Deborah's POV
I teleported to where the werewolves were, and sure enough, the bloodsucking bats were attacking them.
Matthew and a few other werewolves had already been injured, but they were fighting with all their strength, swinging torches to fend off the swarming bats.
However, some of the werewolves had collapsed to the ground, their bodies covered in bats that clung to them like demons, drinking their blood voraciously.
My heart tightened.
I quickly cast a spell, shouting, "Ignis Ardens!"
Flames erupted from my hands, surging toward the bats, but the fire's strength wasn't enough to take down so many of the mutated creatures.
The bats had not been fully driven off.
They continued to hover in the air, circling and looking for another chance to attack.
The fire wasn't strong enough to fully protect the werewolves.
Anxiety swelled inside me.
I needed more power.
I thought of Maeve.
How I wished she could lend me stronger magic.
"Foliage Frenzy!" I exclaimed.
Immediately, the plants on the ground responded to some mysterious call, growing rapidly.
Vines, bushes, and branches intertwined, forming a protective barrier around me and the werewolves.
The flames spread along the growing plants, creating a burning ring of fire.
The bats that tried to cross the fire were instantly turned to ash.
The remaining bats flew around outside the ring, their red eyes flashing in the firelight.
They seemed enraged by the taste of werewolf blood, repeatedly hurling themselves into the flames, only to be consumed by the fire.
Once the last of the bats had disappeared into the fire, I crouched down to check on the werewolves.
Some lay still on the ground, their breathing gone.
Blood poured from their wounds, and some had been completely drained, their bodies shriveled like withered leaves.
Their faces twisted in agony, eyes wide open, unseeing.
I couldn't bear to look any longer.
We had lost too many.
I continued checking for the survivors.
Matthew was battered and bruised, but thankfully, none of his injuries proved fatal.
He sat up weakly, leaning against the ground for support.
I turned to Mary, who was in terrible shape.
She lay motionless, her face pale, her breathing shallow, and her wounds deep enough to expose bone, bleeding profusely.
I immediately cut my palm and let her drink some of my blood.
Then, I went to the other critically injured werewolves and gave them some of my blood too.
Though it would provide them with temporary relief, I knew it wasn't enough.
The werewolves were badly hurt, especially those bitten by the bloodsucking bats.
Their wounds were festering and turning black, as if the surrounding skin were slowly being eaten away.
These bats seemed to carry some kind of poison, making the wounds nearly impossible to heal.
The fire still crackled around us, and I didn't dare to move recklessly.
Though we were safe for the moment, I didn't know when the fire would burn out, or whether more mutated creatures would come.
As I surveyed the scene, I quietly counted the fallen.
"2,483." The number weighed heavily on my mind.
While 2,277 werewolves remained, more than three-quarters were gravely injured.
As Matthew tended to the others, Mary grabbed my hand.
Her voice was so faint that I had to lean in close to hear her.
"You can't wait any longer," she whispered, struggling to speak. "I know my time is running out."
"Don't say that," I tried to comfort her. "My blood will heal you. You'll be fine soon."
Mary shook her head. "I can feel my body… it's failing. You need to break the seal, child."
"I won't let you die," I said softly, tears welling in my eyes.
"Don't be foolish, child." Mary gave me a weak smile. "My duty is done. Do what needs to be done, or none of us will make it to Tirfothuinn."
Matthew approached, interrupting our conversation.
"How's the cave?" he asked.
"Not good," I replied heavily. "Those bats came from inside. The survivors are safe for now, but we can't delay."
"At first light, we move," Matthew said firmly, nodding in agreement.
I could see how weak he was, despite his determination.
Last night's full moon had drained his strength, and he had endured not only that but also the vicious bat attack.
He was clearly pushing himself beyond his limits.
As dawn broke, only the smoldering embers of the fire remained.
The air reeked of blood and death.
I carefully controlled the plants, easing the flames back. "Foliage Frenzy," I muttered, watching as the plants slowly receded, the fire extinguishing with them.
***
The sun had just risen, and we quickly resumed our journey.
As was our custom, we began by cremating the werewolves who had died the previous night.
The ashes swirled in the cool morning breeze, blending with the atmosphere of sadness and mourning.
Matthew was carrying the severely injured Mary on his back.
His steps were heavy.
His face was grim, his shoulders trembling slightly, yet he pressed on, step by step.
He was the most resilient among us, even though the burden he carried grew heavier with every passing moment.
Mary's wounds had started to fester and blacken, and her breathing grew weaker, yet she bore the pain in silence, not uttering a single sound.
Every step felt like a test of her willpower.
I could sense the increasing strain in Matthew's steps, his breath grew more labored, but he never stopped.
Along the way, we lost another 195 severely injured werewolves.
The werewolf race, known in books for their strength, now faced a grim reality—no matter how powerful, even they couldn't withstand such unrelenting devastation.
I was utterly exhausted.
The overuse of magic the previous night had drained me, leaving me feeling weak and powerless.
Each step felt like a battle against the earth itself, my mind plagued by the images of fallen comrades.
I forced myself to keep going, suppressing the fatigue that weighed me down.
I had hoped that the others from the cave would come to meet us, but that hope was soon dashed.
Perhaps they, too, had suffered great losses and were unable to spare anyone to come for us.
This only deepened my anxiety—if they were in trouble, our chances of survival were even slimmer.
Finally, after what felt like an endless, grueling day, we had reached the cave.
However, the scene before us was shocking.
Corpses were laid out in neat rows at the cave entrance, their faces unrecognizable, many of them clearly children.
Those small, lifeless bodies lay cold on the ground, as if they had been abandoned by this merciless world without a sound.
I couldn't tear my eyes away from the sight of those corpses—young lives that should have represented hope for the future, were now reduced to cold remains.
Mary leaned weakly against Matthew's back, her gaze complex and distant.
David and Cora emerged from the cave to meet us.
Cora still had Isla strapped to her chest, and Isla looked unharmed, which brought me some relief.
Cora's eyes reflected exhaustion and pain, but more than that, they showed resilience.
We had finally reunited, but the cost had been too great.
David had already set aside a place for the werewolves to rest, but the number who made it was painfully small.
When the final count was tallied, I drew in a sharp breath: we had lost 3,973 ordinary people and 2,678 werewolves, for a total of 6,651 lives.
Only 9,923 people remained from Murias, with only 2,082 werewolves left. Of the 55,000 people who once lived in the underground city of Murias, fewer than one-fifth remained.
I looked at the orderly rows of corpses at the cave entrance, my heart filled with overwhelming sorrow.
Especially the children—they should have been the future of this world, but now, even their names were soon to be forgotten.
This was a price too painful to bear.
Mary's fragile figure appeared before me, her face ghostly pale, barely showing any signs of life.
Seeing all this, I once again found myself deep in thought: Should I consider Mary's suggestion to break the werewolf seal? Was this truly the only way forward?
I knew that breaking the seal would mean sacrificing Mary's life, but perhaps it was the only choice left.
I stepped closer to Mary, my mind filled with countless conflicting thoughts.
I knelt beside her and took her cold hand in mine.
Her fingers were thin and stiff, as if life itself were slowly slipping away from her body.
I didn't know how much longer she could hold on.
Mary sensed my presence and spoke weakly, "Lianora."
Her voice was so faint that only I could tell she was speaking.
I bent down to listen.
"Don't hesitate anymore. I don't have much time left. Instead of dying in vain, let me use what remains of my life to help the werewolf clan.
Please, break the seal and save our people, make them strong again."
Her words were slow but resolute, as though she was using the last of her strength to speak.
Her voice, though quiet, was filled with undeniable determination.
I gently stroked her hand, just as my mother used to when I was sick as a child.
My heart was torn with conflict and pain—what was I supposed to do?
Should I sacrifice Mary to break the seal, or continue down this path of escalating loss?
I asked softly, "What must I do?"
"There's a lock of Maeve's hair in my bag. Use it under the moonlight," she whispered, breaking through my thoughts. "You're the priestess. You know the rest. It's in your blood."