Chapter 13

Topa followed into the ring, shoulders wide, arms swinging as though he already owned the fight. Confidence oozed off him like sweat. He was strong. A peak first-class warrior. The kind of wolf whose name came with warning.

"I would’ve gone easy on you," he said with a sneer, eyeing Kael, "but I’m not in the mood. So I’ll rip you apart and hang your skin on my wall. That way, the Young Lord Alpha learns a lesson that underestimating Ironfang blood will only lead to disaster."

He laughed loud, bold, wild.

Kael didn’t blink. The stick in his mouth with its two leaves swayed slightly as he yawned again lazyly. It trembled with the faint expulsion of air, a silent mockery of Topa’s bluster. His face was unreadable. Still, still like a quiet forest before a storm.

Behind Topa came Finn, quieter in his step. A beta from Velmor, known not for brute force but for his calm insight and sharp instincts. In the world of wolves, strength often shouted but wisdom whispered. Finn could sense it. The one called Kael, this so called guard, wasn’t what he appeared to be. Something raw curled under Kael’s skin. Something that made the hairs on Finn’s neck stand.

Not diabolic. Not exactly.

But insane.

Not rage. Not pride. Something... old. Something ancient.

He could sense it, a profound and terrifying truth: this wolf, Kael, was a monster.

Finn swallowed hard.

They entered the ring.

The air grew still.

Zeil watched from his place, his arms crossed. His jaw, tight. His eyes narrowed, a cold calculation in their depths. His plan, meticulously crafted, was for Kael to be injured, weakened. He envisioned Kael bleeding, his arrogance stripped away. Injured enough for Zeil to finish the job later.

There was no way, he reasoned, that these two warriors, formidable as they were, wouldn't at least hurt Kael. He needed Kael to be brought low, for that unbearable secret Kael held over him to be silenced forever.

This was the perfect stage. A legal setup. The scent of justice would cover his retribution.

The incense stick was lit. Thin white smoke curled upward. The countdown had begun.

Topa moved first—fast. A sharp, brutal punch aimed at Kael’s jaw.

Kael dodged. Effortlessly.

Another punch. A kick.

Dodge. Dodge.

Topa’s fists blurred with speed. Kael moved like he wasn’t even trying.

Finn stepped in, quick and strategic, aiming from behind. Kael leapt upward, spinning lightly in the air. He landed behind them like a ghost, the stick still in his mouth.

“You boys are eager,” he muttered, smiling as if nothing was going on.

Topa came again, a roar building in his throat. His punch swung wide.

Kael stepped aside then grinned. “Not bad.” followed by a kick.

Topa flew.

Nose bleeding.

Finn charged. From behind again. Kael turned slightly, his foot sweeping under Finn’s heel. Finn flipped forward but caught himself mid-air.

Still, he hadn’t touched Kael.

"Is this a dance or a fight?" Kael muttered, voice bored.

Topa snarled, face red. Humiliation bloomed like fire in his chest. He hadn’t been touched like this in years. He was the pride of the Ironfangs. And now?

He howled.

Half-transformed. Claws emerged. Eyes glowing red. The beast inside him cracked through the surface.

Finn ran again, desperate now. He tried to go low, strike at Kael’s legs.

Keal stepped aside and slapped him soft, but firm.

Topa roared, slashing wildly. Kael didn’t flinch. He ducked. Twisted. Stepped behind Topa.

Then spoke.

"You talk too much."

One punch.

Topa flew again.

Dust rose. Cracks appeared on the ground.

The crowd gasped.

The incense was nearly gone.

Zeil leaned forward, his jaw clenched so tight he thought his teeth might crack, eyes narrowed. His plan… it wasn’t working. Kael was supposed to be hurt, not playing some sadistic game with the pack’s strongest warriors. A cold dread began to creep into his gut. What if Kael wasn't just good? What if he was… invincible? The thought was unbearable, a nightmare given flesh.

Topa groaned on the floor.

Kael stepped closer. Looked down at him.

"This isn’t personal," Kael said quietly. "But your arrogance got the better of you."

Topa’s breath wheezed through broken ribs.

“You don’t deserve her,” Keal said, and then… one final strike. A clean punch.

Another punch.

Topa dropped.

A small crater formed beneath him.

The entire hall trembled. Dust rained from the beams above.

The Velmor Elder stood.

"We’ve won!"

Elara’s mother cried out. Her father leapt to his feet.

"We’ve won!"

Zeil watched in silence.

The incense flickered.

Then it burned out.

Finn, still standing at the edge, unmoving, eyes alert. He hadn’t attacked again. Hadn’t risked exhaustion.

Finn, with his keen intuition and calculated mind, had seen it. He knew the true strength of this wolf, Kael. It was immeasurable, far beyond anything the Ironfangs or Velmors could ever hope to achieve. He hadn't even tried to harm Kael. He had simply given it his all, harmlessly, strategically, ensuring he was the last man standing, a quiet, almost respectful acknowledgment of Kael’s overwhelming power.

Kael turned to look at him. Their eyes met. An unspoken respect passed between them.

The crowd was half-celebrating, half-frozen.

The Ironfangs stood, anger rising.

"This is a scheme!" one of them shouted. "No way Topa could lose like that!"

But Kael turned.

One cold look.

And they fell silent.

Retreated.

The Velmors clapped. Tears. Joy. Relief.

Zeil stood frozen.

It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

Kael wasn’t supposed to win.

He wasn’t supposed to shine.

He was supposed to bleed.

His carefully laid plan, designed to weaken Kael, had backfired spectacularly, revealing an even greater, more terrifying power. He was boiling inside, a furious storm raging beneath his calm exterior.

Zeil caught himself. Then raised his hand.

"Enough," he said firmly.

The noise died.

"It is clear," he said, voice calm but tight. "Finn Velmor is the last standing. By the rules set forth... he may take his wife."

Finn bowed.

The Velmors bowed.

The Ironfangs did not.

They left, stiff and angry.

Zeil remained in the now-empty hall, the faint scent of incense and the lingering echoes of the chaos hanging in the air.

He couldn't believe it. Kael, the man he despised, the man he needed to eliminate, had just proven himself to be an unassailable force. His plan, conceived in cunning and malice, had been utterly thwarted.

The injustice of it all gnawed at him, a festering wound. Kael had to die. He had to. This unexpected display of power only intensified Zeil’s resolve. He still couldn't believe it, couldn't wrap his mind around how Kael had managed to emerge not just unscathed, but stronger, more formidable than ever.

Inside him, his wolf howled.

He had to do something. Kael must die.

He must die, Zeil thought. Soon. Somehow. He must die.