While Dante fought on another battlefield, the scene in Fenrir's palace was one of strange and unsettling calm.
Fenrir, Loki's daughter, sat on the throne of the King of Werewolves, the heavy crown resting on her head, but her expression did not reflect glory or triumph. Instead, her eyes were distant, lost in deep and confusing thoughts. Around her, the setting was a grotesque reflection of her own uncertainty.
Velkan, the one who was supposed to be the King of Werewolves... was on all fours before her, with the empty gaze of a defeated animal. He acted like a submissive dog, waiting for orders from his new "Mistress."
Fenrir had simply decided that this foolish being would not be able to control anything, so she took his place, and now he crawled like a mutt, without any trace of pride or resistance. Velkan's advisors, once powerful and influential men, were all in the same humiliating position, on all fours like dogs, awaiting instructions.
When Fenrir chose to help Velkan in this war, she believed that the complete subjugation of their enemies would be the key to her success, a confirmation of her strength.
However, as she looked at the scene before her, something twisted inside her mind. Initially, the sight of Velkan and his subdued advisors was merely pathetic. She sat there, immersed in thought, her vacant eyes observing those who should obey blindly, and a sense of emptiness washed over her.
'My father...' she thought.
"What happened here, after all?" she murmured to herself, doubt whispering like a cold wind in her mind.
Fenrir knew this was not the answer she sought. Something inside her, a deeper voice, called her to reflect on her past.
It was a shadow of Loki himself, her father, whose presence had influenced her since the beginning.
Loki was a god of trickery, deception, and uncertainty, but... was he really the father she remembered? Or were her memories distorted by a heroic vision that no longer held?
As these questions haunted her, Fenrir rose from the throne, gazing at the advisors and Velkan in their humiliated postures. Something inside her began to change. The idea of subjugating them, of having all at her feet like animals, no longer brought her the same pleasure. There was a restlessness in her spirit, a corrosive doubt about the path she was on.
She was about to order Velkan and his advisors to rise, to free them from this humiliation that now seemed an unnecessary burden. But before she could utter a word, a sudden presence filled the throne hall.
"I knew you would hesitate at some point," a feminine, enigmatic voice echoed through the cold walls of the palace.
Fenrir turned immediately, her eyes narrowing. A woman emerged from the shadows of the hall, walking with disturbing grace. Her name was Mary Rose. Tall, with skin pale as ivory and white hair cascading in wavy locks to her waist, she carried an air of mystery that left Fenrir suspicious whenever she appeared. She was responsible for providing Fenrir with the monstrous hybrids that had been used to fight Dante, Siren, and their forces. With each appearance, Mary Rose brought promises and enigmas, and this time was no different.
"You hesitated, Fenrir. That was your mistake," Mary Rose whispered, her voice echoing like a poisonous melody. "Now, I will make you my loyal little pet."
Fenrir felt her body bend, involuntarily dropping to her knees. The humiliation burned in her chest, but control was no longer hers. Mary Rose's magic ensnared her mind, like invisible chains pulling her toward submission. The figure of Loki, her father, began to fade from her mind, replaced by the crushing force of Mary Rose.
She, who once controlled Velkan and his advisors like dogs, now found herself in the same position—enslaved to another's will.
Mary Rose approached Fenrir, placing a hand on her head as if petting a domesticated animal. "You will be a valuable tool, dear. And when the time comes, we will put an end to all who dared challenge fate."
Fenrir tried to scream, to resist, but her voice had been stifled. Now, she was nothing more than a puppet, ensnared in Mary Rose's cruel plans.
As Fenrir struggled uselessly against Mary Rose's spell, trying in vain to regain control of her mind and body, the atmosphere in the throne hall grew even heavier with the arrival of a new presence. The shadows in the hall seemed to stretch, as if darkness itself were alive, and a faint echo of footsteps resonated across the cold stone floor.
A man emerged from the shadows, his tall and imposing figure surrounded by an aura of dark power. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and his eyes glowed with a deep red that seemed to reflect a malicious pleasure. He wore an immaculate black suit, a perverse contrast to the chaos around him, as if he were ready for a gala event rather than a war. His dark, short hair framed an elegant face, but there was something about him that exuded menace. He was a vampire, and not just any vampire—he was a noble, that much was clear. Find your next read on empire
"Ah, I see the final piece has been captured," he remarked with a cruel smile on his lips, his long, sharp canines visible as he approached Mary Rose and the humiliated Fenrir. The tone of his voice was smooth, almost casual, yet laced with poisonous arrogance.
Mary Rose turned to him, a similarly malicious smile on her lips, petting Fenrir's head as if she were a submissive pet. "Yes, it seems our little wolf has finally bowed to reality," she said, not even bothering to disguise the triumph in her voice.
The vampire looked at Fenrir with calculated interest. He stepped closer to her, observing her as if she were a new piece on a chessboard he already controlled. "Who would have thought that the feared daughter of Loki would end up like this? Subjugated... and now devoid of any trace of her former glory."
He crouched beside her, tilting her chin up with a cold, calculated touch, forcing her to meet his gaze. Fenrir, even while internally struggling, could not resist the spell. Her eyes were empty, lifeless, and a powerless fury burned deep within them, mingling with a growing sense of despair.
Mary Rose, still wearing a satisfied expression, walked around the two, savoring Fenrir's humiliation. "She was powerful, no doubt. But in the end, what is power if we cannot control it? Now, she will be useful in a... different way." Mary Rose's enigmatic smile never left her face, as if every word she spoke was part of a twisted game.
The vampire nodded, clearly pleased with the situation. "Everything is finally ready. Our hybrids are prepared, and now, with Fenrir by our side, nothing will stand in the way of our final assault." He chuckled softly, a hollow and chilling sound that echoed through the hall. "The final piece. A trump card that none of them will see coming."
Mary Rose crossed her arms, her smile widening even further. "And to think that she, the great Fenrir, would hesitate because of doubts about her father. A trickster god, and yet she worshiped him as if he were a hero. Pathetic."
"Come, it's time to fetch the last ingredient," Mary Rose said as a pink magic circle appeared beneath her feet.