Capturing Mamuti Alive!

The battlefield erupted into chaos as the vanguard of coalition beastmen stumbled into an ambush. Unprepared and confused, the soldiers flailed helplessly. Arrows rained down mercilessly, sewing death among the ranks.

"Get a grip and form up, you imbeciles!" Mamuti bellowed, his eyes blazing as he scanned the disarray of the coalition's beastmen vanguard. The warriors were scrambling, dodging, and tripping over one another in their panic.

But Mamuti's authority didn't carry far. The Beastmen warriors from other tribes, especially those not of the Duskin, barely acknowledged his command. His voice was just another noise against the clatter and shout of battle.

The sky darkened briefly as another volley of arrows descended, each one finding a mark among the flesh of men and beast alike. The coalition's ranks were rapidly depleting.

Realizing his shouts were futile, Mamuti turned to the coalition chiefs, who shared his desperation. "Control your warriors! And you, Faith, take your cavalry and storm those hills!" he ordered, pointing toward the source of the arrows.

"Yes, Chief!" Faith responded with a salute, then turned to her unit. "duskin cavalry, ride with me! Charge!" Her voice carried clear and strong over the tumult, and her brigade responded with a unified shout, their mounts thundering toward the hills like a wave crashing against the shore.

With Mamuti's orders, the chiefs began to regain control, rallying their warriors to a semblance of order.

Just as the coalition found its footing, the sky above them cracked open with a blinding flash, like a starburst at night. All eyes turned upward, briefly mesmerized by the spectacle.

But the respite was momentary. Shouts—loud, piercing, and terrifying—erupted from all sides. The enemy was closing in, not just a stray band but a coordinated force.

"Prepare for a fight!" Mamuti roared, his voice tinged with unease. "The Silver Mane Tribe knew we were coming, they've set a trap!"

Among the nervous chiefs, whispers of a traitor swirled like a dark undercurrent. Mamuti's gaze darted from face to face, seeking a tell, a sign, but the traitor's identity remained shrouded in the turmoil of battle and betrayal.

Amidst the clanging of steel and the cries of war, Mamuti had little time to ponder the chaos unfolding around him. The enemy forces had already engaged his coalition's infantry, plunging the front lines into brutal conflict.

Mamuti's expression turned grim as he watched the wolf cavalry he had dispatched being outmaneuvered and overpowered by the enemy's wolf riders on the hills. It was clear that the Duskin cavalry was at a disadvantage.

"Chiefs, we need reinforcements for our cavalry on the hills—send your riders!" Mamuti bellowed with determined urgency.

Caught off guard, the other chiefs took a moment to grasp the dire situation. Realizing the peril their allies faced, they quickly commanded their respective cavalry units to join the fray.

As reinforcements galloped towards the hills, Mamuti allowed himself a brief sigh of relief, his eyes never leaving the battlefield.

"Kill them all! My lords, our fate hinges on this battle—charge!" he shouted, unsheathing his gleaming wolf scimitar and charging towards the melee with ferocious intensity.

The rallying cry ignited a fire in the other chiefs. They, too, drew their scimitars, their faces set with resolve as they followed Mamuti into the thick of the infantry skirmish, determined to turn the tide.

From a nearby hill, Logan watched the savage dance of war below him. It was his first encounter with such primitive, brutal combat. The air was thick with the stench of blood and metal, and the ground littered with the fallen.

"Could the Youwa tribe turn against us?" Commander Lotts pondered aloud, his gaze fixed on the swirling masses of fighters where allegiances were blurred.

Logan, absorbed in the spectacle, merely frowned and remained silent, unsure himself of the loyalties at play.

"Mamuti is proving a formidable opponent," Lotts observed as he watched Mamuti surge through enemy lines, his presence like a beacon on the battlefield. "I must confront him myself." Without another word, Lotts swiftly mounted his warg, intent on curbing the losses among his skilled warriors.

Throughout this, Logan maintained a stoic silence, his eyes never straying from the carnage that unfolded before him. His detached demeanor left Lotts uneasy as he rode off, leaving behind a leader shrouded in mystery.

As the shouts of battle echoed, the raw reality of the infantry clash continued to unfold, a testament to the desperate struggle for survival and supremacy.

Crowe charged down the mountain on his warg, his approach as fierce as a tiger's pounce. Swinging his wolf scimitar with deadly precision, he effortlessly decapitated two of his own beastmen warriors caught in the melee.

"Clear a path! I'll handle this myself!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the clamor of battle.

At his command, several fourth-level silver-maned officers, who had been engaging Mamuti, withdrew instantly, recognizing the authority in Crowe's urgent tone.

Facing Mamuti, Crowe smirked slightly. "Are you the famed general of the Duskin Tribe?" he inquired, his voice steady despite the chaos.

Mamuti, gripping his scimitar tightly, responded with equal calm, "Yes, I am Mamuti. But tell me, why lay an ambush? What fault did you find in our plans for unity among the tribes?"

Crowe chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "Oh, Mamuti, you are naive. Did you really believe all five tribes of your coalition harbor the same loyalty as Duskin? Foolishness!"

Mamuti's expression turned grim. He knew then that there was indeed a traitor among them.

At that moment, Crowe suddenly called out, his voice thunderous, "Tyton, would you betray your own now?"

Mamuti stiffened. Takton? The young chief of the Youwa tribe?

As confusion mounted, the blare of a horn sliced through the battlefield din. Mamuti's eyes darted around, searching, until they landed on Tyton, the horn still at his lips.

Before Mamuti could confront him, a wave of screams erupted from around them. "What's happening?!" one warrior yelled.

"Ah...!!" another screamed in betrayal.

"Curse it, are they turning on their own?!" someone else accused.

"The beastmen of the Youwa tribe, they've turned traitor!" came another shout.

"Strike down these traitors first!" the rallying cry rang out, as the coalition's forces redirected their fury towards the unexpected betrayal within their ranks.

The battlefield descended into sheer pandemonium as coalition forces realized the gravity of their plight; werewolves were being mercilessly stabbed by those they once called allies before they could even muster a response.

The treachery spread like wildfire, not just among the infantry but also within the cavalry ranks. The Youwa Wolf Cavalry, under guise of coordination, lagged deliberately behind their allied counterparts. At the critical moment, they launched a vicious counterattack from the rear, devastating the unsuspecting Allied Wolf Cavalry.

Within minutes, the battlefield became a bewildering maze of friend turned foe, where identification was impossible, and trust had evaporated. Chaos reigned supreme.

Chiefs Galio, Kala, and Samo were visibly shaken, each entertaining thoughts of a retreat but equally fearful of reprisals from the Duskin tribe.

"Curse the Youwa tribe! To turn against Duskin like this?" Mamuti exclaimed, his fury peaking as he surveyed the bedlam.

"Rebellion? Hardly," Crowe retorted with a cold smirk. "The Youwa tribe bent the knee to us long ago."

Mamuti's heart sank. "So this was all a trap... and we blindly walked into it?" His voice was tinged with disbelief and betrayal.

"Enough talk! Lay down your arms, Mamuti. There's no escape, no hope for you now," Crowe declared, brandishing his scimitar with menacing calm.

"Surrender?" The word tasted bitter in Mamuti's mouth. He glanced around, desperation mounting. "Meow, let's get out of here!"

With his loyal wolf at his side, Mamuti made a hasty retreat from the battlefield, his mind racing with thoughts of his tribe's honor and his own role as his father's son. Surrender was not an option, not for him.

Crowe watched Mamuti's retreat, a knowing smile curling at the edge of his lips. "Running, are we?" He knew then that the battle was all but won.

The sight of Mamuti fleeing was the final blow to the coalition's crumbling morale. Observing this, Chiefs Galio, Kala, and Samo promptly signaled their tribes to withdraw.

At that moment, a wolf cavalry officer approached Crowe, urgency in his tone. "The chief commands us to capture Mamuti alive. He is valuable."

Recognizing the officer as one of Logan's personal guards, Crowe nodded in acknowledgement, his eyes already scanning the chaos for his prize. "Understood."