I was Drafted Into a War as the Only Human

"Aghhh!"

Fenara let out a guttural snarl as another slash tore into her forearm. Blood welled up instantly, soaking into the striped fur along her bicep and splattering across the obsidian ground below. The sting of it burned like hot iron against her flesh, but she couldn't flinch—not now.

The tide of the battle had flipped.

Moments ago, Fenara had dominated the field—her brute strength and honed reflexes keeping her opponent on the back foot. Tara had been just another insect to swat.

Now?

Now she was being hunted.

Tara, cloaked in golden streaks and black blur, moved faster than Fenara's amber eyes could follow. Each time she blinked, another wound bloomed across her body. Only her raw animal instincts kept her alive—reflexes that had carried her through hundreds of battles. Without them, she'd have been decapitated long ago.

Still, she was bleeding. Deep, jagged lacerations marred her body—across her ribs, down her thighs, slicing through the fur on her shoulders. She was breathing harder now, her lungs aching, the metallic scent of her blood thick in her nostrils.

Fenara's head snapped side to side, scanning the battlefield for any sign of Tara. All she saw was chaos—generals clashing, magic erupting. Izzox zipped past in a blinding flash, locked in combat. The ground rumbled beneath the ogres' brawl nearby. And overhead, chunks of Atius' dismembered corpse still rained down like grotesque hail.

But Tara? Nowhere.

Her heart pounded in her chest—thud-thud-thud-fast and wild. She couldn't see Vorn, couldn't see the Human. They were behind her somewhere. Irrelevant now. Only Tara mattered.

Then—a flicker.

A glint of yellow and black distorted the air in front of her. It was barely visible, like a mirage in the desert, but Fenara saw it.

Her body reacted before her mind did—silver mana flooding her limbs, coating her muscles in raw defense. She raised her arms, bracing for the strike—

But it never came.

The blur stopped.

Tara stood there, mere inches away. Still. Completely still. Blood soaked her limbs, and her claws were raised but frozen in place. Her brown hair didn't move, and her snarl remained locked on her face. Her entire form looked paused like a statue mid-slash.

Fenara's breath hitched. Confusion crept in. Her fur bristled, and her instincts screamed.

But logic cut in first.

'She overheated... no one can move like that for long.'

Her arms slowly lowered. A dry, sharp laugh broke past her lips as the tension slipped from her shoulders.

"I guess this is the end for you, Tara." Her voice was a rasp of relief and cruelty. She grinned widely, teeth baring like a predator closing on a wounded rival. "I've wanted to kill you for a long time."

She reached out.

Her claws extended toward Tara's throat—slow, deliberate. But the second her fingers touched air, she froze.

Tara vanished.

Like smoke on the wind, her form dissolved.

"What?!" Fenara's voice cracked.

Cold panic rushed down her spine. She stood paralyzed for a moment, ears twitching, heart hammering.

Then it hit her—a pulse.

Not of mana. Not of thought.

Instinct.

Her animal instincts roared back to life, howling a warning she should never have ignored. A presence behind her. A shadow in her blind spot.

Her body turned in a desperate twist, silver hair whipping through the air—

But too late.

"That was an afterimage."

Tara's voice whispered from behind her. Calm. Confident. Absolute.

A burst of searing pain exploded through Fenara's shoulder.

She screamed.

Tara's mana-clad claws ripped clean through her right arm at the shoulder joint, severing it entirely in one elegant, brutal motion.

The limb flew in a spinning arc before slapping wetly against the ground several feet away.

Fenara stumbled forward, blood gushing from the gaping wound in steaming torrents. She fell to one knee, gasping, her vision swimming from the shock.

She looked back in disbelief.

Tara stood behind her, claws dripping, body pulsing with golden energy. Her chest rose and fell steadily. Her eyes, cold and unflinching, never left Fenara.

The predator had become prey.

Then Tara raised her claw—the same one still slick with Fenara's blood, the same one that had just torn through the beast queen's arm—and slowly brought it to her lips.

She took a long, deliberate lick.

"You taste good," she murmured, her tone laced with venomous mockery.

Tara was many things—warrior, tactician, survivor—but above all, she was petty. And she never let an opportunity to get back at someone slip through her claws.

Fenara didn't answer. She couldn't.

The once-proud queen of beasts now knelt on the ground, eyes wide with disbelief, mouth slightly ajar. Her silver mane hung over her face like a curtain of shame. Blood gushed from the mangled stump where her arm had once been, soaking into the black obsidian beneath her knees. Her body trembled—not from fear, but from raw shock.

Tara stepped forward, each footfall echoing on the cracked battlefield. She stopped just a few paces from the broken creature.

Fenara looked small now.

Kneeling.

Defeated.

Mortal.

'If she weren't such a savage... I might've felt bad for her,' Tara thought as her claws flexed by her side, still humming with mana.

"Goodbye, Fenara."

Tara's voice softened, almost mournful. Even after everything, a sliver of sorrow curled beneath her words.

She had never wanted to become a killer. But war didn't care what anyone wanted.

And then—

Something Tara never expected happened.

Fenara spoke.

Not to her.

Not in defiance.

But to the family she'd never see again.

"I'm sorry... Raekhar, Yshari, I won't be coming home to you today."

In her mind, she saw Yshari's small hands reaching for her claws, and Raekhar standing proudly beside their fire pit. She'd promised to return.

The words cracked. Shattered.

Tears streamed down the beast queen's fur-streaked face.

The once-fierce warrior, who had roared through a hundred battles, now wept like a mother, a wife, a soul who had just realized her story was ending.

Tara froze.

Only for a heartbeat.

Only for a breath.

But in that instant, the battlefield felt heavy. The chaos around them muted. The world narrowed to just the two of them—Tara and the dying queen.

A part of her wanted to stop. To show mercy.

But that part had no place in this war.

With a single, clean swipe, Tara's claw sliced through Fenara's neck.

The head dropped with a hollow thump against the obsidian.

Blood pooled, steam rising as it hissed against the scorched earth.

Tara stood in silence, staring down at what remained of her enemy.

Then she looked skyward. The heavens offered no comfort, only clouds of ash and war.

'This war... this endless bloodshed...

I don't think I'll ever get used to it.'

"I'm sorry, Fenara," she whispered. "You were a great warrior... but today, you had the unfortunate circumstances of pissing me off."

With a final glance, Tara turned away from the fallen queen and set her eyes on the distant cliff, where battle raged and fate awaited.

She walked toward it, clawed hands dripping red, heart heavier than before.