. Her once-emerald eyes were bloodshot, swollen from days of crying, her voice hoarse from the screams that no longer even left her lips.
Yes.
YES!
He needed to consume to calm his nerves.
Var’Zhul stood, making his broad, muscled form cast a dark shadow over the woman as he loomed closer. His heavy, measured steps made her shudder violently. She whimpered as he crouched beside her, his rough skin tracing her defenseless flesh, feeling her sensual, feminine skin the lithe elves were famous for.
“Shhh,” he cooed, gripping her slender leg, lifting it to his maw with a sadistic grin etched across his face. He licked, leaving a long trail of rich saliva on her thigh, marking his property. “Stop shivering. You should be honored. It’s not a random man who you have the privilege of feeding, but me, General Var’Zhul!”
“Nooo!! P-pleas-“
Before she could even finish her first few begging words, his jaw unhinged, shining rows of razor-sharp teeth that clamped down on her thigh. Instantly, her muffled scream tore through the room.
A crunch echoed as bones snapped between his fangs, flesh tearing apart like ripe fruit. He chewed slowly, savoring the warmth, the rush of blood dripping down his chin and into his throat. The elf kicked, screamed, and thrashed, but his firm hands held her in place.
“P-please! No more! Please!” she sobbed, punching the high-level combatant right in the face, but he showed no signs of being hurt. Var’Zhul could’ve restrained her movements properly, even sedating her beforehand if he was feeling merciful. That was how the noble lionkin ladies liked to consume their meals. Wrestling with their prey felt below their station.
But Var’Zhul begged to disagree. Seeing his meal fight for its life only made the experience more filling. It elevated the taste of the meal, increasing the level of satisfaction he gained both on a physical and mental level.
He swallowed after slurping on her rapidly gushing blood, licking his lips. “Mmm. You taste… simply divine. Young elven females are just the best!”
His fangs sank in again. More bone cracked, and more flesh was torn. He savored every bite, the agony in her eyes, the hopelessness in her cries—
*Rrrrmmmm…*
Then, the whole building shook.
The impact rattled the stone walls, sending dust and debris cascading from the ceiling.
Var’Zhul froze. His ears twitched as he processed the vibration that traveled up his feet.
Another tremor struck. A deep, guttural growl rumbled from his throat. He threw the elf aside. Her whimper was nothing more than background noise in his head as he stormed toward the door.
“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!” he roared, shoving past the guards outside his chambers.
He ran through the halls of his keep, leaping up the stairs five steps at a time. When he reached the walls, his breath caught in his throat.
No army.
No hordes of dogkin warriors.
Just a group of… twenty-five?
His fur bristled. His golden eyes darted from figure to figure, confusion mounting.
A handful of dogkin warriors stood a long distance from the walls, idly observing Emberfang. There were just twelve of them, no more. Eleven of them bore the hardened gazes of seasoned veteran fighters Var’Zhul was all too familiar with. He recognized their first prince, Darius, even from the large distance separating them. The final dogkin was vastly different. Her blonde tail was wildly wagging behind her as she observed the city, marking her extreme excitement. At what, Var’Zhul didn’t quite understand.
And then there were the others.
A white-haired foxkin whose lips adorned an extreme smug smile. Her long ears twitched as she whispered something to Darius, who was watching the ongoings with wry eyes. Then, there were also a few elves thrown into the mix. Despite their masks, their barefoot status perfectly signaled their race made up of foot fetishist weirdos. The rest… No beastkin features, no naked feet… “Humans?! What in the name of the glorious Sunfang is this group setup?!”
*Crrkkk!!*
Another tremor rumbled beneath him, louder this time around.
Var’Zhul’s clawed fingers gripped the edge of the battlements as the ground shifted. Not violently, not like a cataclysmic event, but… loosened. Disturbed. The walls groaned under the shifting weight of the foundation.
He felt it. The unnatural movement of the very land beneath Emberfang. His stomach twisted. His ears flicked back in primal instinct.
“The fuck is doing this?! A giant dirt mole monster?!” he growled, his eyes darting to the group in the distance.
They weren’t moving. They weren’t casting anything. Just waiting, watching amusedly as something was burrowing beneath Emberfang.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. They were waiting for the monster they had unleashed beneath Emberfang to wreak havoc on the city’s infrastructure, merely observing from a safe distance with entertained faces as if they were witnessing a theatric play.
Var’Zhul’s lip trembled in frustration when he saw his dumb soldiers just standing there, gawking like cubs seeing their first hunt.
“Are you waiting for the ground to fucking eat you?!” he roared, his voice echoing across the battlements. “Start digging! Flush that thing out! If the ground beneath the walls collapses, those artifacts might as well be fucking ornaments!”
The walls were reinforced by specially made artifacts, letting them shrug off mighty assaults. But the ground beneath them did not have the same enchantments, because according to every single person living on the Iskaris continent, such a dirt mole-like monster does not exist. It’s the first time in the history of the continent that such a weird form of assault has ever happened. Not even Geomancers had the required control over the earth element to make a city tremble like this.
Whatever it was, it was a horrible calamity as far as Var’Zhul was concerned.
The soldiers flinched at their boss’s harsh tone but scrambled into action, grabbing shovels, pickaxes, and whatever tools they could find. Emberfang was no stranger to warfare, but this? This was different. There was no roaring army at the gates, no siege weapons lining up in neat formations. Just a small, bizarre group in the distance and an unseen force gnawing at their city’s very foundation.
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