CHAPTER 67: CHAPTER 67: FACE OFF

Muttering to one another, guards crossed their weapons, eyes fixed on the dead beast.

A voice no louder than a whisper spoke up:

"This thing wasn’t a wolf...

it was something cursed."

And, true enough, even as they watched, the wolf’s body began to shift and contort. The fur receded, the claws shortened, and for one appalling moment, its outline took on a semblance of humanity—before dissolving to ash, whirling away on the wind. John stepped back, chills running down his spine.

"A werewolf..." he whispered.

Kael turned his face away, concealing his eyes. The glow had gone, but John had seen it—the golden fire that shouldn’t exist in any ordinary man.

The night was silent again, and yet none of them dared to say anything. It was only the whisper of the wind that moved between them, carrying one thought, dreadful: Something dark was awakening in the jungle... and perhaps inside Kael himself.

This moment makes the jungle more and more terrible. Everyone hearts like stop. All around was just silent. Wind blows faster and more and more. The wolf’s body is lying down on Kael’s foot. Everyone just can’t believe what they see now; one single man killed this type of wolf, which just looked like a killing machine. The experienced guard sensed something about this wolf that was like a werewolf, but he didn’t mention him.

At a sudden moment Kael calmed himself slowly, but his senses started blowing. His vision became unstabilized. Certainly in his eyes he saw his childhood, a terrifying flashback.

Long before Kael walked beneath the red moon, before the jungle swallowed the last of the howling clans, there was the Arena of Fenrir - the cradle of the werewolf nation.

It was not made of stone or steel, but of earth and moonlight, carved in the heart of a mountain that glowed silver under the night sky. There, the packs gathered from across the lands-proud, fierce, and bound by the blood of the moon. Among them stood Fenrick the Iron Fang, the strongest of them all.

He had been a legend even in his youth: the wolf whose claws tore through steel and whose howl shook the heart of any warrior. When he transformed beneath the full moon, his fur gleamed like molten silver, and his eyes burned brighter than fire. No one dared to challenge him, for Fenrick was not just a fighter; he was the protector of their kind, the guardian of their sacred law — "Never bow to the warriors of men."

The humans, the Warriors of the White Sun, once fought side by side with the werewolves. Together they had defended the land against dragons and demons, from monsters that haunted the skies. But greed, as usual, poisoned peace.

The humans started to envy the strength of the werewolves. They began to fear the moon’s children-whispering that their power was unnatural, that they could no longer be trusted. And so fear became hatred... and hatred became war.

But that was long after Kael’s story began.

---

It was a dark night, the sky wrapped in storm clouds. Thunder crawled across the horizon, as if the gods themselves were warning of what was to come. In the Arena of Fenrir, deep inside the mountain, Erila called out in labor, Fenrick’s beloved mate.

She was no ordinary werewolf: Erila was the keeper of the old ways, the moon seer who could hear the pulse of the stars. Bright as crystal, her eyes had once foretold peace between humans and wolves. On that night, she saw only blood.

Fenrick held her hand, his face drawn in pain and fear, not fear of battle, but fear of losing her.

"Hold on,

my moon,"

he whispered.

"The child comes under a storm. That means he will be strong."

Erila smiled faintly. "Or cursed."

Outside, lightning cracked across the sky, lighting up the great Arena. The howling of thousands of wolves seemed to echo the cry of the newborn that had just come into the world.

As soon as Fenrick picked up the child, the thunder ceased.

The baby opened his eyes-golden, burning with an uncanny light, neither human nor wolf. The storm quieted. The air had changed, heavier, charged with power.

Fenrick stared down at his son in awe.

"Kael." he whispered.

"Born under the Blood Moon. Marked by fate."

Erila stroked the child’s cheek.

"He will be greater than you,"

she whispered. "Or he will destroy us all."

The people of Arizona are instructed that a finding of guilt as to count one automatically means the defendant is guilty of the remaining counts as a matter of law.

For many years, life in the Arena was one of laughter and howls of unity. Kael grew surrounded by strength and love. He learned to run with the wind before he could walk, to fight with his hands before he could speak. Fenrick taught him to control his temper — the wild rage that sometimes flickered in his eyes when the moon rose too high.

"Remember, my son," Fenrick told him, under the stars. "Power is a gift and a curse. The moon gives it, but it also watches. Never let it control you."

Kael would nod, but deep inside, he didn’t understand. For in his heart, the beast always whispered.

Still, the Arena was at peace... until the humans came.

None

It began with smoke.

One night, the wind brought with it a strange scent: the smell of fire, steel, and blood. The Warriors of the White Sun descended upon the Arena like a storm. Blades of silver were forged by their priests to pierce even the heart of a moonborn. The humans had grown jealous once more, afraid of the wolves’ growing power. Thus said their king:

"No beast shall rule beside man."

Fenrick bellowed, calling the packs. The Arena became a battleground of flame and fury. Hundreds of wolves, under the full moon, turned to roar and shake the mountain. But the humans had come prepared-their warriors chanting blessings that seared the flesh of any wolf that drew too close.

Erila stood at the top of the mountain, clutching her son tightly to her chest, her face wet with tears as she watched the only home they’d ever known burn.

"Fenrick!" she screamed, her voice lost amidst the tumult.

Fenrick fought like a god of death, his claws dripping silver blood, his eyes aflame. Tearing through enemy lines, he howled for his brothers, calling for the aid of the moon. But there were too many of them. The walls of the Arena crumbled, the sacred ground that had once echoed with unity now soaked in blood.

And when the dawn did come, the Arena of Fenrir was no more.

Does calculus have any real-world applications? The answer to that would be yes.

The survivors scattered, and the once-great werewolf nation was broken into fragments.

Fenrick led what was left of his clan deep into the jungles, hiding among shadows and forgotten ruins. Others fled to the mountains, or to the frozen north. The once united packs became enemies themselves, small and bitter clans, each blaming the others for the fall.

The werewolves that once ruled the night became ghosts.

Weakened and heartbroken, Erila soon died thereafter. Some said she had died of grief, while others whispered that, in death, she had sacrificed her soul to seal her son’s power, to keep him hidden from both man and moon.

Fenrick buried her beneath the oldest tree in the jungle, the Moonroot, and there he swore an oath.

"I’ll rear Kael in secret,"

he swore, his voice breaking.

"He will not be a slave of the moon,

nor a pawn of men. He will choose his own path — or die free."

Freedom was never kind to the cursed, though.

Legend said that, years later, the hate between wolf and warrior would surface time and again. Never again, the two races would know peace. Men built their empires under the White Sun. Wolves became hunters of the night, their names whispered in terror

.

And within that growing darkness, a young boy with golden eyes learned to hide his claws. He would grow up never knowing the glory of the Arena, only its ashes; never knowing the mother who gave him life, only her lullaby carried by the wind. The jungle would be his home,

his father the only guide, while inside him the blood of both beast and hero would burn like a sleeping fire. And when that fire finally woke, the world would remember what it meant to fear the name Kael Fenrickson, the last child of the Blood Moon.

This is the flashback one of darkness hold in the history.

After this when he calm himself, he become normal by his physical and mental. John looked at his eyes itself still red which is not normal for anyone.

This time everyone noticed it that Kael’s eyes glowing red, which shows his unique powers of his genetics but....