Time passed—Fenris didn’t know how much. If he had to guess, maybe an hour. Or was that just how it felt? Swiping, leaping at Beowulf, only for his attack to be dodged, parried, grabbed, and slammed into the ground.

  “So, how about now, Fenris? What do you feel?” Beowulf asked gleefully. He had Fenris in a hold by the wrist, and Fenris was lying on his back on the grassy field.

  Fenris panted heavily. He looked up at Beowulf and swiped his claws at the fingers holding him. Beowulf reacted, letting go of Fenris’ wrist.

  Fenris rolled away and jumped back—this time standing on his own two feet, taking a look at the bulky werewolf. Fenris had managed to get a few hits in, but nothing noteworthy.

  The wound on Beowulf’s cheek was almost done healing, as were the rest of the claw marks. Fenris, on the other hand, seemed mostly unharmed—mentally exhausted but fine.

  During their entire fight, Beowulf hadn’t used his claws or shifted even once. If he had, Fenris would have been in a very different condition right now.

  “I told you, Fenris, this isn’t just about survival. Enjoy it!”

  Beowulf leaped a few feet into the air towards Fenris.

  His fingers interlocked, ready to slam against Fenris.

  “I can’t dodge that in time.”

  Beowulf slammed into Fenris, leaving a loud thud.

  Fenris grunted, his arms raised and crossed in the air. He growled at Beowulf, his eyes glowing yellow.

  Beowulf’s grin remained. “When you find yourself in a situation such as this—” Beowulf put more weight into his interlocked fists, pushing Fenris down to a knee. Fenris' arms shivered.

  “When an unstoppable force has you cornered. When you have no chance of winning. You have two options.”

  Beowulf again put more weight on Fenris, making him bare his fangs. “You can either accept your defeat or mock the one who put you in such a situation by giving it your all, despite the chances against you. Go with the latter, young Fenris.”

  “Smile and give it your all.” Beowulf kept pushing Fenris downwards.

  “You want me to smile? Fine. Here!” Fenris screamed.

  He pushed Beowulf’s knuckles away.

  Their arms spread apart.

  Fenris paused.

  He made a fist.

  Not a claw.

  Still on one knee, he punched Beowulf in the gut.

  Beowulf staggered back.

  He stayed standing.

  The grass behind him tore.

  Two lines of mud marked his path.

  “How’s that!?” Fenris had a fist out with a crooked smile. He panted, accompanied by sweat running down his face.

  Beowulf smirked. “It’s a start. But not nearly enough.” Beowulf brought his arms out. Dark claws began to grow from his fingers. His incisors elongated, and his eyes glowed yellow.

  Fenris’ forced smile dropped, and his heart skipped a beat. He had barely gotten by in the fight when Beowulf chose not to shift. He couldn’t imagine beating him now.

  Beowulf dropped to all fours.

  One leg stretched farther back.

  Tiny sparks flashed over his body.

  Fenris saw it.

  He had no time to think.

  A boom.

  Beowulf vanished.

  He appeared behind Fenris.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  He swiped his claws down.

  Four lines tore into Fenris’ back.

  Blood flew into the air.

  It splashed on the grass.

  “AHHH!” Fenris howled.

  Beowulf wasn’t done.

  He side-kicked Fenris in the back.

  Fenris tumbled forward.

  He landed on his side.

  “Let’s see if you can keep smiling once I’m done with you,” Beowulf said.

  Fenris weakly picked himself up. ‘It’s alright,’ he thought. ‘This isn’t a battle to the death. He won’t kill me. Remember, he wants me to enjoy this.’

  Fenris slowly raised his head towards Beowulf. The wound on his back wasn’t healing quickly. It hurt. But he had felt worse. Fenris brought his fangs and claws out.

  “I’m going to beat you to a pulp,” Fenris declared, his eyes lit with a golden glow. Beowulf laughed out loud.

  “Is that so??” Beowulf asked gleefully. “Well then… I’m waiting.”

  Fenris charged at Beowulf with his arms and claws out. Beowulf waited patiently for Fenris' strike.

  More time passed. The two werewolves traded claw swipes and blows with one another. Beowulf was far faster than Fenris, evading all of Fenris' attacks while dealing deadly ones of his own.

  A lot of Fenris' body was now covered with claw marks—not healing as quickly as normal, since they came from a werewolf. But no matter the pain, Fenris persisted.

  He stopped. Not out of exhaustion—more out of frustration. Beowulf was incredibly fast. Far faster than Buck, even. Some of his movements were accompanied by a loud, frightening boom.

  Fenris knew he had heard that sound before but was too preoccupied with battle to properly remember.

  Beowulf once again tried to take a claw swipe at Fenris from his side. But Fenris was ready. He turned to Beowulf with a claw attack of his own. Fenris might not have been able to move as quickly as Beowulf did, but he could react to his attack. Not at first, but after multiple hits he had memorized Beowulf’s patterns and was able to time Beowulf’s attacks.

  Both werewolves struck one another—Beowulf’s attack landed on Fenris’ shoulder, and Fenris’ on Beowulf’s chest.

  Beowulf quickly ran backward from Fenris—with the same incredible speed he had used to reach him. He now stood a few feet away.

  A piece of cloth from Beowulf remained in Fenris’ hand. Trying to get him to stay still, Fenris had grabbed Beowulf’s shirt, only for him to escape once again.

  “Damn it,” Fenris muttered. He looked at the black, rough material in his hand and then to Beowulf. His eyes widened as he did.

  “Is that why he’s so fast?” Beowulf’s shirt was completely torn off in the middle, leaving an empty vertical space showing Beowulf’s well-defined body.

  A chiseled chest and ten-pack rock-hard abs. Honestly, Fenris didn’t know such a thing was possible. He was almost jealous. Beowulf's physique showed he trained rigorously despite being gifted with inhuman abilities by his lycanthropy. But those details weren’t what shocked Fenris.

  Runes covered Beowulf’s body—from his chest. Fenris guessed they were also on his arms, like Buck’s were. They glowed a blue light, accompanied by electric sparks.

  “Did he use his runes to amplify his werewolf speed? Did Buck do the same thing when we fought?” Fenris felt a mix of anger and upliftment. If his hypothesis was correct, then Buck had an advantage he didn’t know about. But that being said, if Fenris were to get that same advantage…

  “Ah, it seems you, too, admire the power of Lord Zephyr,” Beowulf said proudly.

  “Zephyr?” Fenris repeated, confused. Wait! Zephyr…? he thought.

  Isn’t that the name of the God of lightning and one of the five main countries?

  “Perhaps if you, too, prove yourself, He shall grant you power,” Beowulf said.

  Lightning surged throughout Beowulf’s body, burning away his remaining clothes and revealing what Fenris had guessed—runes traveling from his shoulders, chest, and back.

  The lightning traveled in streaks all over Beowulf’s body, crackling and making mini thunder sounds. A drop of sweat ran down Fenris’ face.

  “Oh? What’s this?” Beowulf asked mockingly. “Are you afraid right now?”

  Hearing Beowulf’s taunt enraged Fenris. “In your dreams!”

  He growled. “I told you before, didn’t I!?” Fenris cracked his knuckles, still with elongated claws. “I’m going to beat you to a pulp!”

  “Let’s see you try!” Beowulf said. His grin returned. Like before, Beowulf appeared right in front of Fenris, but unlike before, he didn’t just strike once.

  Running like a beast on all fours, Beowulf struck his claws at Fenris’ chest and then at his back in a single moment.

  “He’s even faster now,” Fenris muttered. The barrage of claw strikes increased. Beowulf surrounded Fenris in a circle of lightning. Beowulf created blurs and afterimages of himself while lines of red kept appearing everywhere on Fenris’s body.

  Beowulf went in for one more attack. Fenris dodged. The attack was close to his face, but Fenris landed one of his own—not a claw strike, a jab.

  Fenris widened his hand and stabbed Beowulf’s shoulder, then squeezed. Beowulf grunted.

  Fenris felt electricity shake him to the bone. Constantly vibrating. Constantly hurting. His muscles were becoming stiff and numb. His eyes glowed yellow and then shifted to their natural gray.

  Quickly, he brought his other hand out and made it into a fist. He wanted what he was about to do to hurt. He bore through the pain, kept squeezing the clawed hand embedded in Beowulf’s shoulder, and brought him close. He punched Beowulf again and again.

  “AAHHHHHHH!” Fenris screamed. His voice vibrated due to Beowulf’s lightning.

  Fenris grew weaker. His shifted form slowly reverted. The claws he had stabbed into Beowulf’s shoulder shrank, setting Beowulf free.

  Beowulf smiled. He grabbed the back of Fenris’ head with both arms and slammed it downwards into his raised knee. The moment Fenris’ face came into contact with Beowulf's knee, a great blue light appeared, accompanied by a loud thunderclap unlike the previous ones.

  Beowulf released his grip, and Fenris flew through the air backwards—higher and farther than all the previous times Beowulf had tossed him around. Landing on the grassy field, Fenris bounced, tumbled, and lay on his back, his arms spread out and a faint hint of blue electricity shocking and vibrating through his entire body.

  Beowulf walked slowly to Fenris. Now looking down on him, Beowulf had a satisfied look on his face. Not the wide and scary grin he had when battling Fenris—this smile was small and barely noticeable.

  “We are done for today,” Beowulf said. He headed for the castle, leaving Fenris still lying on the grassy field.

  The reason for Beowulf’s contentment was because of what he saw:

  The dark-skinned werewolf who had been utterly defeated in battle—was smiling!

  Beowulf’s plan had worked. He had gotten Fenris to feel the thrill of battle. And Fenris couldn’t wait to fight again.