I Became A Zompirewolf

The battlefield was a harrowing sight of devastation, a grim testament to the merciless toll of war. As far as the eye could see, the landscape lay shrouded in smoke and ruin. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning metal and the distant cries of the wounded.

The remnants of destroyed homes were all an eye could see. Crumbled walls and shattered windows bore witness to the brutality of the conflict that had swept through the area.

Debris and rubble were strewn across the landscape, creating treacherous terrain and makeshift barricades for those who still clung to life in the war-torn area.

Corpses, both human and alien, littered the ground like landmarks. Their lifeless forms told stories of valour and despair, of dreams and hopes extinguished in the unforgiving crucible of battle.

Some lay in twisted, unnatural positions, while some only had pieces of the body left, making it impossible to know whose side they were fighting for.

But the place wasn't the graveyard for corpses only. Spaceships, remnants of a once-proud fleet, dotted the battlefield like fallen giants.

Their scorched and mangled hulls stood as silent sentinels, bearing the scars of combat. Smoke billowed from some of them, the fires within smouldering as they gradually succumbed to destruction.

Others had crash-landed amid the chaos, their twisted frames and shattered wings serving as stark reminders of the high cost of interstellar warfare.

The once-blue sky had been stained by the smoke and haze of battle, casting a menacing shadow over the entire scene. The distant rumble of space battles waged high above seemed like a grim overture to the tragedy below.

Explosions lit up the horizon, creating fleeting bursts of light that illuminated the bleakness of the scene before plunging it back into darkness.

The ground itself had been churned into a nightmarish landscape of trenches and craters, where the earth seemed to weep from the violence inflicted upon it. The mud was thick with the blood of fallen soldiers and the muck of relentless combat.

Amid this horror, the survivors remained, their faces etched with weariness and sorrow, but they kept fighting for their cause.

They navigated the treacherous terrain, some seeking cover among the wreckage while others tending to the wounded.

The devastating elements of the battlefield told a haunting story of loss, sacrifice, and the unrelenting nature of conflict. It was a place where dreams had turned to dust and where the echoes of war reverberated through the desolation.

But even then, most participants focused on the two figures around the centre of the battlefield. Ibis was no stranger to warfare, having been trained by Seraph, her father.

Though skilled and quick, it was the first time she engaged in close combat with a Precursor and was nervous as hell. But she knew as the leader, she had an obligation to protect her people or die trying.

On the other hand, Ashton couldn't be bothered as Ibis revealed the weapon of her choice. A pair of claws popped out of her hand, but the most weird thing was the blades were made of plasma.

Ibis' icy blue eyes locked onto Ashton, who shook his head, an ironic smile on his lips. It was clear he was mocking her.

"Draw your weapon," Ibis suggested to Ashton. "I'd rather not hear any excuses later about how I beat someone without a weapon."

"A weapon, huh?" Ashton mumbled, looking at his fists. "Are these enough for you?"

Like he said, Ashton had no need for weapons. Under Vulcan's sharp eyes and Flintmace's guidance, he had trained for years, honing his body into a lethal weapon. Flexing his muscles, he cracked his knuckles and stepped forward in Ibis's direction, waiting for her first move.

Ibis lunged forward, her twin blades whirling in deadly arcs. Ashton blocked her strikes with his forearms, his expression unchanging.

Seeing as her attack had failed, Ibis jumped backwards, wanting to create some distance. But Ashton was having none of it. He closed the distance between them, launching a flurry of punches at Ibis.

Ashton's fists were like battering rams, each strike backed by the raw strength of a Precursor. Ibis, though more agile than Ashton, found herself struggling to parry his relentless blows.

Ibis swung her claws in a desperate attempt to counter Ashton's relentless assault and soon realised she was outmatched. Ashton's superior strength and technique were overwhelming her.

She staggered backwards, trying to regain her composure. But Ashton pressed the advantage, closing in on her, his fists relentlessly attacking Ibis.

The Xyrans, who had gathered to witness the confrontation between Ibis and the Precursor, stood in shock as Ibis struggled against Ashton in the fight.

Wide-eyed and mouths agape, they had expected a swift and brutal victory from their leader. Instead, they saw her being pushed to her limits, her usual grace and confidence replaced by a desperate fight for survival.

Soon, Ibis was backed into a corner with no space to retreat as their spaceship blocked her way. With no other way out, Ibis pushed forward. Her sudden aggressiveness took Ashton by surprise, but he kept his cool.

As Ibis swung her claws again, instead of blocking her as usual, Ashton ducked and, before Ibis knew it, his hand darting out to grip her wrist as it passed by him.

"You're way too careless to be a warrior..." Ashton mumbled.

With a quick twist, he disarmed her, sending one of her swords clattering to the ground. Ibis staggered back, momentarily off balance.

Ashton seized the opportunity. He launched a flurry of punches, aiming for Ibis's chest and face. His fists connected with rapid, thunderous blows, each striking with pinpoint accuracy.

Ibis struggled to defend herself, her arms frantically moving to block the relentless assault, but in vain. Ashton's fists were like asteroids hitting a planet, and Ibis could not regain her footing for such a vicious assault.

Ibis, bloodied and battered, fell to her knees. With nothing else left to do, Ashton was about to deliver the final, crushing blow that would end the fight.

He reeled his punch backwards, his fist cocked and ready to strike. But just as he was about to release the finishing blow, a familiar voice echoed inside his head.

[Ashton... stop. You've done enough.]