The Apocalyptic Queen's Werewolf Journey (Thora and Darius) novel Chapter 142

**Shadows Hearts by Joseph King**
**Chapter 142: Something Is Wrong With You**

As soon as Tristan’s voice rang out, the atmosphere shifted dramatically.

“Oh!” a collective gasp echoed through the crowd, a mix of excitement and disbelief.

“Boss, don’t chicken out! Take him down!” someone shouted, their enthusiasm infectious.

“Tristan, seriously? You want to go one-on-one with Boss again? Didn’t the last match hurt enough?” another voice chimed in, laced with both concern and amusement.

Werewolves thrived on the thrill of combat. The adrenaline coursed through their veins like wildfire, igniting their spirits. These warriors lived for the exhilarating rush that made their hearts race and their senses sharpen.

So, when Tristan boldly tossed down the gauntlet, the crowd erupted into a frenzy, their primal instincts awakened and eager for a showdown.

Thora, who had seamlessly integrated herself into this fierce pack, found herself caught up in the excitement. She had begun to share jokes and banter, her laughter ringing out and binding her closer to the group, making her feel like one of them.

Shirley narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing Tristan. Something about him felt off, an unsettling undercurrent that sent a shiver down her spine. Even during training sessions, his gaze seemed to linger on Thora, a strange fixation that didn’t sit right with her.

Tristan flashed a grin, bright and playful, his charm radiating like the sun.

With a confident stride, he stepped forward, grounding himself, and tilted his chin in a challenge. It was a blatant provocation, an invitation that stirred something deep within Thora.

A rush of heat flooded through her, and her brows furrowed in determination. She shifted her weight, her fists instinctively clenching, ready for the impending clash.

Without a single word exchanged, they both dialed back their wolf power, opting instead for the raw, unadulterated skill of combat that defined their kind.

The air around them thickened with tension, and the crowd fell silent, anticipation hanging heavily. Tristan struck first, his movements a blur, swift and calculated.

In an instant, they were entwined in a dance of fury, moving with a speed that left the onlookers breathless. Each strike was sharp and precise, each dodge executed flawlessly. To the spectators, they were mere shadows, flickering in and out of existence.

Luke, ever the tech-savvy observer, flipped open his laptop, positioning the camera to capture the unfolding duel.

As the fight progressed, every movement replayed on his screen in slow motion, dissected frame by frame with a clarity that left the audience captivated.

A line of spectators behind him were glued to the spectacle, their eyes darting between the live action and the mesmerizing slow-motion replay.

“This is insane… It’s even more precise than any textbook could illustrate,” one of them murmured, awestruck.

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