The smaller wolf continued to pant happily as its brothers and sisters walked past Chase, paying him no mind at all.
The confused boy turned around quickly, only to see the eleven wolves growling violently at the terrifying Hollow. Its black, ghostly limbs swung side to side as it slowly proceeded in their direction.
Some of its twisted arms dragged across the floor, leaving stains of tar-like sludge behind.
As the Hollow crept forward, its limbs moved unnaturally, each joint bending in ways that defied the natural order, sending a shiver down Chase's spine.
The wolves crept toward the creature—all except for the young one, still sitting in front of Chase, who had been at death's door not even a minute ago.
He tried to speak, but his words caught in his throat. The wolf responded by tilting its head, mirroring the look Chase gave it.
Every breath Chase took felt like dragging broken glass through his lungs, and his vision wavered with each heartbeat, yet he clung to consciousness, driven by a desperate need to survive.
Suddenly, his vision began to fade to black. The pain from his injuries was too severe to endure any longer.
The wolf glanced at the boy's torn and charred leg, then back up at him, tilting its head again.
Chase quickly pointed at the gruesome wound, silently praying to the dead gods that the wolf of violet flames could somehow heal the terrible injury.
The wolf began to pant again, but this time something felt different. Chase could sense a violent torrent of rage and hatred—no, not from the wolf, but from something deeper. It felt as though the gates of the underworld had opened before him.
The wolf shook its furry, flame-laden mane and began to howl. Behind Chase, the other wolves immediately responded, their cries filling the cavern.
The nightmarish howls were so loud that Chase thought his eardrums might burst. If his body weren't already battered, the sound alone might have overwhelmed him.
Suddenly, the wolf's mane, once dark magenta, began to change. The flames twisted and bent to the will of the hound.
As the violet inferno shifted, Chase caught a glimpse of the wolf's eyes beneath its shaggy fur. Its left eye burned with a terrible crimson red, while the right glowed a brilliant jade green, shining like one of the most precious emeralds on the continent.
The violet flames were quickly overtaken by a violent and enraged inferno of pure crimson.
The flames spread through the wolves like a shared curse, their howls growing deeper, almost guttural, as if the fire had unlocked something primal within them.
Blood-red fire swirled around the wolf, forcing Chase to turn away. Behind him, the other wolves had also been consumed by the same fiery transformation.
Even in his broken state, just the sight of the fire made his body ache and recoil in protest.
Chase quietly croaked, addressing the wolf he had only read about in the fairy tales his father used to tell him.
"Can you—"
His throat burned, forcing him to pause. Summoning every ounce of strength, he swallowed and tried again.
"Can you fix it?"
Chase blinked, his eyes stinging as tears welled up. The wolf took more than a moment to respond, while behind him, the fight between the forest monsters and the wolves seemed ready to begin.
The wolf startled him by lowering its head without warning. Chase panicked, nearly attempting to move away, further straining his already broken body.
The wolf leaned closer to the boy's leg and sniffed the injury. Chase held his breath, silently willing the creature to somehow end the pain.
The hellfire on the wolf flared as it studied the wound. Then, with a small, yelp-like bark, it moved even closer to his leg.
If Chase could understand wolves, he might have guessed it was a quick apology—or something close to it.
He might not have been far off.
The crimson fire on it's mane rippled like living veins of molten lava, pulsing with a rage that seemed ancient, untamed, and entirely otherworldly.
A terrible sensation coursed through Chase's leg as the wolf began to lick the wound with its long, rough tongue. But that wasn't even the worse of it.
The crimson flames, like the fires of the underworld, stretched from the wolf's tongue, burning and searing into the boy's mangled flesh.
Somehow, amidst the chaos, Chase felt an odd kinship with the flames, a faint sense that they weren't just consuming—they were remaking.
As the fire seeped into his leg, Chase's body convulsed uncontrollably, his hands clawing at the dirt beneath him in a futile attempt to anchor himself against the agony.
Chase screamed as the violent, hateful pain overtook him. His cries echoed through the cavern, barely audible over the roars and the crashing rocks as the Hollow loomed closer.