“Pazri! Raxen! The Bloodmoon Alpha! He just stole the primordial tablet!” Brinnel’s shriek ripped through the charged air of the vault, dissolving the lingering sweetness of the mate-bond. Raxen rose from one knee with a rasping snarl that shook the flagstones. Golden irises locked onto the ruined archway, then cut to Pazri's face, nostrils flaring as his claws bit into the carpet. He moved with a speed that blurred, scooping Pazri into his arms as if she weighed nothing, his grip firm but careful. “Hold tight, Archival Anchor. We hunt.” Brinnel, already a blur of mottled grey fur and sharp teeth, was halfway down the corridor. “He's heading for the central gallery! Smelled his ash-trail—he's rigging the resonance spires!” Raxen lunged ahead, tucking Pazri beneath his collarbone like stolen parchment. The Velisario Archives swept past in smears of mahogany shelving, iron grates, and disturbed dust. Pazri could feel the thrum of his rage, the primal need to reclaim what was his, amplified by their new, complete bond. His thoughts were a roaring torrent in her mind: *Bloodmoon filth. Touch what is ours. Sever his hand. Flay his hide. Protect Archival Anchor. Always.* The telepathic anchor hummed cold behind Pazri's temples, drowning out her habitual urge to crawl under a reading desk. The pack-link, once a cacophony, was now a disciplined chorus, every wolf in the Kargath Pack a focused extension of Raxen’s will, and by extension, hers. She could sense the distant, frantic pulses of the Vuska Claws, still crumpled outside the vault door, and the surging, arrogant power of the Bloodmoon Alpha ahead. They broke into the rotunda, where green gaslight and fractured glass illuminated tiers of chained codices rising four stories high. At the center, atop the inlaid tiles depicting Mirefall's founding, stood a colossal figure. The Bloodmoon Alpha, an eight-foot brute matted in charcoal fur and notched hide, hoisted the slab of carved whalebone aloft. Its carved surface pulsed with an angry, amethyst glare that crept toward the stone drain-spouts perched on the high ledges. “The communication nexus,” Pazri whispered, understanding dawning. “He’s going to hijack the city’s network, broadcast his dominance, turn us all into Bloodmoon pawns.” The rival Alpha's head snapped toward them, teeth bared in a grease-stained grin. “The little Thought-Thief, come to witness the end of her Alpha’s reign.” He sneered, then his gaze fell on the Vuska Claws, who were slowly, painfully, rising from the floor where Raxen’s pack-link had pinned them. “And the Kargath’s useless she-wolves. You failed to eliminate the human.” Sylas, the leader of the Vuska Claws, snarled, her eyes still clouded with pain and confusion. “Our powers… they are gone. We cannot shift, we cannot command.” “Gone because I commanded it so,” Pazri said, her voice quiet but ringing through the vast space. Raxen gently set her down, a low growl rumbling in his chest, a clear warning to Torvin to keep his distance. Pazri met Sylas’s venomous glare, and a thought, cold and precise, unfurled in her mind, a command amplified by the new bond, resonating through every Kargath wolf. *Kneel. Remember your place. Remember your oath.* The three she-wolves, attempting to rise, pitched forward instead. Their kneecaps struck the tiles with dull cracks, teeth grinding as the mental clamp drove them down. Their tendons seized, flattening their foreheads against cold ceramic. They whimpered against the tile, helpless under the mental weight. Brinnel, seeing the opening, moved with the swift, deadly grace of a true assassin. Sylas, still trapped in her forced genuflection, could only gasp as Brinnel’s half-wolf fist connected with her jaw. The crack was sickeningly loud in the sudden silence. Sylas crumpled, unconscious, her body twitching once before settling. The other Vuska Claws remained, helplessly prostrated. Torvin stared down at Pazri, his jowls twitching. “You… you stripped them of their gifts? A human?!” His outrage warred with a flash of fear. “This changes nothing.” He pointed a clawed finger at Pazri. “The Archives will consume you first.” With a guttural roar, Torvin struck his free palm against the floor. The glow from the relic surged into the masonry above. A granite waterspout carved like a winged hound cracked free from the upper balustrade. Mortar rained over the walkways as the effigy plummeted directly toward Pazri. Cursed luminescence burned in its hollow sockets, claws poised to cave in her skull. Pazri reached reflexively for an inkpot that wasn't there. Her legs refused to pivot away in time. But before she could even flinch, Raxen was a golden blur. He launched himself, not at Torvin, but directly into the path of the plummeting gargoyle. He met the stone beast mid-air, a feral roar tearing from his lungs. The collision shook the rotunda with the crunch of pulverized granite. Raxen didn’t just intercept it; he *shattered* it. His bare claws shredded the granite beast's ribbing, reducing its skull to gravel that pattered across the tiles. Raxen dropped down through the powder, pads silent against the floor, amber gaze locked on the intruder. Black veins webbed Raxen's neck as his shoulders broadened. The Bloodmoon Alpha stumbled back half a pace, but had no room to pivot. Raxen closed the distance across the floor before the dust settled. He drove inside the bigger wolf's reach, catching the throat-guard in his claws. The rival leader hauled up the arm bearing the artifact in frantic warding. Raxen’s teeth, elongated and sharp, met bone. A scream tore from the giant's maw as Raxen twisted with the full torque of his spine. The rival's arm, still gripping the slab, tore loose at the socket in a shower of black-red marrow. Torvin stumbled backward, clamping a palm over his mangled shoulder while his severed arm tumbled onto the stone. He roared, a sound of agony and impotent rage, collapsing to his knees. “The tablet!” Brinnel shouted, already moving to intercept the falling limb. Pazri, her mind racing, ignored the brutal spectacle. This was her chance. Her true goal. The artifact spun loose across the floor, its lilac luminescence bleeding over the tiles. She sprinted, not towards the safety Raxen offered, but towards the glowing relic. Pazri's fingers clamped around the bone plate, ignoring the slick gore coating its edges. The runes, now permanently etched into her own skin, pulsed in response, a fierce, hungry demand for control. She closed her eyes, focusing, pouring every ounce of her will, every shred of her enhanced telepathy, into the tablet. The purple glare sputtered, meeting an azure flare from her palms. Her mind became a conduit, overriding the ancient magic, bending it to her will. A piercing whine vibrated through the iron rafters as the current surged. The relic, rejecting the double strain, splintered along its center furrow. Hairline fractures, glowing with volatile, explosive energy, snaked across its surface, growing wider, deeper, threatening to vaporize the entire Archive.

Gargoyles and Glitches