Take your hands off the mortal, or you'll lose 'em," The mountain appears, he sheaths his giant sword gleaming against the moonlight.
"Ah, white fang Galland, what an honor, did the Order of the White Star sent you to save the gatekeeper? I'm afraid you're too late."
"What worth is there talking to a dead wolf?" The mountain replies.
"Your arrogance will be your undoing!" The grey wolf snarls and motions for his subordinate to commence the attack.
Galland's frame lithe yet powerful, moves with the grace of a lightning. He wields a sword with unparalleled skill, its blade infused with the ancient magic of the elves. The sword glows an ethereal light, seeming to draw strength from the moon itself. Each rune etches into its surface pulsing with a life of its own as though an enchantment is imbued within the steel.
Opposite him is a creature born of nightmare and shadow, the black werewolf. Its muscular form towers over Galland, every sinew taut with raw, primal strength drawn from darkness itself. Eyes like burning coals glare from beneath a furrowed brow, harbinger of death. A silhouette of terror with fur dark as the night.
The white fang and the black wolf circle each other, the atmosphere becomes heavy with the weight of their impending clash. Galland's breath was steady, his focus absolute. The werewolf growls, its fangs bare in a savage display.
With a sudden burst of speed, the werewolf lunges, claws outstretch aiming for Galland's neck. Galland meets the attack head-on, his sword sings a keen wail. Steel clashes against claw, sparks fly as the elf magic in the blade meets the dark magic of the werewolf. The impact sends a shockwave.
Galland presses forward, his movements a blur of precision and strength. No wonder why he's called the white fang. Each swing of his sword was a masterstroke, aimed not just to wound but to vanquish his enemy.
The werewolf counters with brutal efficiency, its claws slashing through the air, each strike capable of cutting through trees.
The moon watches over them, its light casting long shadows that twists and turns with Galland and the black wolf. Galland's blade, burns with a celestial fire. He channels this light with his every movement.
The shapeshifter senses the tide of battle turning, lets out a deep roar that breaks my eardrums. It summons all its strength in a final blow and charges once more. But Galland is ready. He sidesteps deftly as he avoids the beast's onslaught, his sword comes down in a sweeping arc. The blade finds its mark, cutting deep into the werewolf's chest. Dark blood spray across the ground, a familiar stench.
The werewolf staggers, its growl now a pained rumble. Galland does not relent. He summons the power of the elf magic within his sword. The blade blazes a pillar of light that illuminates the surrounding.
In a final, decisive strike, Galland drives his sword through the heart of the werewolf. The beast lets out one last, shuddering howl and then no more.
Galland is victorious, his breath coming in rage gasps. He vanquishes the werewolf at his feet, its form now a mere shadow that crumbles into a pile of ashes.
The death of the black wolf shocks my captor, I slip through when I feel his grip loosens and runs toward Galland. Grey werewolf does not give chase, he freezes from where he stands, perhaps contemplating between fight or flight.
Galland and the grey wolf stare each other down, but it is already evident who's the stronger between the two, to fight another day is an obvious choice for the shapeshifter lest he wants to suffer the same fate as his companion.
"Gallanddd the whitefang," grrrr, know that your days are numbered, let this scar you carved on my face be witness, that I, Uruk shall end you one day."
The shapeshifter transforms into a normal wolf, and howls despair as it disappears in the darkness.
"What were you thinking," Galland looks at me apprehensively "You could've died!"
"You didn't tell me about the breach!" I confront him.
"And what about the breach? At your state right now, what could you have done aside from dying? Look at you, you don't even know what you are or what's at stake when the dark king gets you. Have you no sense?" He rebukes.
"Galland, you're wounded," I see the black werewolf's claw graze his arm deeply, blood smears on his armor. I can feel him weakening from the wound, the veins surrounding it blackens and scatters slowly all over his arms up to his neck.
"What should I do?" I ask him.
"Stop fooling around and accept your fate, gatekeeper," he answers laboriously.
"Erik Lionheart…that's my name, and thank you for saving me," I tell him.
"Erik Lionheart, run as fast as you can for I cannot protect you anymore from the forces that wants you dead," he says as he slips out of consciousness and falls to the ground.