(The Great Forest of Livvanner)
Deep within the nation of Variclasue lay the Great Forest of Livvanner, a land untouched by civilization and ruled by primal law. Towering trees stretched endlessly into the sky, their ancient branches intertwined to form natural fortresses. The forest pulsed with life, but beneath its beauty lurked a terrible warning to any who dared enter.
Blood-red X marks were slashed into tree trunks near the outskirts, a clear message: Turn back or die.
For those reckless enough to ignore the warnings, the true horror awaited them. Razor-sharp barbed wire was strung between the trees, hidden beneath a thick veil of mist that never lifted. Countless bones lay entangled in these deadly snares—the remains of fools who had wandered too far.
And if, by some miracle, one survived the wire and the mist, they would come face-to-face with the true monsters of the forest.
The Werekin.
A savage tribe of beast-men, merciless and bloodthirsty, who hunted anything that did not belong.
At the heart of their village, sitting atop a throne of bones, was their leader.
Sebastian.
A massive werewolf, his white fur streaked with battle scars, his blood-red eyes burning with untamed fury.
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Resting on his lap was a cleaver—a weapon forged from steel and death, rusted at the edges from the dried blood of his enemies.
Two of his mates lounged at his feet, their presence nothing more than an afterthought to him.
A deep growl rumbled from his throat.
"Leave."
The two women obeyed immediately, slinking away as his war general entered the chamber.
Ryn, a four-tailed werefox, stepped forward and bowed his head in respect, "Another of Queen Elizabeth’s camps has fallen. We seized their weapons, armor, and gathered intelligence on where to strike next—her trading partner, King Lorenzo. The humans operate something called an Auction House, where our kin are bought, beaten, and broken. We should strike tomorrow, once our warriors have rested, and reclaim our people."
Sebastian rose from his throne, his grip tightening around the cleaver’s handle.
"Good," he rumbled, "Get the troops ready. We leave now."
Ryn hesitated, "Sir, with all due respect, we’ve already slaughtered many of her soldiers. Our warriors are exhausted. If we attack in this condition, we risk heavy losses. A single night’s rest will—"
Sebastian moved.
In an instant, he was upon Ryn, his monstrous presence pressing down like a vice. His glowing crimson eyes locked onto the fox, pinning him to the spot.
The cleaver scraped against the stone floor as he dragged it forward.
"You dare tell me how to command my pack?"
Ryn’s ears flattened, his tails curling inward as he instinctively shrank back, "No, Alpha, I would never— I was only thinking of the tribe’s morale, I—"
The blade swung.
Ryn barely had time to react before the cleaver stopped—mere inches from cleaving through his shoulder. The cold steel pressed against his fur, sending a sharp shiver down his spine.
Sebastian’s voice was a low snarl.
"Anyone unsatisfied with my leadership is welcome to challenge me. Otherwise…" He lifted the cleaver away, the weight of his words crushing any further argument. "Do not question me."
Ryn exhaled shakily, swallowing his fear.
Sebastian turned without another word, stepping out of the war chamber.
"Prepare the pack. We hunt tonight."