Just as I had already given up—
"KILL HIM!"
Their voices broke through.
"RIP HIM APART!"
"BLOOD!"
The crowd.
I was so focused on the battle that I had forgotten about them.
The chaos and pain had drowned everything.
But hearing them again—
Ignited something inside me.
Not fear.
Not desperation.
Not survival instinct.
Anger.
It felt hot.
It filled me up completely as if to devour me.
My eyes snapped open.
My jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
"Fucking bastards."
The anger wasn't just for the crowd.
It was for John.
For the slavers.
For Favian.
Anton.
Selene.
The empire.
The world.
It rose like a flood inside me, drowning out pain, drowning out reason.
I couldn't give up.
Not because I wanted to live.
But because I wanted to kill them all before I died.
Slowly, I lifted my head from the ground and pulled my right arm back.
Pain exploded through it as the wolf's fangs tore deeper, ripping flesh as I forced its head toward me.
My vision flickered, dimming.
But I didn't stop.
I pulled even harder.
The anger inside me swallowed the pain.
I dragged the wolf's head closer.
Until I touched fur.
Then—
I raised my own head.
Opened my mouth wide—
CHOMP!
—and bit down.
My teeth sank into its throat.
AWOO!
It howled as my teeth dug deeper into its flesh.
Warmth spread as I forced even more mana into my jaw.
It grew to a point where I even felt pain at the amount of mana in my head.
My teeth sank even deeper into its flesh.
Then—
I forced my jaw shut.
The flesh was hard, tight even.
But I didn't care.
I bit through fur and flesh alike.
Then—
I pulled.
RIP!
I tore my head backward, ripping a chunk of its throat out.
Splurt.
Hot blood sprayed out of the wound and across my face, coloring me crimson.
Its strength diminished.
Until—
Thud.
Its body collapsed on top of me.
Its teeth were still embedded in my arm while its claws were buried in my chest.
It hurt.
Everything hurt.
But—
I had won.
Pfui.
I spat out the fur and meat.
Haah.
My lungs burned.
Haah.
My heart raced.
I lay on the floor for a moment until I had calmed enough.
Then, carefully, I forced its jaws open and pulled my shredded arm free.
Its fangs dug deeper into my skin at the movement.
More blood ran down my arm.
More pain.
But I pushed through it, freeing my arm.
Next, I gripped its paws and lifted them off my chest before shoving the corpse aside.
Thud.
I rested for a moment, catching my breath.
Haah.
A moment passed before I moved again, planting my hands on the ground and pushing myself up.
I stood.
Drip.
Blood poured down my body and fell to the ground.
Drip.
My arm.
Drip.
My chest.
Drip.
My leg.
Drip.
My whole body was covered in blood, it felt sticky.
Drip.
I closed my eyes for a second.
That was when I realized—
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
I opened my eyes.
Bright light shone down from the ceiling, blinding me.
When my vision cleared—
I saw that it wasn't just my imagination.
The arena was silent.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody cheered.
The crowd.
They just stared at me.
I frowned, confused.
The next moment—
My vision swam.
I felt lightheaded.
Darkness arrived.
I let it take me.
***
Silence fell over the arena when number 29 faced the pack leader.
The crowd held their breath and leaned forward in their seats.
Then—
A second wolf climbed from beneath the pile of corpses behind the boy.
"Yeah, get him!"
"From behind!"
"Watch out!"
Shouts erupted at once, breaking the silence.
Some cheered for the boy, others for the wolves.
The wolf leaped at the boys' unguarded back.
The boy hadn't seen it as he was focused on the wolf before him.
But at the last second—
He turned, crouching down and lifting his spear high.
And—
Shuk!
The wolf impaled itself mid-air.
Gasps rippled through the stands.
Some were about to open their mouths and cheer, but closed them again as the other wolf lunged at the boy.
It pushed itself off the ground and leaped at the boy, jaw wide, fangs ready to rip him apart.
The boy wasn't able to pull the spear free and was helplessly slammed to the ground as soon as he turned.
Sharp fangs dug into the boy's arm, while its weight pressed him down.
The outcome was obvious.
Those who had placed their bets on the teens had fallen silent, mouths firmly shut.
Only the ones who bet on the beasts cheered.
"End it!"
"Kill him!"
"Rip him apart!"
"Blood!"
Their shouts echoed through the arena.
Then—
Just as they thought it was over.
The boy moved again.
He pulled the beast closer, teeth digging deeper into his flesh.
Silence returned.
The crowd's cheers died down as they saw him move.
The ones wishing for his death grew silent while the ones who placed their bets on him stood up.
But they had one thing in common.
They watched.
And—
Waited.
For his next move.
It was strange.
The wolf had pinned him to the floor.
His weapon was lost.
There was nothing he could do.
But they still watched.
As if their eyes were pulled toward the scene before them.
Then—
As if to defy their expectations.
The boy's head lifted, closing on the wolf.
He opened his mouth wide and—
Chomp!
—bit into the wolf´s throat.
Awoo!
A shriek escaped the beast as if it were in pain.
And yet—
The boy didn't stop.
His teeth dug deeper into its flesh.
The crowd had now turned completely silent.
Even the ones who cheered for the wolves stood now.
And they all watched with bated breath as the boy bit into the beast's flesh.
As if he himself was nothing more than a beast.
And then—
The boy pulled his head back.
RIP!
And tore a chunk of flesh out of its throat.
Splut.
Blood splashed out of the wound and onto the boy pinned beneath.
A breath passed—
Thud.
The wolf collapsed, falling limply onto the boy.
Dead.
No one spoke.
No one reacted.
They just watched.
The boy lay beneath the body for a moment.
Then yanked his hand free from the wolf's fangs and pushed its corpse off.
Thud.
The corpse rolled heavily off the boy's body and dropped to the ground.
A breath passed as the boy just lay there on the ground.
Then—
He stood.
He staggered to his feet, swaying slightly until finding balance.
His chin was raised, head slightly tilted back, and arms hanging limply at his sides, but he stood.
The boy's eyes closed.
The silence continued.
No one cheered.
But what shocked them wasn't that the boy had won.
No.
It was how he had won.
And what they saw—
Was not a boy anymore.
He stood at the center of a massacre.
Piles of corpses surrounded him.
Wolves and teens alike.
The ground was painted red, leaving not even a patch of sand untouched.
Metal shackles bound his wrists and ankles while a collar closed around his neck.
Beside him—
Rose a spear.
It was embedded into the ground, at its tip impaled, hung the limp corpse of a wolf.
Drip.
Blood fell steadily from the corpse.
Drip.
The teen who stood in the center of all this bloodshed was covered from head to toe in blood.
His shirt was red.
His pants were red.
His skin was red.
Even his hair was covered in blood.
Everything.
Except his eyes.
They opened slowly.
A bright blue pair of eyes shone, glowing even.
It was the only color in this arena besides red.
The arena felt smaller under his gaze.
People forgot to breathe.
Forgot to blink.
Forgot to cheer.
It felt as if they would lose their mind if they gazed any longer into those eyes.
But the mesmerizing sight pulled their gazes even more.
Not allowing them to shift their eyes away.
No one moved.
Because it felt like a deity itself had descended into this world and was looking right at them.
Shackled, yet unbowing.
Unbroken, even as death surrounded him.
Then—
It started as a whisper.
Someone spoke so quietly that it would normally have been ignored, but they heard it.
"The—"
The whisper continued.
"The Last Wolf."
Another voice joined.
"The Last Wolf."
It felt as if something had forced them to speak it aloud.
To name what they were seeing before it would end and vanish.
The whisper grew into a shout.
"The Last Wolf!"
Then into a chant.
"THE LAST WOLF!"