The werewolf's body collapsed before William, its head split open by his final, decisive blow. The once-ferocious beast was now a lifeless heap, blood pooling around its still form.
William exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling as he steadied himself. He tightened his grip on his spear and pushed himself upright, exhaustion gnawing at his muscles but determination driving him forward. The fight wasn't over yet.
He quickly scanned the battlefield, his sharp eyes locking onto the remaining werewolves, most of whom were already wounded or struggling against the hunters. Without hesitation, William charged toward the nearest target, spear in hand, delivering swift, precise strikes to the injured beasts.
The encounter didn't last much longer. Outnumbered and with half their kind already dead, the surviving werewolves growled in frustration and retreated into the forest, their massive forms disappearing into the shadows.
