The cavern reeked of blood and death. Witches and werewolves tore into each other in a frenzy of claws, steel, and death.
The stone walls trembled with the force of battle, screams and snarls echoing through the air. Lilith stood in the center of it all, a silent executioner, her violet-hued blade dripping with fresh kills.
She had already inhaled her potions. Strength coursed through her limbs, speed sharpened her reflexes, and her senses burned with heightened awareness. Every werewolf that lunged at her moved too slow.
A massive beast lunged at her from behind, its fangs aiming for her throat. Without turning, Lilith twisted her sword backward, driving it through its open mouth and out the back of its skull.
Blood sprayed against her cheek as she yanked the blade free, kicking the corpse aside.
To her left, a witch screamed as a werewolf's claws tore into her stomach, intestines spilling onto the ground like a heap of raw meat. Lilith barely spared her a glance before stepping forward.
Another werewolf charged—this one faster, leaner. Its eyes gleamed with intelligence, but it didn't matter.
Lilith ducked under its strike, sliced clean through its ankle, and as it collapsed, she drove her sword through its back, pinning it to the ground. It screeched, clawing at the dirt, but Lilith twisted the blade slowly, relishing the sound of its bones snapping.
Behind her, a brute of a werewolf grabbed a witch by the head and ripped it clean off, the spine dangling grotesquely from the torn flesh. He turned, blood dripping from his maw, and locked eyes with Lilith.
A deep growl rumbled from his chest. "You're next."
Lilith wiped blood off her blade, unimpressed. "Come and die then."
The werewolf charged like a beast possessed, but Lilith was already moving. She sidestepped, severing his left arm at the elbow, then spun and slashed across his back, exposing muscle and bone.
The beast roared in agony, swinging his remaining arm wildly. Lilith ducked under it and drove her sword up through his jaw, the tip bursting through the top of his skull.
She ripped it free, and the beast collapsed in a twitching heap.
Then—Torak entered the fray.
Lilith turned to see the hulking brute standing amidst the carnage, silver eyes locked onto her. The other werewolves parted for him.
"I've been watching you, witch," he rumbled. "You're playing with them."
Lilith wiped her blade against her sleeve. "And?"
Torak grinned, baring yellowed fangs. "Then stop playing. Fight me."
Lilith rolled her shoulders. The other fights were just warm-ups.
Torak came at her like a boulder, fast, brutal, relentless. His claws raked against her side, drawing blood, but she didn't even flinch. She countered with a ruthless slash to his ribs, her blade slicing through muscle.
Torak grunted, stepping back. "Not bad."
Lilith licked blood off her lips, smiling coldly. "Not good enough."
The battle had truly begun.
Torak lunged, his massive form blurring with speed that should've been impossible for something his size. Claws aimed for Lilith's throat.
She twisted at the last second, his strike grazing her cheek instead of ripping her head off. In the same motion, she slashed upward—her blade cutting across his chest in a deep, jagged arc.
Torak barely flinched.
He grinned through the pain, his silver eyes gleaming. "That all you got?"
Lilith's expression remained cold. She knew she wasn't giving it her all. Torak had no idea how badly she was holding back.
He came at her again, faster, wilder, heavier. A hammering storm of claws and teeth. She dodged with precise, almost lazy movements—sidestepping a crushing blow that split the ground, ducking beneath a swipe that could've taken her head off.
Then, for the first time in the fight, Lilith attacked with real intent.
She vanished from his sight—her enhanced speed making her a blur. Torak barely turned in time before her blade carved across his thigh, slicing deep into the muscle.
He stumbled.
Lilith didn't stop.
She moved like a specter, flashing in and out of his vision—each strike cutting him deeper. His calf was severed, making him drop to a knee. His left arm was mangled, barely hanging by tendons.
But he was still grinning, even through the pain.
"You think… you've won?" Torak panted, blood dripping from his mouth. "I… won't die like some weak pup…"
Lilith cocked her head slightly.
"I know."
She vanished again.
Torak swung wildly, his claws slicing at empty air. Then—pain.
Lilith reappeared behind him, sword buried in his back.
Torak's breath hitched. His eyes widened.
"You—"
Lilith wrenched the blade upward, ripping through his spine. Torak let out a final, choked snarl before his body gave out, collapsing face-first into the blood-soaked dirt.
Lilith stared down at his corpse, unfazed.
She had never taken him seriously.
As the other werewolves around her realized their strongest fighter was dead, something shifted. The battlefield that had been filled with snarls and roars was now eerily silent.
Lilith slowly wiped her violet-stained blade against her sleeve. "Who's next?"
None of the werewolves answered.
Some, in fact, took a step back.
Lilith asked them" What's wrong, have you fallen in your own trap?"
As the killing massacre of the werewolves ended!
While on top of the werewolves's den...
Annie stood tall as Zarrek lunged at her, his claws tearing through the air with deadly speed. But Annie was unfazed, her eyes narrowing in focus.
She barely moved, waiting for the perfect moment. The werewolf's ferocious strike came at her like a wild animal, but with a flick of her wrist, she activated her first creation.
WITCH CREATION // LIGHT OF THE ONE.
A sword of glowing yellow light materialized in her hand, humming with energy. Zarrek's attack met the sword's edge, and to his shock, the blade sliced through his claws with ease. He staggered back, momentarily stunned.
"You're faster than I thought," Zarrek growled, wiping the blood from his face. His scarred features twisted in a snarl. "But no matter how fast you are, you won't be able to stop me."
Annie smirked, her expression cold. "We'll see about that."
With a single step, she closed the distance, her sword flashing in the dim light. Zarrek barely had time to react as her blade carved through his side, the light flashing bright as it made contact. He howled in pain, clutching his wound, but Annie was already moving again.
Without hesitation!
Zarrek tried to counter, his claws slashing, but his attacks were nothing more than distractions to Annie, who effortlessly dodged and parried each strike.
"You're too slow, Zarrek," Annie taunted, her voice filled with contempt. "You really thought you stood a chance against me?"
Zarrek's expression darkened, the realization that he was outmatched settling over him. He lashed out with a desperate fury, but every move was blocked, countered, or dodged. Her sword sliced through his defenses like butter, leaving deep gashes in his body.
His breath came in ragged gasps as his strength began to falter. The fight had become one-sided, and he knew it. "You… you're too powerful, witch," he gasped, staggering back. "Your creation … it's … it's too much."
Annie didn't answer. She was already closing the distance once more, her sword glowing brighter, and with a final strike, she cleaved through Zarrek's side. The werewolf stumbled, blood pouring from his wound, but he didn't fall.
He limped away, barely able to stay on his feet, his body half-dead and faltering.
Annie's eyes narrowed with a predatory gleam as she watched him stagger. She stepped forward, her voice laced with mocking amusement. "Is this how you killed my family, Zarrek? Did they beg for mercy too? Or did you just leave them to bleed out like this?"
Zarrek let out a low, strained growl, his body trembling from the pain. His vision was blurry, and the world around him seemed to spin, but he forced himself to keep moving. He had no choice but to retreat.
Annie kept pace, never losing sight of her prey, her sword still crackling with energy. "You should have stayed down when you had the chance." She laughed.
Zarrek's legs buckled beneath him, but he managed to catch himself, still moving forward with one last ounce of stubbornness.
He glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes burning with fury. "You can't stop me, witch. I'll… I'll make you pay"
Near Annie and Zarrek's fight, Menma got ready to fight against Khorin...
Menma cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders as he pulled out a potion. The moment the liquid hit his throat, he felt his body hum with power. His muscles tightened and his movements became faster, more precise.
Khorin, standing across from him, let out a mocking laugh. "A potion? Is that all you've got, kid?" His silver eyes gleamed as he shifted into a battle stance, claws flexing.
Menma didn't waste time answering. He lunged, his sword flashing through the air. Khorin dodged, just narrowly missing the blade as Menma's strike cleaved through the stone floor.
They circled each other. Khorin's movements were quick, almost predatory, but Menma's speed and graceful precision made it hard for the werewolf to land a blow. Menma swung again, but Khorin parried with his claws, the impact sending a shockwave up Menma's arm.
"Not bad," Menma muttered, eyes narrowing. "You're quick, but I'm faster."
Without another word, Menma charged in again, his sword cutting through the air with deadly intent. Khorin countered, claws slashing in every direction. They clashed—the sound of steel and bone ringing through the cavern.
For a moment, the two were locked in a brutal back-and-forth, each testing the other's limits. Menma ducked under a wide slash from Khorin, dodged another, and landed a quick cut across Khorin's ribs. The werewolf snarled, blood dripping down his side.
Khorin's expression shifted, growing more feral, and he lashed out with a powerful swipe that tore across Menma's chest. Menma gritted his teeth, feeling the sting of the blow. "You're strong, but you're still too slow," Menma growled, pushing through the pain.
He leaped back, breathing heavily as the two of them sized each other up.
With a calm but powerful voice, Menma declared, "HUMAN TELEPORTATION // FIRST TOUCH!"
He vanished.
Khorin's eyes widened, caught off guard, but he quickly shifted into a defensive position. Menma reappeared behind him, sword raised high. The attack was swift and precise, slashing deep into Khorin's back.
But as Menma's blade sank into Khorin's flesh, the werewolf whipped around, his claws slashing upward in a desperate, savage counterattack.
The claws raked across Menma's side, drawing blood and leaving a jagged wound.
Menma gritted his teeth, his sword cutting deeper into Khorin's back, the impact knocking the werewolf forward. Both combatants staggered back, injured but not yet defeated—each breathing heavily, each scarred by the other's fury.
But then Zarrek by dragging his half dead body came , and walked to Khorin ,with a half voice calling him" Brother please help me "
Down in the trap that the werewolves had set , now only the witches remain as they drink healing potions and moarn the fallen ones,Lilith tells them to drink some jumping potions as they need to go up!
In the depths of the witches' trap, a strange energy surged, and Lilith could sense it.
Something beyond the werewolves' power was rising. The witches began to murmur, each feeling the presence draw closer, but none were foolish enough to move too quickly.
Then, from the deepest shadows, a form began to emerge. It was a figure cloaked in darkness, its shape undistinguishable, a mere silhouette against the cavern's dim light.
A shadow.