OP Absorption
Chapter 91: Commander

Chapter 91: Commander

The five werewolves spread out, encircling the clearing, their movements low and predatory. Thick muscles rippled beneath dark fur, claws digging slightly into the mossy earth.

Yellow eyes glowed with hungry light, fixed on the two women. One, slightly larger than the others, presumably the leader, took a step forward, letting out a low growl that vibrated in the tense air.

"Where is the master of this place?" he rasped, his voice a rough growl shaped into words. "This domain... it is new. Weak. Ripe for claiming." He sniffed the air, muzzle wrinkling. "Tell us where he hides. Make this easy."

Scarlet scoffed, shifting her weight, daggers held loosely at her sides. ’Easy? Buddy, my whole day has been the opposite of easy.’ "Sorry, pal," she called back, forcing a casual tone she didn’t feel. "Nobody home. Try next door."

Arachne remained silent, crouched low, her eyes narrowed, tracking the movements of each werewolf simultaneously. Her body coiled like a spring, radiating a dangerous stillness that contrasted sharply with Scarlet’s forced nonchalance.

Her silence was its own answer: defiance.

The lead werewolf’s yellow eyes narrowed. He glanced at his packmates, a silent communication passing between them.

"No?" he growled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "A pity." He flexed his claws, sharp points extending fully. "Then we will tear this place apart until we find him. Starting with you."

He lunged.

The clearing exploded into motion. Two wolves charged Arachne, aiming to overwhelm her with sheer mass and speed. The other three, including the leader, converged on Scarlet.

’Great odds,’ she thought sarcastically, immediately backpedaling, using the trees for cover. One wolf swiped, claws tearing through the air where she’d been moments before. She ducked under another lunge, rolling sideways across the mossy ground.

Her daggers flashed, scoring shallow cuts across a thick forearm – not deep enough to disable, but enough to make it yelp and recoil momentarily.

Meanwhile, Arachne met the two charging werewolves head-on, not with brute force, but with impossible grace. She became a blur, weaving between their clumsy lunges. Her movements were low, almost spider-like, using the ground, twisting, spinning.

One wolf snapped, jaws closing on empty air as she slid beneath its attack. Her short knife flickered upwards, finding a gap in the thick fur, sinking into the muscle beneath the jaw. The wolf choked, stumbling back with a pained howl.

She didn’t stop to admire her work. The second wolf barreled towards her. She pivoted on one foot, letting its momentum carry it past, and slammed the pommel of her other knife into the back of its knee joint.

A sickening crunch echoed through the clearing. The wolf roared, its leg buckling, sending it crashing to the ground, momentarily out of the fight.

Scarlet saw Arachne take down two in seconds and felt a flicker of grudging respect mixed with disbelief. ’Okay, slave-girl’s got moves. Serious moves.’ But she didn’t have time to dwell on it. The leader and the remaining two packmates pressed their attack on her relentlessly.

She danced between trees, using the environment, kicking off trunks to change direction, her daggers a whirlwind of defensive cuts and parries. She managed to slash one across the snout, earning a furious roar, but the leader was smarter, more patient, circling, waiting for an opening.

He feinted high, drawing her parry upwards, then dropped low, shoulder charging into her side. The impact knocked the wind out of her, sending her stumbling against a gnarled tree trunk.

Pain flared through her recently healed ribs. Before she could recover, claws raked across her back, tearing through fabric and skin. She hissed in pain, spinning away, narrowly avoiding a follow-up bite that would have taken off her arm.

She was tiring. They were relentless, strong, and clearly used to fighting together. ’Not good. Not good at all.’

Arachne dispatched the howling wolf with the injured jaw with a final, precise thrust to the throat, then immediately turned her attention back to the downed one, silencing its struggles permanently.

She glanced towards Scarlet, saw her pinned against the tree, facing three opponents. Her expression hardened. Protecting the master’s guests, even annoying ones, was part of her duty.

She moved. Not directly towards Scarlet, but circling wide, silent as a shadow through the undergrowth. The wolf Scarlet had slashed across the snout turned, sensing the new threat, breaking off its attack on Scarlet to face Arachne.

That gave Scarlet the breathing room she needed. The leader lunged again. Instead of dodging sideways, she dropped, sliding low across the moss. Her left dagger slashed upwards, hamstringing the leader’s rear leg as he passed over her. He roared in pain and fury, stumbling as his leg gave out.

The third wolf hesitated, caught between the now-crippled leader and Arachne engaging its packmate. Scarlet surged to her feet, ignoring the burning pain in her back, and drove forward, both daggers aimed at the momentarily distracted wolf.

It turned back just in time to receive a blade deep in its chest. It gasped, yellow eyes wide with shock, then slumped forward.

Arachne finished her opponent with swift, brutal efficiency, exploiting the opening Scarlet created. Now only the leader remained, snarling, wounded but still dangerous, trying to push himself up on his good leg.

They stood panting slightly, flanking the crippled leader, daggers dripping dark blood. The clearing was suddenly quiet again, save for the leader’s ragged breathing and the distant, unsettling hum from the dimensional fissure.

"Impressive," Scarlet managed, wiping a smear of dirt and blood from her cheek. "For a housekeeper."

Arachne shot her a look that could freeze fire. "Focus," she snapped, her gaze fixed on the struggling werewolf leader. "It is not over."

The leader glared at them, saliva dripping from his jaws. He knew he was beaten. But defiance burned in his yellow eyes.

Arachne raised her dripping knife, ready to deliver the killing blow to the crippled werewolf leader. Scarlet tensed, bracing for the inevitable messy end.

This slave-girl didn’t seem the type to hesitate.

But the werewolf didn’t cower or snarl. He threw his head back and laughed, a ragged, gurgling sound that echoed unnervingly in the suddenly silent clearing.

’Okay, Fido lost it,’ Scarlet thought, frowning. ’Laughing? Now? Weirdo.’

Then the air changed. The jagged fissure hanging in the air pulsed, the sickly green light spilling from it intensifying. The crack widened, stretching, tearing reality wider with a low groan that vibrated deep in Scarlet’s bones.

Pressure slammed down. Thick, suffocating mana flooded the clearing, far denser than anything the werewolves possessed. It felt heavy, ancient, pressing on her chest, making it hard to breathe. Her knees buckled involuntarily.

Beside her, Arachne staggered, her face pale, though she fought to stay upright, her knuckles white where she gripped her knives.

’Whoa, okay, what the actual hell is this?’ Scarlet struggled against the crushing weight, feeling like she was trying to stand up at the bottom of an ocean. ’This is way above werewolf paygrade.’

The werewolf leader, seemingly unaffected by the sudden pressure, somehow managed to drag himself into a bowing position, lowering his bleeding muzzle towards the expanding fissure.

"I welcome you, Commander!" he choked out, his voice thick with fear and reverence.

A figure stepped through the violently shimmering tear in reality.

Tall. Imposing. Cloaked entirely in shadows that seemed to writhe and shift, refusing to settle into a discernible form. No features were visible, just a silhouette radiating immense, cold power that made the werewolves’ mana feel like static cling in comparison. The pressure intensified further.

The Commander didn’t acknowledge the bow. Its attention – if it even had eyes – seemed fixed on the kneeling werewolf. A voice echoed, seemingly from the depths of the shadows, cold and devoid of inflection.

"You have failed."

Panic flared in the werewolf leader’s yellow eyes. "W-wait!" he stammered, trying to push himself further down, groveling. "Please! We were close! We just needed more time! The master wasn’t even—"

The Commander lifted a hand, a mere suggestion of fingers emerging from the swirling darkness.

Snap.

The sound was tiny, almost lost in the heavy silence.

The werewolf leader exploded. Not figuratively. One moment he was begging, the next he vanished in a shower of gore, fur, and shattered bone that splattered across the mossy ground.

Scarlet instinctively flinched back, wiping a stray drop of something warm and foul from her cheek. ’Holy crap. Okay. Point taken. Failure is... frowned upon.’ That was brutal. Efficient. Reminded her a bit too much of Varn for comfort.

Arachne stood frozen, her earlier combat readiness replaced by wary stillness. Her eyes, narrowed and calculating, were fixed on the Commander. She clearly recognized this level of threat.

The Commander seemed to ignore the messy aftermath of its judgment. The shadowy form turned slightly, the unseen gaze sweeping over the clearing, over the two remaining women.

"The King," the cold voice echoed again, carrying easily despite the oppressive mana, "has run out of patience."