CHAPTER 37: THREE DIFFERENT WARS

It had been a long journey—but one filled with laughter, bonding, and many moments of joy. It was the perfect time for Tasha to grow closer to Natasha and Elara. Their girlish screams and playful laughter echoed unconsciously through the woods, illuminating the moonlit path with smiles, inside jokes, and even spooky noises designed to startle one another. Under the cold gaze of the moon, the forest had never felt so alive.

They were forced to camp midway, as the journey took them nearly a day and a half. During that time, countless memories were made—romantic moments between Allen and Tasha surfaced as they fished and roasted meat together under the stars. After resting, they continued their expedition, trekking through the dense forest, hunting wild animals—though at times, it felt like they were the ones being hunted. They crossed rivers and scaled mountains, but the most daunting climb was Fangclaw—the mountain that scraped the sky. And finally, they reached its peak.

There, Allen and his companions stood atop the towering mountain, so high it nearly kissed the clouds. The air was thin and the wind howled, but it was still manageable.

Before them stood the Wolfclad Clan, resting at the summit like a crown atop the mountain’s head. Just as the werewolf had warned, the land was barren. Not even a rat stirred across its surface. That eerie stillness confirmed the werewolf’s warning—and brought with it the heavy tension of what waited ahead.

A loud, guttural howl echoed in the distance, deep and ominous, like a welcome into a realm where terror ruled.

"T-that’s him... that’s him," the werewolf who has lead them here rasped, trembling. He tried to dash down the mountain, but was yanked back by the chain Amaterasu held with a firm grip.

"Let him go, Amaterasu," Allen said, his voice calm but commanding. "Taking him any further would only be a burden to us."

"If you say so, my lord," she replied. The earlier softness in her tone had vanished, replaced by a deadly seriousness—a warrior’s readiness for battle.

She released the chain, and the werewolf sprinted down the mountain like a madman escaping fire.

"Hmph," Natasha muttered behind Allen. "Hadas really took full control of this place."

"You guys did say this was called the fangclaw mountain right?" Tasha murmured nervously, her voice trembling with unease.

"Yes. So said the pathetic werewolf," Elara replied, watching the creature tumble down the rocks, falling over and over—but still desperate to escape.

"While I was imprisoned in the Underworld," Elara continued, "I heard Hadas speak of using the souls of those in Fangclaw Mountain to forge some kind of demonic army. I don’t know the full details—but if we save this clan, the problem will only bounce back to the Elves. Hadas wants their souls... and from what I’ve experienced first hand, he’ll stop at nothing to get them."

"That’s all the more reason we should take them in," Allen said, shaking his head. "Every second they remain in this state is fuel for Hadas’ rise. And now, he plans on using their stolen souls to create soldiers? No... that’s too far."

"I agree, my lord," Natasha added. "If we’re going to fight a god, we might as well weaken him, piece by piece."

"Exactly," Allen concluded.

Moments later, they quietly entered the Wolfclad Clan’s territory, moving with alert precision as they studied the landscape. The stench of rotting flesh soon began to choke the air. Skeletons littered the path, remains of those who had suffered the merciless torture of Lykos—the werewolf son of Hadas.

They passed by wooden houses lining either side of the road. Though they could feel the presence of life behind the walls and windows, there was no sound—no whisper, no breath, as though the living were nothing more than voiceless trees rooted in fear. Then, a creak. A small window cracked open, revealing a pair of pale, white eyes watching them with silent pity.

’I’ve never seen anything like this before,’ Allen thought, ducking under a thick cobweb.

They followed the straight path, weaving past the occasional intersection. But just as they neared a bend, a heavy footstep echoed ahead.

Allen raised a hand, signaling his companions to halt. His eyes sharpened, focused on the corner just ahead.

"Something’s coming," he whispered. "Something big."

Time seemed to slow as hearts raced. The moon cast a long, looming shadow around the bend.

And then it emerged.

Lykos.

Three times larger than the last time Allen had seen him. His body swollen with power, fed by not only the flesh of wolves, but even their fear added to his essence. His eyes glowed with a pale moonlight. Fangs sharp as blades. Claws sharper. A werewolf’s severed head hung from his neck like a twisted trophy.

At first, Lykos didn’t see them.

But Tasha’s uncontrollable gasp betrayed them.

WHOOM.

His head snapped in their direction—those predator eyes locking on prey.

"You’ve done enough here, werewolf!" Allen shouted, stepping forward protectively.

"Visitors," Lykos grinned, his voice a deep growl. "And you... aren’t you the boy who fast-forwarded time?"

"And so what?" Allen barked, his gaze deadly.

"You owe me—for killing that vampire personality... and for daring to challenge me, in my own land."

"This isn’t your land," Amaterasu interrupted, stepping forward. Her grip tightened around her blade, eyes narrowed with lethal intent.

"Ohh, woman..." Lykos sneered, dragging a claw across the side of a wooden building with ease, slicing through it like paper. "When men speak, keep your mouth shut."

"I see you’ve no respect," Allen began.

"SHUT UP!" Lykos roared. "I have a record—anyone I meet on my path dies within one minute. I’m not breaking that today."

He dropped into a crouch, poised to strike. Allen could see it—his bloated frame limited his fluidity, but the force he carried was monstrous.

"Lord Allen," Amaterasu said, stepping in front of him. "Let me take this one. He needs to learn respect—especially when speaking to women."

"I agree," Allen smirked. "But if you fight with blind rage and hatred instead of precision—you’ll be overwhelmed."

"I know that, my lord," she replied calmly. "I still have my Dark Elf ability to test."

"I’ll support you!" Natasha called, stepping forward. The thought of Lykos’ cruelty still haunted her—but her confidence in her newfound powers gave her courage.

"Hmph... I’ll end this in ten seconds," Lykos smirked, lowering into a runner’s stance.

The three of them charged, battle cries tearing through the silence.

---

Days Earlier – Elsewhere

Under the cold moon, Garric and Caelen waited. Only when the moon reached its peak did Caelen’s Dark Elf ability—Wind Network—reach full strength.

After a short meditation, he deciphered the whispers of the wind. It carried a clear message—Goblin activity.

They moved swiftly, lifted by massive currents of air that Caelen commanded with ease. What should have taken days on foot only took hours in the skies.

But when they arrived, what they saw was... mundane. A community of green-skinned beings going about daily life. No fugitives. No signs of danger.

And then they turned to leave.

WHACK!

Two Goblins struck simultaneously from the shadows, knocking both men unconscious.

The last thing Garric heard before blacking out was a rough voice snarling, "Take them to the kitchen. The king will feast well tonight."

---

One Day Later

Garric’s eyes shot open.

Supprised to be alive but something was wrong.

Caelen was nowhere to be seen.

---

Elven Palace — Same Day

While Allen and his group journeyed toward Fangclaw Mountain, back at the Elven Palace, a different kind of war raged.

Isabell was drenched in sweat, her body trembling from over an hour and a half of Kelion’s relentless thrusts. Her breath came in ragged gasps, moans now reduced to bitten whimpers. Her legs shook under the weight of overstimulation, yet she clung to the table, body molded by exhaustion and lust.

"Stay with me," Kelion murmured, brushing damp strands from her temple. He didn’t slow down. If anything, his hips ground deeper—seven inches claimed, and ten more to go.

"Please..." Isabell managed between clenched teeth, lips torn from constant biting. "No more cock... not in that hole..."

Kelion finally pulled out, stepping back with a satisfied grunt. Her pussy gaped open, raw and stretched, coated in thick yellow cum that dripped onto the royal table and floor like sacred violation.

"You begged for this," Kelion smirked. "Or should I move to your ass hole instead?"

"No... no, please—go on," she panted, almost crying, yet her voice held that addicted edge of surrender.

"Good," he said. His eyes glinted with heat and cruelty as he lined himself up again. "Now sit back... and enjoy while I reshape your ass to remember me."

---

Three battlefronts unfolded across the realm:

— Lykos faced off against Amaterasu and Natasha at the cursed peaks of Fangclaw.

— Garric and Caelen’s lives hung by a thread deep within the Goblin clan’s territory.

— And in the heart of the Elven palace, Kelion waged his own war—remodeling Isabell’s pussy with the full force of his unholy lust.