Moon Touched
It fought, snarling, trying to tear free, but the vines tightened, glowing with green fire.
“Hold it!” I shouted, standing My vision swam, but I didn’t wait for it to clear. I charged again, the blade gleaming with moonlight. My blood was singing — not the beautiful kind of singing, but the old, wild rhythm that wolves know when death comes close.
I leapt, drove the blade into the creature’s throat, and twisted. Its roar turned into a wet gargle. Gaia slammed her palms together, and the vines pulled. The ghoul was torn apart like rotten cloth, pieces of it flung into the chasm below.