The Pride of Fenrith’s Last Son
The ruins of the kobold village still smoldered, ash and smoke rising into the pale twilight sky. Broken bodies littered the ground, some burned beyond recognition, others left twisted where they had fallen. Among the charred remains, a hulking figure stood alone, his chest heaving with labored breaths. Fenrith, the last son of the Emberclaw clan, was all that remained of his people.
His golden eyes burned with an unnatural light, a glint of rage and sorrow. The human army had come with fire and steel, but it had been the treachery of magic that had undone his kin. Arcane blasts had ripped through the sturdy walls of their cavernous homes, driving the survivors out into the open—right into the waiting blades of the knights.
But Fenrith had survived. Fenrith had endured. And now, with the moon climbing high and full above the scarred earth, the beast within him roared to life.
The human knights advanced cautiously, their armor gleaming in the fading light. They had heard the tales—the last of the Emberclaw, cursed by the gods with a monstrous form. Some thought it a myth. Others believed it an excuse for the kobold’s unnatural strength. But as they drew closer, they realized the truth was far worse.
Fenrith fell to his knees, clutching at his chest. His breathing quickened, his claws digging deep into the blood-soaked earth. Then came the cracking of bones, the stretching of sinew. His small, reptilian frame twisted and expanded, his scaled flesh giving way to thick, gray fur. A guttural growl escaped his throat, deepening into a primal howl that echoed across the battlefield.
In moments, the kobold was gone, replaced by a hulking, lycanthropic figure. Standing nearly eight feet tall, his lupine head bared gleaming fangs, and his claws looked sharp enough to tear through steel. Behind him, a massive, direwolf-like shadow loomed, his second form waiting in the periphery of his control.
“Hold the line!” a knight shouted, his voice wavering despite the command.
Fenrith lunged forward with inhuman speed, his claws raking across the first knight’s shield. The impact sent the man flying, his shield dented beyond repair. Another knight charged, sword gleaming with holy light. Fenrith’s ears flattened as he snarled, dodging the strike and slamming the knight to the ground with a brutal backhand.
The humans fought valiantly, their formations tightening as they realized the power of the foe before them. Fenrith tore through their lines with feral grace, his every movement a testament to the centuries-old instincts of his kind. The knights’ spears glanced off his thick fur; their magic sputtered against the sheer force of his will.
But then he saw him.
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A single man, standing apart from the rest. No gleaming armor, no radiant blade—just a simple longsword and a look of calm determination. This one didn’t charge recklessly. He didn’t falter. He simply waited, watching Fenrith with eyes that seemed to see through him.
“You,” Fenrith growled, his voice a guttural snarl. “You think you can end me?”
The man stepped forward, his sword held low but ready. “I don’t think. I will.”
Fenrith barked a harsh laugh, a sound somewhere between humor and fury. “Bold words. Tell me your name, human. I’d like to know who dares to stand against the last of the Emberclaw.”
The man’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Call me Aldric.”
“Alric,” Fenrith repeated, tasting the name. “Let’s see if you can make it worth remembering.”
Alric moved first, his sword cutting through the air in a precise arc. Fenrith blocked with his forearm, the blade biting into fur and muscle but failing to draw a reaction. He countered with a swipe of his claws, forcing Alric to roll back.
The fight was brutal and raw, both combatants moving with deadly efficiency. Alric’s strikes were deliberate, aimed for weak points, while Fenrith’s attacks were wild but no less calculated, each blow carrying the weight of his immense strength. The human’s stamina was impressive; where others would falter, Alric pushed forward, meeting Fenrith blow for blow.
The two circled each other, blood staining the snow beneath their feet. Fenrith felt the sting of countless cuts, but he grinned through the pain.
“You’re good,” he admitted, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. “Better than most.”
“And you’re stubborn,” Alric replied, his tone steady despite the fatigue setting in.
Fenrith laughed again, though it was tinged with sadness. “Stubbornness is all I have left. My people are gone. My home is ash. All that remains is this fight.”
Fenrith lunged, shifting mid-stride into his dire wolf form. The massive beast’s jaws snapped inches from Alric’s face, forcing him to dive to the side. He rolled, coming up with his sword just in time to meet Fenrith’s next charge.
The blade struck true, plunging deep into Fenrith’s chest. The wolf’s momentum carried them both to the ground, Alric pinned beneath the massive weight. For a moment, there was only silence, save for the labored breathing of both combatants.
Fenrith shifted back into his lycanthropic form, his claws clutching at the blade lodged in his chest. Blood poured from the wound, staining his fur and the snow beneath him. He stared down at Alric, his golden eyes dimming but still fierce.
“You’ve done it,” Fenrith rasped, his voice filled with a strange mix of pride and sorrow. “You’ve beaten me. Few could.”
Alric, his face pale and strained, managed a nod. “You fought well. Better than anyone I’ve ever faced.”
Fenrith smiled, a genuine expression that seemed almost out of place on his monstrous face. “You honor me, human. Remember this day. Remember the Emberclaw. We were more than beasts.”
His body slumped forward, the light in his eyes fading as the last son of the Emberclaw drew his final breath.
The battlefield was silent, the remaining knights standing at a distance, watching as Alric pushed the heavy body off of him. He stood slowly, bloodied and battered, and looked down at his fallen foe.
“I’ll remember,” he said quietly, his voice carrying in the still air. “I promise.”
Above, the moon shone bright, its silver light washing over the ruined village. The legacy of the Emberclaw had ended, but their pride and their story would live on—carried by the human who had earned the respect of their last son.