Andrew's vision blurred at first, then gradually sharpened into focus. He saw beneath the bleak earth a world of devastation and raging war, fires blazing across the landscape.

Black castles crumbled, consumed by flames. Villages burned one after another, and towering Highland Tribe warriors clutched their wives and children, leaping desperately to escape. Yet, they could not outrun the collapsing ravines that opened beneath them, swallowing them whole into eternal darkness.

On the distant plains, two mighty beings fought to the death.

Fenrir's fur bristled like black steel needles, each strand gleaming with an oily sheen that rippled with every savage movement. This was a werewolf far more massive than even Kaelen.

His eyes were not the typical green glow or black pupils common among werewolves. Instead, his eyes blazed blood-red, just like a vampire's. Its wide mouth was soaked in crimson, though it was unclear whether the blood belonged to itself or its enemy.

Razor-sharp white