The wolves stormed through the gates of the witches' den, Fang leading the charge with bloodlust in his eyes. Screams filled the hallway as the witches did not even dare to attack. They were stronger but the wolves were used to death and battles were won on a pile of sacrifices.
The pack moved swiftly behind Fang, their eyes burning with the same thirst for vengeance. They tore through the halls until they reached the throne room of the High Priestess, a vast chamber illuminated by the eerie glow of enchanted crystals embedded in the walls. It was colder than the rest of the castle. The witches scurried behind the throne, a flat square to sit on, which was right in the middle of the room. In the center stood the High Priestess herself, draped in flowing red robes, her calm demeanor a sharp contrast to the violence that raged outside shining in the white light glowing in her eyes.