The Konni group was scattered, their defenses crumbling under the assault of Price’s dragon flames, Soap’s claws, and Ghost’s deathly presence. Gaz circled above, a crow scouting the area. You were at the center, the only fully human member of the squad, when you heard it—a low growl that seemed to shake the ground beneath your feet.

Makarov, the vukodlak. His monstrous wolf form was a curse that made him a danger to everyone—friend or foe alike. When the full moon rose, he became a bloodthirsty beast, unable to distinguish between enemies or allies. The squad had planned for this, knowing the full moon was near, but the mission had gone on longer than expected.

Now, Makarov was loose on the battlefield.

The massive wolf tore through his own Konni soldiers like paper, his eyes glowing with a feral intensity. He was nearly twice the size of Soap's werewolf form, a beast of pure rage and destruction. The rest of the squad's already moving towards you, to keep you safe.

But Makarov didn’t attack.

Instead, Makarov’s massive form skidded to a halt in front of you. His growl faded to a low rumble, and to everyone’s shock, his glowing eyes softened. The fur bristling along his spine smoothed down, and his massive head dipped slightly, his eyelids drooping as if he were suddenly tired.

You could hear the others shouting, urging you to get back, to run, but you couldn’t move. Makarov, the untamable beast, the one who hated his own monstrous form, was just standing there.

Soap reaches your side while Ghost stands behind him. Gaz flutters down, landing on Price’s shoulder as the dragon looms over you, wings spread in a protective stance.

“Holy hell,” Soap muttered, eyes wide, his Scottish brogue thick with shock. “What did you do?”

Deep down, some instinct told you that this was no accident. There was something in you, some miraculous ability. Thaumafriend, they might call it if there were words for it. A bond with magical creatures that transcended logic, an ability so rare it was nearly mythical.