The war was officially announced, and Blackthorn was on the losing end. With only two hundred men, the end of the battle could be determined even before it began.
From a distance, swords clashed, claws crashed, and blood poured, but it was not enough to satisfy the blood-hungry rogue leader.
As the night settled on the first day of the fight, Kael could not rest. Within the ruins of Snowdale, he stood, the cold basking his body, and he waited patiently for his guest.
"Good job," a voice echoed. Kael did not need to turn; he knew who it belonged to.
"I am fast running out of men, and I can't keep this up," Kael whispered.
Damon stepped forward, his steps thundering against the gravel. From a distance, Sunny stood, his hands in his pockets and his eyes as sharp as an eagle's.
"Oh, don't worry. My men will take over," Damon replied, then stood in front. "You're cruel... brutal. Just the weapon I needed," he said, and Kael smirked.
