Those words made Glenn halt his assault and swiftly pull back, putting distance between them.

  He racked his brain for a countermeasure, but it was no simple task. The matter clearly involved complex magical principles—territory utterly foreign to him. As a layman, he was almost powerless.

  “How pitiful,” the insect-headed creature sneered, all its eyes swiveling toward Glenn. Its voice dripped with a strange, seductive cadence. “You humans are crippled by hesitation and fear—enslaved by your fragile emotions. Cast them aside, and join me. I can grant you a future beyond the reach of imagination…”

  A haze clouded Glenn’s mind. A burning desire whispered that all he needed to do was agree—say yes, and everything would fall into place; his life would be perfect, his every wish fulfilled.

  But the instant that illusion took shape, Glenn violently shook his head, shattering it.

  The sensation was too false—too hollow—and the soul tempered by endless suffering could not be so easily deceived.

  “How can this be? Your mental resistance is that strong?” the creature hissed, genuine surprise creeping into its tone.

  Glenn rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You magic types are a real nuisance. Looks like I’ll have to get serious.”

  “Serious?” the monster chuckled, patient and mocking. “You should be worrying about how you’re going to die.”

  But before its grin could widen, all of its eyes began to tremble.

  Glenn’s clothes tore apart as his body swelled, transforming into a towering two-meter werewolf. Normally, that would be the end of it.

  Yet the air itself began to thrum with unstable energy as his body surged higher—another two meters gained. His fur darkened, wreathed in an eerie black aura that made the creature’s chitin shudder.

  Though still smaller in mass, his presence now equaled that of the monstrous insect before him.

  “Level four… no—level five lycanthrope!? What are you?” For the first time, fear cracked the monster’s voice.

  It had lived for nearly a millennium and seen countless powerful werebeasts, yet never one with such twisted energy—or a transformation that evolved in stages.

  “The one who’s going to kill you.”

  That demonic voice sent a chill down even the abomination’s spine.

  The battle ignited in an instant. The creature spewed torrents of silken filaments, cascading like a white waterfall and blanketing the area. Glenn’s movements were hampered, but his brute strength was immense; a few swings of his claws shredded the webbed barrier into tatters.

  Around the monster, multiple magic circles flared—some defensive, some deadly.

  Fire, acid, frost, and devouring shadows—spells of devastating magnitude rained down on Glenn in relentless waves. Dodging was impossible; he could only endure the weaker blows and charge forward through the barrage.

  Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

  His only weapons were his indomitable claws and fangs.

  Yet each strike against the monster’s hide met layers of shimmering wards and magically fortified flesh. Every time he forced it to recoil, the creature swiftly regenerated the damage with practiced ease.

  Its near-limitless mana reserves were a racial gift—a bottomless well of power.

  A war of attrition would doom Glenn; his current form devoured energy rapidly. If it dragged on, he’d fall first.

  Even so, his expression remained calm. Everything was proceeding exactly as planned.

  The flashy spells that slammed into him looked impressive but inflicted little harm.

  Werewolves, after all, were magical beasts in their own right, possessing inherent resistance to sorcery. Glenn’s particular form—the pinnacle of its kind—was nearly impervious.

  He was merely probing, biding his time for a single, decisive blow.

  If that failed, he could push his transformation even further—though doing so would drain him to the brink of collapse.

  As the furious exchange raged, the children trapped within the pulsating flesh-sacs began to writhe in pain.

  The filaments clinging to their skin glowed faintly, siphoning away their life force to sustain the creature.

  Glenn saw this and knew he had to end it now. He would have to gamble on the reckless idea forming in his mind.

  With several quick bursts of movement, he scattered the monster’s magic, drawing its attention. Then, feigning vulnerability, he left himself open before its massive head.

  Just as he expected, the creature opened its maw—a grotesque arrangement of interlocking jaws—as it gathered power for a lethal breath attack.

  In that split second, Glenn slammed his tail against the ground, propelling himself like a missile straight into the gaping mouth.

  The monster’s breath caught—literally—as something thick and powerful rammed into its throat, cutting off its spell and flooding it with nausea.

  Its gaze darted downward in horror—Glenn’s arm was buried to the elbow in its maw.

  Enraged, it tried to bite down, muscles bulging—but to no avail.

  It realized too late that the hardened flesh of a level-five werewolf could not be pierced by a creature that relied on magic over muscle.

  And worse still—its mouth was unprotected by wards.

  Rrrip!

  Too late. With a savage wrench, Glenn tore the creature’s jaws apart, splitting its face into ruin.

  A shriek of agony filled the cavern, the pain spreading through its entire body.

  Through the gaping wound, Glenn injected a surge of controllable lycanthropic venom—wolf poison—that ravaged the creature’s tissues from within.

  He worked carefully, directing the toxin to destroy the monster’s body while sparing the children trapped inside.

  “S… stop…”

  The abomination convulsed violently, twisting in futile resistance, but Glenn clung on like a vice.

  It tried to muster concentration for a spell, but the pain was unbearable. The venom acted like a living cancer—devouring its cells, multiplying endlessly, consuming all. Only its abdomen remained untouched.

  At last, the monstrous body collapsed with a thunderous crash, its remaining muscles twitching in mindless reflex.

  Once Glenn was certain it posed no further threat, he focused his will on the venom within, seizing control of it.

  He had to carefully distinguish between the creature’s tissues and those of the trapped children—a daunting task for someone whose only education was a high school grasp of biology.

  Thankfully, the creature’s internal structure was relatively simple.

  Following his instincts, he began freeing the first child.

  A swollen flesh-sphere detached, split open—and a frail child tumbled out, gasping weakly, half-lidded eyes meeting Glenn’s.

  Glenn smiled faintly.

  One by one, he repeated the process, freeing every child.

  Almost simultaneously, shouts echoed from outside. Glenn recognized the voice—it was Sheriff Doggley and his men.

  They must have been searching the area for a while, only noticing the scene once the concealing spell had faded.

  Good. The cleanup would be their problem now.

  With a strange pang of nostalgia, Glenn stripped a coat from a nearby corpse, pulled it over his shoulders, and slipped away into the mist—leaving behind a cluster of dazed, trembling children staring wordlessly at his departing back.