CHAPTER 84: HOUR OF RECKONING

Meanwhile, across the plains far from the king’s cruel court, the battle for the northern ridge raged.

Kieran stood amid the chaos, panting, sword slick with blood, fur matted and torn from multiple fights. His golden eyes burned like a living fire. Around him, wolves circled defensively, holding the broken road leading into the heart of the kingdom.

"They’re pushing from the north harder than before," one of his generals, Tobias, growled, shaking blood from his claws.

Kieran’s jaw clenched. "They’ve shifted tactics. That means someone’s giving orders."

He looked toward the broken spires of the capital, grim understanding blooming behind his burning gaze.

It was the king. He was close.

Thunder rolled across the sky, the storm a herald of something worse yet to come.

And far beneath that storm, Marcus remained bound, breathing shallowly, waiting—for rescue, for hope, for war.

The storm had broken fully now, black clouds boiling above the ruined capital, the kind of rain that felt more like ash than water, clinging to skin, heavy with the scent of decay and burning.

And the king stood in the heart of it all, utterly calm.

The ruins of the city stretched around him like broken bones, the skeletal remains of a once-beautiful place—now nothing but a battlefield, a grave for dreams long dead. He stood on the remnants of an ancient balcony, high above the broken streets, the view stretching far enough to see distant fires flickering on the horizon. The occasional scream or howl echoed through the ruined avenues, carried on the cutting wind.

But none of it touched him.

"Is it ready?" he asked softly.

Another figure stepped forward from the shadows. Not a scout this time. This one wore robes that shimmered faintly with deep crimson runes, symbols that hurt to look at for too long. His skin was pale, translucent in places, almost like something unfinished. His eyes were black pits, endless voids that seemed to suck the light from the world.

The sorcerer bowed. "Yes, my king. The altar is prepared."

A smile played on the king’s lips. "Good. It’s glad you were able to come in before the portal forcefully closed down."

Below, where the old market square used to be, a crude shape had been carved into the ground itself—runes gouged into the earth with brutal precision, forming a spiraling sigil that pulsed with sickly green light. Around its edges, bodies were scattered, both wolves and humans alike, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Their blood fed the magic. Every drop mattered.

"What of the resistance in the north?" the sorcerer asked, voice echoing unnaturally, like something spoken between dimensions.

The king didn’t even glance away from the view. "Kieran will die soon enough."

"I could... assist," the sorcerer offered.

A sharp flick of the king’s hand silenced him. "No. Let the wolves think they have hope. That is the sweetest cruelty—watching the last of their strength crumble just before salvation."

He turned now, slowly, gaze hardening. "Our real concern... is her."

"Athena," the sorcerer whispered.

The king’s smile deepened. "Of course. She’ll come eventually."

The sorcerer tilted his head. "You still intend to use the boy?" His black eyes drifted toward Marcus, still unconscious, still bound to the altar by those breathing vines, like some damned offering to forgotten gods.

"Yes," the king said softly. "Her heart is still tangled up in these creatures." His expression twisted briefly in disgust. "They ruin themselves for each other, don’t they? Love. Loyalty. Such cheap things."

He stepped closer to Marcus, crouching until his face was only inches from his prisoner’s.

"Would you trade your life for hers?" the king whispered in Marcus’s ear. "Would you betray her to save yourself? We’ll see soon enough."

A faint twitch in Marcus’s jaw was the only response, the smallest flicker of consciousness stirring behind his bruised features.

The king straightened and gave a nod to the sorcerer. "Begin the next phase. I want it active by sundown."

The sorcerer raised both hands, and the runes flared brighter, pulsing with a rhythm like a heartbeat—wrong, discordant, but alive.

Cracks splintered through the stones around the sigil, glowing with that same unnatural light. From somewhere deep below the ground, a faint, ancient rumbling echoed—a sound that wasn’t thunder, wasn’t natural, but something older. Something waiting.

Waiting to be unleashed.

And all of it tied to the king’s cruel smile, standing in the rain as the world around him burned.

—

Across the battlefield, far from the glowing runes and wicked sorcery, Kieran didn’t need magic to know something terrible was building.

He could feel it.

The wolves fought hard, fangs flashing, claws tearing through twisted abominations, but with every moment, the pressure grew. The kind of tension that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up before a predator pounced.

"Something’s wrong," Kieran growled, back pressed against the ruins of a crumbled archway, blood trickling down his side. "This isn’t just another battle. He’s preparing something."

Tobias limped over, his left arm hanging uselessly, slashed by one of the demon wolves earlier. His yellow eyes burned. "Then we hit him first."

Kieran looked toward the shattered skyline of the capital city, the broken towers reaching like jagged spears toward the stormy sky. The sickly green glow rising from its heart told him everything he needed to know.

They didn’t have time.

"If we don’t stop whatever that is," he rasped, "it won’t matter how many of us are left standing. He’ll rip open that portal again. Bring the rest of those demon wolves through."

Tobias clenched his jaw. "Then we go now."

"No," Kieran said, chest heaving. "We go smart. We take the best fighters, the fastest ones, and we go for his throat. The others... hold the line."

Tobias blinked. "That’s suicide."

Kieran bared his teeth. "It’s war."

For a long moment, only the sound of distant thunder and the growls of circling demon wolves filled the air between them.

Then Tobias nodded. "Fine. I’ll rally the others."

Kieran’s gaze drifted back toward the burning horizon.

We’re running out of time.