by Kindred Ult
The werewolf slammed into the flat of the blade, with its chest. Such an impact would have taken the breath away from a lesser creature, but this one barely seemed to notice. It pulled its arms back and tried to latch onto Leon, but he rolled back and placed his feet on the bottom on his sword. The sword came up from the ground under the werewolf, and the force of Leon's roll sent the werewolf over him, making it land on its back a few feet away from him. It quickly leapt to its feet, but then it was forced to lunge back as Leon slashed at it. He did not return to his defensive stance as he would normally have attempted, but he kept swinging, using the back swing of each attack as a fold for the next one. The werewolf was forced back and, as it felt that it was beginning to lose momentum, growled fiercely while its eyes shone bright red again. Leon swung horizontally, but it leapt over his swing and landed behind him, he spun around with another sweeping strike, but it wasn't in his range. It had leapt back before he even turned, and now he was over extended and it leapt for him.
It seemed that there was nothing Leon could do to avoid his fate, his sword was past his center, and the momentum of his strike would carry it past him, but then he slammed his foot into the ground and stopped his sword's movement completely. He shifted to the side and spun away from the werewolf, turning the spin to a swinging strike. The werewolf was still amazed at Leon's feat, but it was also a second class. It saw the sword spin towards its torso and at the last second it lifted its feet and caught the edge of the sword on its claws, flicking its toes and forcing itself over the sword with the two of them barely making contact. It sailed past Leon and his sword sailed under it. It knew that it would hit the ground, dodge his next attack, and drink his blood. It never saw Leon suddenly stop his sword in mid-swing once again and swing back. He sliced through its torso and it was too paralyzed to land properly. It flopped on the ground and the shoved his sword into its back with a grin.
"Shouldn't have given up you intelligence for strength."
Meanwhile, the four Feral werewolves charged Niethel and Sophella because they seemed the weakest of the group. One fell in mid-lope and rolled before sprawling on the ground. It never saw the arrow enter between its ribs and pierce its heart. Another was almost close enough to pounce, but a skeletal hand burst from the ground and latched onto its hind-leg and it fumbled and fell to the ground as well. It turned to attack the hand, but then another burst from the ground and grabbed one of its forearms. Another hand grabbed its other leg, and more and more hands burst from the ground and latched onto it until in the end it was pinned to the ground. One last hand wrapped itself around its snout so that it could not bark or growl.
Sophella grinned at her handiwork, but then her face morphed to one of fear as she saw another werewolf launch itself through the air at her. Even as she started to dodge, she knew that she could not get away in time. Niethel saw her predicament and spent valuable time pivoting and releasing the arrow he had held in his taught bowstring. The arrow launched through the air and buried itself in the werewolf's neck. He realized what this action had cost him, though, when he turned to see the last werewolf far too close to him to shoot. He cursed, dropped his bow, and pulled his sword and dirk out even though he doubted it would do him any good. He was a good sword fighter, but this was a second class, so he knew that he, a fourth class, had almost no chance. The werewolf did not bother leaping, it just ran at him, intent on ripping him to shreds, but then it stiffened, and whimpered as the tip of Demenn's spear came out of its mouth like a new tongue. Niethel had to move to dodge the werewolf, but he quickly ran back and cut off its head just to make sure it was dead. He gave a sigh of relief and nodded gratefully towards Demenn before going to help Sophella with the last werewolf that was still pinned to the ground.
Varus was still battling the second class, and both of them seemed evenly matched, with neither of them being able to gain the advantage over the other. They continued to exchange blows as fast as they could from only a couple of feet away. Varus tried as hard as he could and managed to fight on the same level as the second class, which amazed him, but he knew that time was something none of them could afford to waste. He realized that traditional attacks would not work in this fight, so when the second class swung down, instead of blocking it with his shield he knelt down on one knee and tried to block it with his blade tilted upwards.
The tilt of his blade took most of the strength from the werewolf's attack and sent it to the side. The sword slid down Varus's blade until it reached his hand guard, and that was when he felt its strength. His arm buckled under the power and the werewolf's sword continued until it slashed into his right shoulder. Varus grunted in pain, but then he swiftly stood up and shot his left up as hard and fast as he could, not as a block, but as an attack. The edge of his shield slammed into the werewolf's jaw with a crack, and several smaller cracks abounded as many teeth left their rightful foundations. Varus took advantage of the werewolf's pain and swiftly brought his sword, which was also silver, up as well. His sword opened up the werewolf's stomach cavity and then he slashed once more and cut the werewolf in half.
Even before his opponent's upper half hit the ground, Demenn decapitated another werewolf with his sword. Now there was only one werewolf, and it was a fifth class. It stared at all of those around it and finally realized its situation. Before anyone could stop it, it turned and ran away, howling at the top of its lungs. It tried to go back to the lair, but as it ran it failed to notice the figure at its feet until Lidian's scimitar sliced out its voice box and buried itself into its chest.
Despite the silencing of the werewolf, it was far too late. The howl had been heard by every werewolf within several miles and certainly by all of those in the lair. In seconds a cacophony of howls echoed across the hills and the woods. Demenn and his squad looked at each other and quickly went about gathering the hearts of the fallen. Once the hearts were either devoured or saved, they ran off in the direction of the vampire border with renewed vigor.
Inside the lair, Brand had been walking in the caverns when he heard the howl. He instinctively knew what it meant and he quickly morphed into his first class form. He was grateful he had not worn any clothes this time, but that he had had the presence of mind to keep his new great sword and small sword with him. As he ran towards the twisting caves that led to the entrance, he knew that he was the first to answer the call. That call, the call of intruders.
"This should be fun." He chuckled to himself.
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Brand burst from Stone Wolf's mouth and looked around, when he could not see or hear anyone, he turned back to Stone Wolf.
"What happened here Stone?"
"It was quite spectacular, about seven vampires just found me and killed some fifteen werewolves before running away when the last werewolf sounded the alarm. This is more fun than I've had in a long time, and now there's fifteen less werewolves on this earth." Stone Wolf sounded rather happy, but that was unsurprising to Brand, who had spent awhile talking with it and had figured out that no love was lost between it and his race.
Brand chuckled slightly at Stone Wolf's bluntness. "Would you mind telling me where the vampires went off to?"
"Yes."
"Alright then, thanks for the help." Brand tried to sound cheerful as he rolled his eyes and guessed which way they went. He gave his best estimate and immediately started sprinting in that direction. He knew that, if he had chosen correctly, he would catch up to them soon. There was just no way a vampire could outrun a werewolf, let alone a first class. He just hoped that he had made the correct choice.
In a few moments, catching the faintest scent of vampire vindicated his decision. When he had been an elf, he had trained himself to search out vampires and werewolves with his nose, and since becoming a werewolf his senses had been expended to an even greater degree. He could tell that the vampires had taken measures to hide their scent, but they must h
ave done it swiftly, because he could tell exactly where they were. He growled and crashed through the foliage as he increased his pace. He grinned to himself once again, now there was no hope for them. They would be sighted and subsequently hunted down, attacked, and slaughtered. He might have felt sorry for them if they were humans, but as it was he knew what they were, and all he felt for them was the cold appreciation of the hunter for the hunted.
He was getting close now, so close that he could almost see them. He was thankful that the wind was heading towards him, since it was allowing him to become far closer than he normally would have been able to. Even with this, though, he was still only able to get them within sight before they noticed him. He could tell that they knew he was behind them by their quickened pace and erratic movements, so he growled and stopped trying to be subtle. He quickened his pace and bashed a small tree out of his way.
None of the vampires said anything, but Brand got the impression that they were communicating, he could not understand why, but something in their movements indicated it. Without warning, the front six abruptly split and began running in different directions, while the one in back stopped, turned, and drew a scimitar from her sheath. It was apparent that she was his deterrent, but Brand was not interested in catching one, he wanted them all. He tried to run past her, but right as he did she spun and sliced out the back of his right knee. His tendons separated, and for a moment Brand lost all control of his right leg and crashed into the ground. He lay there for a moment, but in seconds his tendons re-knit themselves and he leapt to his feet just in time to dodge her finishing blow.
Brand realized that this vampire was too powerful to be ignored, and that he would have to face and defeat her before catching the others. As he paced her, he realized that he had been foolish in his urgency. Now that he had all of their scents, he could easily hunt each of them down later, after he had killed this one. This fight would be interesting; it was the first time he had fought a second class vampire.
The vampire was playing a delaying game; she was not trying to attack him. Brand had to initiate combat, so he jabbed out with his left hand. She ducked under the strike and sliced above her, cutting across his wrist. Blood flowed from his arm, but he ignored the minimal pain and kicked out with his right leg. She stepped to the inside and stabbed behind her back, placing a hole in his calf, before disengaging her scimitar and stepping forward to slice at his stomach. He would have tried to dodge, but at this point he did not care. The scimitar sliced along his stomach, and at the last second she twisted sharply and sent it up his ribcage.
He respected her style; the curve of the scimitar allowed her to slice and cut without worrying about getting her weapon caught on bones or clothes. Unfortunately, the way she fought with it would not cause him any serious injuries with his healing factor. Even now his wrist had closed up, and the blood in his calf was already clotting. He swiftly cocked his left arm under his shoulder and threw out an uppercut. She was prepared for the retaliation, and leapt back, but she was not prepared for his other hand that he had placed behind her. He grabbed on to her back and dug his claws into her. She did not scream with pain, but he saw her face contort as he lifted her into the air and slammed her into the ground. He lifted her up again and smashed her into the ground a second time, a rock caught in her face and he saw blood squirt onto the ground. Without hesitating, he brought her up again and smashed her down, then again. After the fifth slam she sagged in his grip, and he could feel his claws penetrating her lungs. She stopped moving, and he turned his hand over to see her face. Her eyes were closed and she was like a rag doll. It was amazing that she was still holding her scimitar.
Brand brought her up to him to look at her. She was bloody all over, and her once-beautiful face was full of contusions and split open with wounds. He was about to discard her when he eyes suddenly flew open and she lifted her scimitar with both hands. The blade was facing down, with the curve facing away from him. She was too close, and her sword was right above his heart. Before Brand could do anything she yelled and stabbed down with her scimitar. Brand saw it head for his chest, and he knew that he would die. Then something strange happened, Lidian's scimitar was one inch too close to her, and the tip of it landed just outside of his collarbone, causing the rest of the blade to merely slice his collarbone, and not to penetrate into his heart. The scimitar came down in front of his body, and she looked at him in despair as her weapon slid almost harmlessly off of him. He grinned before punching her in the face once more, throwing her to the side, and running after the rest of the vampires.
Lidian lay where she had landed for a few minutes. Despite her last attack, the werewolf had completely beaten her, and it had done it easily. She could not move a single muscle in her body, and she knew that she was dying. There was nothing she could do for her friends anymore, except for one thing. She reached into her mind and retrieved that one spell they had taught her. Her mouth quivered and trembled as she tried to pronounce the words once but failed, she steeled herself and pronounced it right the second time. Her mind transported to a spot a hundred miles away where a ten-foot tall human and another, shorter, human. She stood in front of them in her mind, and they recognized her.
"Lidian?" The tall one asked, incredulously.
"Triplecorpse Hammerblow, Jacques." Memories flowed over her, but that was all she was able to say through her spell before Paw and Claw found her and cut off her head. The two of them looked at each other.
"Wanna' just split the heart?" Paw offered.
Claw sighed. "I guess that'd be best. I'd hate to hafta' kill ya'."
"Yea, it's the same over here." They cut out her heart, sliced it in half, and devoured it with relish. They underwent a change, but neither of them were second classes now.
Meanwhile, the two humans stared at each other. Then the tall one picked up his gigantic hammer and put another slab of chewing tobacco into his mouth, and the smaller one began chanting a spell while collecting knives. Once he was done a portal appeared in front of them, and without a word they stepped into it. Lidian's work was done.
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Demenn ran in the forest to that place all of them had agreed to meet at. He knew that Lidian was probably already dead, and the knowledge filled him with grief. She had been one of his few friends, and now she was giving up her own life in an effort to save his. Unfortunately, his sorrow was tempered by his knowledge that both he and also all of his other friends might soon die as well. As much as it pained him, he would have to mourn her death later. She had done her part, though he had wanted to stay behind, and those still alive would be able to meet in the agreed position soon. Demenn had been running slower just in case she had won, but now he forced himself to speed up his gait. With each step he felt as if he were leaving her behind, which was not far from the truth. He had to abandon her, though, because the vampires had to be informed of the whereabouts of the werewolf lair, otherwise all of their deaths would be in vain.
"I will never forget you Lidian," He whispered to the night sky. "Not even when I am dead."
Still, even with her sacrifice, it seemed like the situation was untenable. Howls emanated from every side, and even more came from behind him. More werewolves had heard the warning howl, heard the previous howls, or caught their scents; and they were beginning the chase.
'Just a little longer.' He was almost there; he just hoped that the others would be there as well. He ran until he saw the large rock and stopped at it. For a moment, he was afraid because none of the others were there, but then he saw them begin to appear. In a few moments all six of them were there, and all of them were aware that Lidian was probably dead by now. Demenn was about to order them all to start running, but then he realized that the howls were now coming from every direction. There was nowhere to run to, and they would soon be hunted down and slaughtered. He did not wait for Sophella to set up the mind link be
fore he started ordering.
"Sophella, I need to warp as far away from here as you can and take as many of us with you as possible. Can you handle that?" Demenn was panting.
Sophella, now a third class, did not hesitate. "Of course, but I can only take one person with me, any more and either I or one of them might die."
Leon and Raphael, both second classes since Varus had given his to Raphael, immediately said that they would not leave the other.
