Todos os capítulos de Monster Luna Writes Her Own Destiny: Capítulo 111 - Capítulo 120

Author POVSeraphyne crouched in the corner of the cell, her body almost resembling a fragile shadow clinging to the damp wall. Moss-covered stones channeled a coldness that pierced her bones, as if trying to swallow the last remnants of warmth from her life. Iron chains wrapped around her body, grinding against skin already scarred with old wounds, leaving behind dark red marks that never truly healed.Her breath was heavy, her chest rising and falling with a raspy sound. Her eyes were empty, nothing but dark pools that no longer shone. Time had lost its meaning for her—days passed without light, without sound except for the dripping of water from the damp ceiling. There was no movement. No rescue. Even the shadow of Malvior, whom she had always believed would never leave her, never came.“So… that’s how it is, huh?” she murmured hoarsely, her voice like stone being ground. Her lips were cracked, blood dried at the corners of her mouth. “I’ve been abandon

Lyara Wolfborne’s POV“SISTER!!”The scream erupted from my chest, piercing the thick stone walls of the underground prison, shaking the freezing cold air. It wasn’t just a scream—it was born from a gaping wound, from unspeakable guilt, from a loss that cut deeper than any knife. My voice echoed repeatedly down the corridor, reverberating so long it sounded like the wail of a trapped spirit in this world.  I pounded the iron bars with both hands until my skin broke and bled. The crescent moon symbol on my forehead glowed so brightly it blinded the narrow space. The light illuminated every rune engraved on the prison walls, forcing them to creak, as if the stone and metal were sharing my despair.“Release my sister!” I screamed in desperation.The lock on Seraphyne’s feet trembled, screeching as if struggling, until it finally shattered into pieces with a loud, echoing crash.I didn’t care. I didn’t

The Silvergrove pack meeting room tonight felt like a slow-beating heart—quiet, tense, but unable to stop working. Tall candles burned along the walls, casting shadows of our few faces. There were no full chairs, no commotion, just a simple round table with a large map spread out on it. Alpha King sat beside me, his gaze sharp yet calm. Beta Casren faced us, his shoulders tense, while Lysander, Mira, Tavien, and Serel filled the other seats. Additionally, the border chiefs from the north, east, south, and west were present, their faces stiff with vigilance. Only this inner circle was permitted to enter, as every word spoken tonight was a secret that must not be revealed. “The fewer ears, the fewer leaks,” Beta Casren said, his tone flat but firm. “But the fewer heads there are to think. Are we certain this decision is correct?” I looked at him. “You know more than anyone, Beta. We don’t have time to uncover traitors one by one. If we bring too many people, the secret will leak b

Dawn had not yet fully revealed the horizon when the Lattice Aegis network pulsed for the first time. A faint light crept along the rune stings we had planted in the ancient roots, menhirs, and moss-covered stones. Three faint flashes rippled across the invisible map—local waves, cross-pack, and central emergency. Reports came in rapid succession like drumbeats: a thousand black wizards, moving from the northern valley in ritual formation. “Their numbers exceed the highest estimates,” Beta Casren whispered, his eyes fixed on the pulsating black mist. “A thousand.” “A thousand is more than enough to drown the city,” Nyra replied, her voice as calm as the lake’s surface, but her fingers never ceased weaving shield seals in the air. I stood in the middle ranks with the Alphas and Lunas. In the distance, our ranks of warriors—who would soon shed their human skins—awaited the signal. Above us, the white wizards had taken their positions at the reinforcement nodes of the Lattice Aegis, l

Lyara Wolfborne's POV When the blood droplets touched the ground, I felt as if an ancient door was being knocked from within. The first light was not a blinding explosion—it was a long breath descending from beneath my roots, creeping to the surface, then spreading through the veins of the earth. My forehead burned like a split night ablaze. The palms of my hands felt warm like wood newly placed on a fire. When I turned to the sun mirror hanging above the field, the crescent moon symbol on my forehead reflected light like a crown. The sounds around me fell silent. All I heard was a deep beat—not my own heartbeat, but the rhythm of a herd thinking one word: "sacred." The knees that had been tense now touched the ground without command, the faces that were usually hard bowed in solemn and sincere reverence. The urge was not out of fear. They bowed because something older than us called our names, and we recognized it. On the other side, the field erupted in agony. The black wizards