Daryl stood over the fallen form of Vercus, his chest rising and falling heavily as the storm of battle subsided. Blood and sweat dripped from his brow, but his heart pulsed with a strange sense of peace.

Vercus’s body lay still, consumed by the dark magic he had once wielded with pride.

The power of Jeldon’s spirit, the malevolent force that had bound him, had been shattered by the strength Daryl unleashed, channeling the light of Yago Dir Gunther, his great ancestor.

The battlefield was eerily quiet now, with the once fierce and chaotic battle reduced to hushed murmurs of the survivors.

Vercus’s corrupted Lycans had either fallen or fled...