AWOOOOOO————!!!
Following the signal howl, thousands of Wolf-kin slaves—pushed to the brink of madness by hunger and oppression—erupted from the subterranean access points like pressurized magma. They had no weapons, no armor. They had only fangs, claws, and the kinetic energy of a tidal wave.
The black tide swallowed the sea of white silk.
“For the Ironfang King!!”
“Tear them apart!!”
Screams, the wet snap of breaking bone, and the tearing of windpipes drowned out the high-altitude gale. The Storm Clan mages, accustomed to fighting from a distance, attempted to chant spells in panic. But the wolves gave them no casting time. Throats were ripped out before the first syllable could be formed.
“Left flank!”
Jasta’s scream exploded in my ear, cracking in pitch. A blood-crazed werewolf whipped its head around, locking onto me with eyes full of burst capillaries. Seeing my formal attire, it mistook me for a Storm noble. It roared and lunged, claws aiming for my jugular. I was still off-balance from the island’s tilt; I couldn't react.
“Down!”
Jasta yanked my collar, dragging me to the floor. The claws whistled over my scalp, shearing a few strands of hair.
A dull, expensive thud followed. Jasta, using both hands, swung a solid gold, waist-high candelabra with every ounce of strength his fox frame possessed. He slammed it into the back of the werewolf’s skull. The beast’s eyes rolled back, and it collapsed.
Jasta dropped the dented gold candelabra, wincing as he clutched his wrist. He shoved me behind the cover of a pillar, cursing with a voice thick with tears. “You useless foreman! I nearly dislocated my shoulder! I am an investor, not a bodyguard! Don't you dare die before me!”
I gasped for air, staring at the profiteer who usually acted as if a speck of dust were a personal insult. He had just saved my life with brute force. “Thank you, fox...” I swallowed hard, heart racing.
In the center of the plaza, the war had gone critical.
“Hold! Form ranks! Don't run!”
A sharp voice cut through the chaos. Valen, Selena’s High Priest. He stood on the high steps, weaving a deadly net of lightning with his staff. “Filthy animals! Back to your cages!”
KRAKOOM!
A thick chain of lightning detonated. A dozen wolves in the vanguard were instantly carbonized, turning into smoking statues. The Royal Guard finally stabilized around him, forming a phalanx. Wind blades and lightning bolts reaped the wolves like wheat. But it didn't matter.
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The pack didn't care about casualties. They climbed over the burning bodies of their kin, using corpses as sandbags to inch closer to the altar.
High above, Selena remained suspended. She watched her subjects being butchered, saw the pristine white marble stained a blinding crimson, saw her civilization torn apart by beasts. Blood—golden, divine blood—leaked from the corners of her eyes. She wanted to move. She wanted to unleash a cataclysmic storm to crush these insects.
But she couldn't.
The giant Hand of Wind holding up a million tons of rock was trembling. If her concentration slipped for a microsecond, the island would flip and plummet. She was a living statue. A paralyzed target.
“Valen!!” Selena roared in desperation. “Stop them! Keep them back!”
Valen’s eyes were bloodshot. Ignoring mana burnout, he frantically cast lightning barriers, trying to build an impassable wall.
Suddenly, a black bolt of lightning tore through the barrier. No, not lightning. A cannonball. A black, one-armed, biological projectile.
Garza.
The Wolf King launched himself from the highest point of the plaza, sprinting down the tilted slope. He was a runaway tank, smashing through guards and his own kin alike.
Facing Valen’s high-voltage grid, Garza didn't slow down. He didn't dodge. He rammed it. Lightning perforated his flesh, instantly charring half his body. The smell of cooking meat filled the air. But he didn't even grunt. Pain was just fuel.
A dull sound, like a watermelon exploding. Garza smashed through the net. His remaining massive palm, carrying all his momentum, slapped directly into Valen’s terrified face.
There was no contest. Valen didn't even scream; he was pasted into the marble floor, reduced to a puddle of unrecognizable meat.
Garza spat a mouthful of electrified blood foam. He didn't look at the corpse. He had only one target.
The high, immobile “God.”
Time seemed to freeze. Jasta and I peeked from behind the pillar, transfixed. Selena watched the Wolf King hurtling toward her. In the eyes of the arrogant Queen, for the first time, there was fear. Raw, mortal fear of death.
Instinctively, she tried to defend herself, to withdraw the hand holding up the sky to strike him.
RUMBLE!
The island dropped ten meters instantly, groaning as if about to break apart. She froze. She didn't dare move. She was a prisoner of her own power.
Garza leaped.
He reached an altitude level with Selena. In the air, he opened his jaws, lined with fangs. His shadow stretched infinitely in the sunlight, looking like the Fenrir wolf devouring the sun.
“DIE!!”
With a roar, he bit down. Hard. With everything he had.
He clamped onto the base of Selena’s right wing—the symbol of her divine authority.
CRACK.
The sound of bone shattering was crisp enough to set teeth on edge, echoing across the plaza. Then came the sickening sound of tearing wet fabric. Garza used his massive weight and the inertia of his fall to death-roll in the air like a crocodile.
“AAAAAAHHHHHH——!!!”
A scream of absolute agony tore through the clouds. A crimson rain fell—golden ichor swirling into rivers of mortal red. Selena’s massive right wing, longer than her body, was ripped violently from her back.
The giant azure Hand of Wind vanished instantly. The magical light died.
Missing a wing, Selena was a kite with a cut string. She lost balance instantly, spinning helplessly in the air. Her heavy, ornate robes, soaked in blood, became a lead weight. She reached out, grasping at nothing but air.
I watched her fall. Through the clouds, past the false prosperity she had built. Falling toward the filthy earth, she despised.
“Goodbye, Selena.”
I leaned against the pillar, strength draining from my legs, sliding down to the floor. With the Wind Hand gone, the island lost its last support.
A massive sensation of weightlessness hit. The Sky-City, suspended for centuries, carrying the warring wolves and eagles, carrying Jasta and me, began its descent toward the ground.
We were crashing.
What can one young, stubborn Bremorian do without magic?
A fantasy set in 1930s, filled with magic, murder, and secrets.
Next Chapter Intro: The island is falling. Alex has minutes to activate the emergency protocols before impact. As the ground rushes up to meet them, he realizes that the crash isn't the end—it's the hammer blow that wakes Valtharax.
Question of the Day: The Sky-Isle is plummeting. What is the priority for Alex?
(Click to choose)
?? A) Save the Tech.
Result: Data Preservation. Secure the blueprints and the Aether Core. If you survive, you rebuild stronger.
?? B) Save the Team.
Result: Loyalty. Ensure Jasta, Sarak, and Mykra get to the escape pods. Losing the tech is acceptable; losing the talent is not.
?? C) Brace for Impact.
Result: The Engineer's Choice. Try to steer the falling island using the remaining thrusters to hit the Wolf Army. Weaponize the crash.
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