CHAPTER 188: CHAPTER 188: THE TURNING TIDE

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The northern wall of the academy shook with violence. The clash of steel against steel, the guttural growls of Lycans in their true form, and the dying screams of crimson hunt soldiers echoed into the night. The fight had dragged on long enough that the ground itself was drenched in blood, slick beneath boots and claws alike.

At first, it seemed victory was within reach. The crimson hunt soldiers had been thinning, their disciplined lines breaking under the ruthless ferocity of the Queen, Astrid, Magnus and their people. But then, the reinforcements came. A fresh wave of crimson hunt soldiers poured in from the shadows of the academy interior, their red lined armor glinting as they charged with renewed vigor.

Astrid Voss didn’t hesitate. She stepped into the chaos, her blade singing as it cut clean through a soldier’s throat, spraying dark blood across her face. She didn’t flinch, her eyes remained cold, unreadable, as the man collapsed in a lifeless heap. Without pausing, she moved toward Magnus.

Magnus Thorn was a monster on the battlefield, and tonight he looked every inch the legend whispered about him. His axe, once his weapon of choice, lay discarded on the ground behind him. Now he relied on his claws and fangs, tearing through soldier after soldier with primal savagery. His chest and face were streaked in gore, his movements relentless, like a beast that could never tire. Soldiers screamed as his claws ripped them apart, one after another, a whirlwind of destruction.

"Killing them all will take too much time," Astrid said as she slid beside him, her blade flashing again to cleave into another enemy. She didn’t even glance at him, her focus locked forward. "I need to get to the Queen, we donot have much time, we want to find Kieran and Lorraine"

Magnus growled low in his throat, sending one last soldier flying with a swipe of his claws. He glanced at her, his fangs bared in the heat of battle. "Go ahead. I’ll cover you."

Astrid gave a sharp nod. That was all she needed. Without another word, she turned and sprinted, her sword flashing as she cut down anyone foolish enough to step into her path.

Ahead, the fighting raged even harder. Cyrin and Varya were locked in the fray with the crimson hunt soldiers, their movements deadly and precise. And in the middle of it, The Queen.

She was no longer the regal figure she once had been. She was the ghosthound, overtaken by bloodlust. Her form blurred with speed as she ripped soldiers apart with her bare hands. She tore one man in half at the torso, shredded another like he was nothing more than paper. Her roars shook the night, feral and terrifying.

Astrid knew time was running out. The Queen had taken poison before the battle. But if they wasted any more time here, she might never be able to make it in time to save Kieran.

Astrid approached carefully, but the Queen reacted like a predator sensing a threat. Her hand shot out, fast as lightning, closing around Astrid’s throat and lifting her off the ground. Astrid’s face turned red, her feet dangling helplessly. The Queen’s eyes were nothing but feral rage, her grip was merciless.

But Astrid remained calm, even as her vision blurred from lack of air. She leaned close, forcing her words through the tightness in her throat. "Remember your son, my Queen. Your son, Kieran Valerius Hunter. Your only son. You need to follow me, so you can save him. You must save your son!"

For a moment, nothing changed. But then, a flicker appeared. The Queen’s eyes, clouded with bloodlust, cleared just enough for recognition to shine through. Her grip loosened, and Astrid slipped from her grasp, collapsing onto her knees and gasping for air.

Coughing, Astrid staggered to her feet. She looked up at the Queen, her sword raised. "Follow me, my Queen. We don’t have much time."

The Queen gave a slow nod, her chest heaving, and together they moved. Astrid slashed down any soldier that dared cross their path, cutting a direct line away from the northern wall.

Magnus, still locked in the fight, caught a glimpse of them leaving. A flicker of relief lit his bloodied face, but it was immediately drowned by grim reality. The crimson hunt soldiers were endless, swarming like locusts, and his warriors were growing weary. The tide was threatening to turn against them.

Then.... a roar split the air.

Magnus turned, fangs dripping, eyes widening. From the direction of the dormitories, a massive group of students stormed into the battlefield, both nobles and elites alike. They came in droves, their claws unsheathed, their fangs bared, their eyes blazing with fury. United, they launched themselves at the crimson hunt soldiers with reckless abandon.

The yard erupted into chaos once again, but this time, the balance shifted.

The students weren’t trained soldiers, but they fought with something else, rage, desperation, the will to reclaim their academy. They piled onto the crimson hunt soldiers, ripping, tearing, biting, drowning them in sheer numbers.

Magnus felt his chest swell with something rare. Pride. Pride in them. Pride in this fight.

Kieran’s POV

I had seen many things in my lifetime. I had watched warriors transform, had witnessed Lycans in their full glory tearing armies apart, had seen blood spill rivers under the full moon. But never, never in my existence, had I seen what was unfolding before my eyes.

Lorraine.

She wasn’t Lorraine anymore. Or maybe she was, but transformed, transcended into something so unearthly it made my skin prickle with awe and fear alike.

She was floating. Literally floating, her feet barely touching the ground, her body weightless like the wind itself carried her. Her black hair, now glimmered like molten silver, spilling down her shoulders in radiant waves. Her eyes were glowing, blindingly white, as though the moon itself had taken residence in her gaze.

And then, before everyone’s eyes, the impossible happened. Her left arm, the arm she had lost, the arm I thought she would never regain, grew back. The bones stretched, the veins wound into place, muscle and flesh knitting together in seconds until it was whole. Perfect. Looking stronger than before.

I froze, my mouth dry. This was not just my stubborn, defiant Lorraine. This was something else. Something ethereal. Something divine.

And then, she flicked her wrist. Just one flick.

The metal cage that had bound me, the silver chains biting into my skin, shattered into pieces like they were nothing more than brittle glass. I stumbled forward, but my eyes never left her.

The soldiers nearest me rushed forward, but they never even reached. Lorraine lifted her wrist again, barely moving, and they all slumped dead in unison. Lifeless bodies collapsing like puppets with their strings cut.

The courtyard went silent for half a breath.

The Leader was on his feet now, staring at her from the center of the rune circle. For the first time ever, there was fear etched into his face.

"Attack her!" he barked, his voice cracking as he shouted at the remaining soldiers and the women in white robes.

The women in white began to chant, but they didn’t get further than a word before Lorraine turned her head, eyes glowing, and flicked her wrist once more. Their throats tightened, their bodies convulsed as if unseen hands squeezed the life out of them. Blood streamed from their noses, mouths, and ears as their chanting turned into strangled gags.

The soldiers didn’t hesitate, they charged. Brave or foolish, I couldn’t tell. Lorraine didn’t even raise her hand. The first that came within reach simply collapsed, his throat ripped out without her touching him, his blood spraying as though reality itself had torn his flesh.

The Leader scrambled backward on the floor, panic in his eyes. He clawed toward the gagging women. "Summon her! Summon the ghosthound!" he roared.

One of the women, barely able to breathe, managed to croak out an incantation.

And then the air split.

From the shadows of one of the nearby academy buildings, a blur of motion leaped into the courtyard. Blonde hair streaked in the wind, claws bared, eyes savage.

Aveline.

My stomach twisted. She wasn’t dead. Not yet. And she wasn’t herself, she was full ghosthound, her bloodlust a raging inferno as she lunged straight at Lorraine.

"No!" I roared, already moving toward them.

But the Leader shouted, desperate, "Stop him! Surround him!"

The remaining soldiers obeyed, swarming toward me like rabid dogs.

My claws slid out, my fangs bared, and rage filled my veins. They would not keep me from Lorraine again. I ripped into them, tearing one man’s chest open with a single swipe, spinning to drive my claws through another’s throat. They fell around me, but there were still too many of thdm and I had barely just started healing from the deep silver cuts that weakened me. Yet I fought with everything I had, blood soaking me as I clawed and tore, but their sheer numbers pressed me back, forcing me to kill faster, harder.

Still, my gaze kept flicking back to Lorraine. She wasn’t moving like herself anymore. Her motions were too smooth, too fluid, her presence too overwhelming as she fought Aveline. She wasn’t in control, something else was. Something.... Stronger.

And then....

"Conan!!!"

The shout ripped across the courtyard, raw and filled with a lethal fury that rattled my bones.

The Leader froze. His head snapped around, surprise etched deep in his face.

And then she came.

A blur of black and crimson, power and bloodlust fused into one unstoppable force, The Ghosthound Queen

My mother.

She lunged at him, faster than any soldier, faster than any Lycan, her bloodlust overwhelming every other scent in the yard. Her claws were bared, her fangs glinting, her eyes burning with pure feral rage.

The Leader looked truly terrified.

And I.....

I had never been more afraid of what was about to happen.