19 Extreme

"Master!" The chorus cry attracted the attention of the lazing snakes, gathering them around the fledgling.

The little serpents that were coiled in Versailles' tail immediately rushed towards her, their snake eyes filled with fear and worry.

"What happened? Why is Versailles injured so badly?" The snake queen asked the instant she reached the group.

"We were attacked by a pack of vampires. Master got injured while protecting us!" The fledglings' heads were bowed in shame.

They felt that their master was so badly hurt because they were useless.

If only they were stronger then things would not have been so bad.

Thinking up to here, they all dejectedly slithered away, leaving the elder serpentines looking at their forms in pity.

Life in the Nar realm was not easy. If they were not exposed to the brutality of the realm, they would never be able to protect themselves in the future.

So, in a way, them getting exposed to such incidents was a good way to prepare them for the impending future.

With understanding looks on each of their faces, the elders carried away the unconscious Versailles.

***

Luke could not accept the fact that he could not stop a serpent female from fleeing his clutches. Not only did she flee, but she also escaped in such a way that he himself felt ashamed of his inability.

As one of the oldest and longest living beings in the Nar realm, he always prided himself on being too experienced and seen far more things than other creatures and vampires to be involved in the rudimentary affairs of the Bloodsucking clan.

In fact, if it was not because of the urgency to uncover the mastermind behind the Bloodsucking clan's issue of securing feeding sources, he would not have lowered himself to mingle with the elders in the Vampire City's hall.

But today, he got utterly defeated by a serpentine girl that was probably not even half a century old. It seems like he had become too complacent after enjoying many centuries of life filled with ease.

Unbeknownst to him, Versailles was no ordinary serpentine. If he had the accumulated experience from living for thousands of years, Versailles had the experiences of three live times fighting to survive.

However, as Luke found it shameful to lose to a serpentine, he felt it was time for him to get back his sharp edge and for that, he needed to journey to the Eternal Mountains, leaving the Vampire City.

Having decided, Luke sent a blood message telepathically to the elders, guiding them to the Elven clan as a temporary food source and turned blurry before disappearing.

***

In the east of the Nar realm, the environment was eerily quiet. This was the region where the flame cave that led to the werewolf clan's Underworld Palace resided. There was zero activity.

At this moment in the Underworld Palace, the city was occupied by only females with very few males.

"Are they still at it?" One female carrying a bucket asked another next to her.

"Yes, they are still at it. I do not know how much longer they are going to keep this up." There was a worrying form on the woman's face as she secured her hold on her own bucket.

"Well, pretty soon hopefully. Because if they keep up any longer, I am worried that something will happen." The other replied.

The females rushed back and forth carrying buckets of medical concoction deep beneath the underground city where growls and shrieks of pain greeted their ears.

The metallic taste of blood filled the air as grunts were followed by the sound of scorching and tearing flesh.

Not daring to look around at the horrific scenes, the females quickly dumped the content of their buckets into a stone tub and left. The tub extended from one corner of the red wall to the other, moving in sinuous twisting lines that covered the entire underground cell.

Soon the medicinal concoction reached the unconscious werewolves laying on the edges of the wall, whose powerless bodies occasionally twitched from the extreme training put through. Burn wounds of various sizes and depths decorated the limp animal forms, gushing blood as they lied still.

However, King Ramose was undergoing an even more nightmarish training under the depths of a raging inferno in the darkest part of the underground cell. Red hot flames from above his head poured over his struggling form as his body shuddered underlapping tongues of ice blue flames beneath.

As fire and ice intermittently overwhelmed his senses, his consciousness swayed between reality and illusion, repeatedly replaying the nightmare from more than 18 years ago.

He wailed and writhed in anguish, both from the excruciating pain of his body and his heart.

After a long period of time wailing and writhing, Ramose's voice became hoarse and weak, his impressive wolf form appearing frail and powerless under the extreme torture. Just when he was on the brink of breaking, the red and blue flames instantly lessened, relieving his unimaginable agony by a fraction, but they did not stop.

"Have to keep going at this pace until the day before the start of the competition," Ramose growled in pain, his bloodshot eyes radiating ferocity and determination.

As he wanted to lead by example, Ramose pushed himself to his limits and beyond, motivating his pack to throw caution to the flames as they followed his lead.

And the results were magnificent. Every werewolf experienced the remolding of their skin and bones after going through the baptism of the Eternal Infernos. Ecstatic, they took even more drastic steps, chaining themselves as they entered into the more fiercer flames, pushing themselves beyond their limits.

Before long, only groaning and grunting resounded throughout the entire underground cell, speech becoming a luxury that not one wolf was interested in.

This form of sweet torment and communication continued until the day before the start of the Battle of Might.

On this day, the sound of chains clanking to the stone floors nosily rang out from the underground cell of the Underworld Palace. The werewolves finally freed themselves from the hellish torture after a month. Moving with shaking limbs, they slumped into the medical bath prepared for them by their mates.

The medicinal properties entered their body through their pores and wounds, cooling, refreshing, and mending their torn and burnt flesh. After every flesh was healed and mended, dark green fluid seeped out of their skin, darkening the medicinal bathwater.

However, none of the werewolves were concerned with the dirty water. Instead, there was extreme joy and happiness on their faces as they saw the dark liquid coming out of their body. Flexing their limbs and muscles, they were satisfied with its flexibility and swiftness.

This was all thanks to the inhumane baptism they underwent under the raging flames of the Eternal Infernos. Their bodies experienced metamorphosis that went beyond their imaginations.

Not only did they feel stronger and faster than when they first entered the cell, but their senses were also strengthened, allowing them to see, smell, and hear discussions a hundred feet away.

Rejuvenated, the werewolves looked at their king with respectful gazes, admiring his humbling strength and endurance. For the past month, they never once saw their king leaving the terrifying fire and ice flames to eat or rest.

Whenever they turned, the image that captured their gazes was of a frail figure struggling fiercely against the raging might of the horrendous flames.

As such, they felt both pride at having such a strong leader and humbled by his strength and ability to endure the torture that was a hundred times greater than the one they endured, that too, without rest.

Gathering around him, the werewolves flanked the sides of their king, awaiting him to take the lead.

Ramose raised his black head in approval at the changes in his pack before majestically moving out with them from the underground cell into the welcoming sight of the Underworld Palace.

The midnight black form of Ramose's huge figure entered the sight of the females before the browns, grays, dull reds, and dark oranges of the other werewolves appeared.

Their eyes gleamed with a sharp light, limbs exuding a dangerous might, as their bodies rippled with power, luxurious furs glistening under the silver-blue glow of the moon in the center of the city.

Their overwhelming auras shocked the frail senses of the awaiting females, disbelief evident on their faces as they watched the approaching pack in trepidation. It has only been a month, yet the werewolves felt as if they had been gone a century.

In different regions and territories of the Nar realm, various species and races converged together after a long month of extreme training to head to the battle arena for the start of the first Battle of Wars, the Battle of Might.