Silver Fang Sutra: The Doctor of WarChapter 31: Legion of AshThe night held its breath.The Harbingers were gone—nothing but dust and black ash scattered on the snow. Yet their death did not bring peace. The wolves felt it. A wrongness in the air. The silence was not victory. It was waiting.Azael’s Alpha form flickered, the silver fire dimming as he forced himself back into flesh. His body shuddered with exhaustion, but his eyes burned brighter than ever.Lyra approached, her armor cracked, her blade nothing more than jagged steel. She swallowed hard.“We’ve seen the worst they could send… haven’t we?”Azael shook his head slowly, his voice like a growl.“No. That was a warning. The Council doesn’t just want me dead—they want my howl erased. And for that, they will send their Legion.”The Sutra hissed, words burning in his mind.Legion of Ash. Where they march, forests burn. Where they camp, rivers run red. They are not soldiers. They are plague.In the Halls of the NineFar away,

Silver Fang Sutra: The Doctor of WarChapter 33: The Ashen ExecutionerThe battlefield was silent still, nothing left but the smell of scorched glass and wolf blood. The Legion of Ash was gone—erased by the Alpha blaze.But no one celebrated.The wolves staggered through the ruins, dragging the wounded, whispering prayers. They had won, yes—but the cost was clear. They had seen what Azael truly was. Not just Alpha. Not just Fang. But something closer to a god of ruin.Lyra stood beside him, her face pale in the moonlight.“You burned them all.”Azael’s claws twitched. His breath still smoked silver.“They forced my hand.”The Sutra hissed softly in his skull, no longer triumphant but wary.You have revealed too much. The Nine will not send another Legion. They will send precision. They will send him.The Council’s ChamberThe Nine gathered in their obsidian hall.The bull-mask slammed his fist in fury. “The Legion fell! Entire cohorts erased!”The raven croaked bitterly. “By his fire.

Silver Fang Sutra: The Doctor of WarChapter 35: The Howl That Breaks ChainsThe axe hung above Azael, dripping fire and silence.The wolves held their breath. The Executioner loomed, chains alive, runes burning like wounds in the night.And then—Azael roared.No, not a roar. A howl.It tore through the air like lightning splitting stone, a sound so raw it made the forest bow. Trees shook. Snow shattered into shards. Wolves dropped to their knees, ears pressed flat, tears streaming from their eyes.The Executioner’s axe froze mid-swing.The Power of the HowlSilver fire erupted with the howl, spreading in a shockwave that tore the chains from his arms. The runes screamed as they cracked, bursting into sparks.The Executioner staggered for the first time, cloak flaring as if choking on the sound.The Sutra hissed, its voice exalted.Yes, Fang! The silence bends to the howl. Chains cannot bind what sings with the moon.The howl deepened, rising into the sky, calling every wolf for miles

Silver Fang Sutra: The Doctor of WarChapter 37: Trial of the ThreeThe Shadow FallsDarkness swallowed the valley.The raven’s wings stretched wide, blotting out the dim sun. His staff dripped black feathers that turned to blades mid-air, slicing through stone as if it were soft bark.The serpent hissed, its mask glowing green, its chains moving like living vipers, striking, coiling, poisoning the ground itself. Grass shriveled where they touched.The bull cracked its molten gauntlet against its chest, sparks flying. Each stomp split the ground, quakes racing outward.The pack staggered back, instincts screaming to flee. Wolves were predators, but before gods, they were prey.Azael stepped forward, silver fire roaring higher, his eyes burning brighter than the night. His claws flexed, gleaming with a light that cut through shadow.Lyra stood at his side, blade trembling but steady.“Three of them… and only one of you.”He growled, voice low. “Not one. One and a pack.”The Wolves’ How

Silver Fang Sutra: The Doctor of WarChapter 39: The March of the NineThe Ashen DawnMorning never came.The valley lay drowned in shadow, the horizon choked with smoke. Where once stood forests and ridges, only charred ruins remained—testament to the night when gods fell.Three masks shattered.Three divine hunters erased.The wolves gathered in silence around the ruins. Some licked wounds. Some dug graves. Others simply stared at their Alpha with eyes that no longer knew where awe ended and fear began.Azael stood apart, his body still trembling from the forbidden howl. His claws dripped silver fire, but his face was pale, hollow. The Sutra pulsed in his skull like a living wound.Lyra approached, limping, her armor cracked, burns still smoking. She looked at him—not as a warrior, but as a witness.“You stood against three. You broke them. But the howl hasn’t stopped ringing in my bones. The