The Veil's gate groaned, a guttural lament of bone and obsidian grinding shut, its red pulse a deafening heartbeat that drowned Magnus's senses. The chamber was a wound in the Citadel's heart, its walls throbbing with runes that bled black ichor, their whispers a chorus of hunger that clawed at his soul. He stood at the threshold, claws clutching the obsidian star—the shard of the Key of Destruction—its void-energy searing his flesh like a brand, its darkness a living force that pulsed in time with the scar across his chest. The curse in his veins was a wildfire, a molten tide urging him to surrender, to become the beast that could wield the shard's power. His werewolf form trembled, fur matted with blood and ash, amber eyes blazing through the crimson haze, the beast within howling for dominion, for blood, for godhood.
Isabella stood before him, her pendant shattered, fragments of red light scattering like dying stars across the stone. Her silver eyes were wide, a mix of rage and fear, her pale skin streaked with ash, her torn cloak fluttering in the chasm's hot wind. Her vampires crumbled to ash around her, their psychic screams fading into silence, and she staggered, blood trickling from her lips, her human frailty exposed for a fleeting moment.
"You fool," she rasped, her voice raw, stripped of its velvet menace. "The Key's not yours—it's the First Howl's! You'll doom us all to its wrath!"
Kiera fought Ragnar nearby, her daggers clashing against his warhammer, sparks flying like embers in the dark. Her leg buckled, blood soaking the cloth wrapped around her wound, but her silver-flecked eyes burned with defiance, her movements a dance of ferocity despite her pain.
"Stay down, Iron Fang!" she snarled, her voice a blade, her loyalty to Magnus a fire that refused to dim.
Ragnar's hulking form loomed, his brown fur scorched, his steel-gray eyes wild with ambition. His warhammer swung, grazing her shoulder, the impact shaking the ground, but she held fast, daggers piercing his arm, blood spraying across the stone.
Jakob shielded Veyne, his fang-blade broken, its jagged remnants clutched in bloodied hands. His face was pale, exhaustion carving lines into his young features, but his grip on Veyne was unyielding, her frail form slumped against him, her amber eyes flickering open, her runes gone but her life a stubborn spark.
"Stay with me," he whispered, his voice trembling, his human courage a beacon in the Citadel's malice.
Talia stood apart, her raven-feather tattoos dim, her curved blade steady, her gray eyes shimmering red as her ravens swarmed, clawing at Ragnar's face, their caws a warning of the chamber's collapse. Her chant faltered, blood dripping from her palms, her voice hoarse from the ancient tongue she'd woven to open the gate.
Gavrek stood, claws bared, his scarred Suldari frame trembling, amber eyes locked on the shard, the curse in his blood a fading ember, his gaze flickering with gratitude and pain.
Magnus's roar shook the Veil, the shard's darkness flooding his mind with visions of the Old War—Suldari wolves howling beneath a blood-red moon, their claws tearing through human armies, their fur wreathed in flames; the Citadel's birth in a pact of blood and void, sealed by the First Howl, a god-beast whose eyes burned with the shard's power, its howl a promise of dominion and ruin.
His scar split further, black blood weeping down his chest, the pain a reminder of his father's sacrifice, of the curse forged to bind the Howl's hunger. The shard was no mere relic—it was alive, a fragment of the First Howl itself, hungry for his soul, his pack, his world. The curse screamed, urging him to claim it, to become its heir, to let the beast consume all he was.
Ragnar's warhammer swung, grazing Magnus's shoulder, bone cracking under the impact, pain lancing through his arm.
"The clans need it, Varik!" he bellowed, his steel-gray eyes wild with ambition, his voice a forge's rumble. "You're no alpha to wield it—you're weak, cursed!"
His hatred for vampires, born of a past loss—a sister torn apart by Isabella's kin—fueled his defiance, but his hunger for the Key blinded him to the Citadel's wrath.
Kiera tackled Ragnar, her daggers piercing his arm deeper, blood spraying like ink across the gate.
"Not today, Iron Fang!" she hissed, her body trembling, her strength waning but her will iron.
Talia's ravens dove, their claws raking Ragnar's eyes, drawing blood, their caws a frantic warning.
"Varik, destroy it!" Talia yelled, her voice cracking, her tattoos fading as the Citadel's power recoiled. "The shard's the Citadel's heart—if you take it, it takes you!"
Gavrek lunged, claws aimed at the shard, his voice a desperate snarl.
"It's mine… the Suldari's birthright…"
But his strength faltered, his amber eyes human, filled with a broken gratitude as he met Magnus's gaze.
"You… you're not like them," he rasped, his claws dropping, the Suldari curse dimming, a flicker of redemption in his pain.
Veyne's amber eyes locked on Magnus, her voice a faint plea through the chaos.
"Magnus… you're not him… not yet… don't let it win…"
Her words were a lifeline, pulling him back from the abyss, her faith in his humanity a spark against the curse's fire.
The visions surged—the First Howl's roar shaking Eryndor, its claws carving mountains, its hunger swallowing nations. Magnus's father stood in the vision, his sword raised, his eyes amber like his own, forging the curse to bind the Howl, sacrificing his soul to save his son.
The shard's pulse was a storm, its darkness a living force clawing at his mind, promising power to end all wars, to unite the clans, to crush Isabella—but at the cost of his soul, his pack, his world.
Magnus roared, claws crushing the shard, its obsidian surface shattering like glass, its darkness exploding in a blast of red light that blinded the chamber.
The gate shattered, bone and obsidian raining, and the Citadel screamed—a howl that tore the air, the First Howl's echo reborn, its power unbound, shaking the stone to its core.
Isabella vanished, her scent of roses and death fading, the pendant's fragments scattering across the rubble like embers of a dying fire. Her scream lingered, a mix of rage and desperation, a promise of her return.
Ragnar staggered, his warhammer falling, his steel-gray eyes wide with dread, his ambition broken by the Citadel's wrath. He retreated, blood streaming from his wounds, his roar a vow to challenge Magnus another day.
Gavrek collapsed, his Suldari curse dimming, amber eyes human, a faint nod to Magnus.
"You chose right…" he rasped, his voice barely audible, his gratitude a fragile bridge to redemption.
Kiera crawled to Magnus, her face bloodied, daggers still clutched, her loyalty a fire that burned through her pain.
"We're alive," she whispered, her silver-flecked eyes meeting his, a rare smile breaking through her exhaustion.
Jakob held Veyne, her runes gone, her amber eyes bright, alive, a spark of hope in the darkness.
"She's breathing," he said, his voice trembling with relief, his human heart the pack's anchor.
Talia's ravens landed, their caws silent, their crimson eyes dimming as her tattoos faded. Her gray eyes were haunted but resolute, her blade lowered, her voice soft.
"The Citadel's not done with us," she murmured, her gaze drifting to the collapsing chasm. "It never is."
The chasm shuddered, runes fading, the Citadel's heart stilling, but its hunger lingered, a whisper in the dark that spoke of ancient pacts and wars yet to come.
Magnus rose, his werewolf form shrinking, fur receding into scarred flesh, his sword in hand, amber eyes burning through the dust.
"We're not done," he growled, his voice a vow etched in blood and steel. "The Key's broken, but Isabella's out there. And the Citadel's waking."
A new howl—not wolf, not Suldari, but older, deeper—erupted from the depths, shaking the stone, a primal call that stirred the curse in his blood.
The ravens took flight, their crimson eyes a promise of war, and the pack stood together—Magnus, Kiera, Jakob, Veyne, Talia, and Gavrek—bloodied but unbroken, as Eryndor trembled under the First Howl's shadow.
The Citadel's walls whispered of a greater hunger, a force that would rise again, its eyes fixed on Magnus, the heir it sought to claim.