Werewolf: Requiem

by Greg Hair

  Landon shifted; the nude red-head approached the scene.

  “Let ‘em go,” he said.

  “Let me go,” replied the visibly scared vampire. The Yorkie yapped incessantly.

  “You know I can’t do that. You know I won’t. Let them go, and I’ll make it quick. I promise.”

  “I think I’ll hold onto them.”

  “Please,” said the young, mortal man, clinging to the woman at his side. “We’ll pay you well.”

  For a second, Landon thought he recognized the couple, then refocused.

  “I’m going to count,” began Landon, “and then you’re going to die.”

  “You wouldn’t dare risk their lives,” said the vampire.

  “Ready?”

  “No, please,” begged the young man.

  “Please, help us,” cried the woman. “Don’t let him—“

  “One.”

  In a flash, Landon shifted, the panicked vampire pushing the couple to the ground, and turning to run. The werewolf sailed through the air, tens of yards, landing on the vampire’s back, the bloodsucker’s head soon resting on the ground next to the now-quiet, shaking Yorkie.

  Landon looked back, through his red eyes, his burning vision, and realized he knew who the couple was, the young, incredibly beautiful, brunette woman, and her young, blond-haired prince.

  Three to go, he thought. With no time to spare, and already losing minutes with the hostage negotiation, Landon sprinted east, down Birdcage Walk, when he spotted two werewolves: one climbing Big Ben, the other racing along the roof of the Palace of Westminster.

  Figuring that the one running along Parliament had a greater of escape, he raced toward the edifice of the governmental house and scaled.

  Cutting the other werewolf off before he could jump to the adjacent street, Landon grabbed him and impaled him, face up, on one of the many spires that dotted the façade. A flood of blood gushed down the building. Landon then turned his attention to the famous clock tower.

  Running along the roof of the Palace, picking up speed with each breath, Landon reached the edge of the current building and pushed off, propelled himself skyward. He flew through the night air, and grabbed the minute hand with his large claws.

  The next werewolf had ascended the Neo-Gothic tower, and perched, waiting for his pursuer, nearer the top, by the bell itself. Pieces of Big Ben crumbled, falling to the gathering crowd of onlookers below, as he climbed, racing to the top. Sirens wailed, and blue lights flashed, all over London, some approaching his position.

  The werewolf by the bell grabbed Landon’s head, throwing him into the massive bell, ringing it, the chime echoing across the city.

  Landon stumbled, his head ringing like the bell, his red vision, blurred and doubled. He aimed for the center, between the two perceived werewolves standing before him.

  Landon and his prey flew out of the tower. Falling toward the ground, he positioned himself above the other werewolf, and shaped his body like a rocket heading for Earth.

  The two werewolves hit the street at the bottom of Big Ben like a bunker-busting bomb, pieces of pavement flying in all directions, a cloud of dust engulfing the crowd for yards.

  As the fog of particulates began to clear, one large, red-furred arm reached out of the crater, then the other. Landon slowly pulled himself out. He staggered slightly, falling to all fours. Looking at the Londoners circled around him, he shook off the dust and dirt.

  Suddenly, he shot up to an erect position and let out a powerful howl. Most of the crowd took off, some froze. Landon lumbered away from the pit, leaving the other werewolf, dead and broken, inside.

  One to go.

  He focused, feeling and smelling the air. A charge. A vampire remained.

  Following the strength of the electricity, he headed east again, ending at Tower Bridge. The lone vampire waited for him on the top span between the two towers.

  In seconds, Landon climbed the nearest cable, sailed over the tower, and stood, facing his opponent.

  “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” asked the vampire.

  The werewolf nodded.

  “Do I even stand a chance?”

  Landon shook his head.

  “Then do it,” the vampire said, extending his arms outward, leaning his head back, eyes closed.

  Landon lunged forward, slicing through the man’s torso, the vampire exploding into hundreds of pieces. His blood and body parts rained down, some onto the traffic that sat motionless on the bridge, watching the scene above, the rest into the River Thames.

  Landon again howled at the stars and moon above, then raced away.

  Several minutes later, he rejoined Ryker and the others at the nightclub, Twilight Zone.

  “Did you catch them?” asked the Dane.

  “Yeah. How badly is the city damaged?”

  “Like a war zone.”

  “We lose any of ours?”

  “Two young ones.”

  “It’s time to move,” said Landon. “We’re nearly there.”

  Ryker whistled and the Venetian Army closed ranks, following the Consuls out of London, heading north.

  One hour, and five-hundred miles later, Landon and his force neared the top of the hills that surrounded Loch Awe. He sent ahead of them, a cadre of musicians, playing The Gael, heralding their arrival.

  “Why are you doing that?” asked Ryker.

  “They already know we’re here. I’m just making an entrance. And letting them know an ass-kicking is coming.”

  Reaching the perch, Landon looked down to see hundreds gathered below. Many more than he had calculated on being there. Nicholas and Jamie stood near the back, close to the castle.

  Landon turned around and faced his people.

  “No one leaves here until this valley, this lake, is a sea of blood!”

  He turned again to face the waiting enemy below.

  “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 31: Requiem

  Waiting at the bottom of the hill were the villagers who had been taken a couple of nights earlier, the first wave in Nicholas’ sea of destruction.

  A light fog began drifting in from the loch, settling around the castle and the open field. The air cooled.

  “All those people look scared to death,” said Ryker, as he, Landon, and the hundreds behind them descended.

  Landon surveyed the crowd before him, noting each face. Some cried; others linked arms, as if facing down death together. Most were shaking; others stood petrified. A few fainted when Landon and his army reached the bottom, standing only one-hundred yards away. All were obviously scared.

  Nicholas wasted no time in beginning the battle.

  “Villagers!” he cried, from far behind his force. “Attack!”

  Landon watched as Nicholas’ front ranks convulsed with fear, sweat dripping from their faces.

  Nicholas said nothing more.

  “They’re not doing anything,” Ryker said.

  “That’s because they don’t want,” said Landon, suddenly waving his arms, motioning for the villagers to run over. “Hurry, everyone! Come with us! Come on, we can protect you!”

  Quickly, all the townspeople sprinted to Landon’s side. Landon estimated close to two-hundred, then realized it wasn’t even a quarter of what Nicholas had. He had so many.

  “Well, that was easy,” said Ryker.

  “Yeah, it was. Does that worry you, at all?”

  Landon saw Nicholas, standing about five-hundred yards away, perfectly. The first werewolf smiled.

  “Something’s not right,” said Landon.

  Suddenly, Nicholas gave a loud whistle, and the remainder of his entire army, in a wave, shifted, or flashed their fangs and blue vampire eyes.

  The villagers that had been enclosed within Landon’s ranks, mixed and mingled in his forces, screamed, then dropped to the cold, Scottish ground.

  Landon looked behind, at all the bodies that writhed and contorted among the heathe
r.

  “Oh, my God,” he said. “This is their first shift. This was planned, Ryker. He and Jamie are going to control them, and attack us from within.”

  “How long do we have? What do we do?”

  “About another minute.” Landon’s mind raced for an answer to the second question. “There is no easy solution. We already know what we have to do. Damn him,” he said, looking back at Nicholas, who was laughing.

  From the ground, werewolves began to rise, seemingly attempting to resist, but unable to stop.

  “Kill ‘em all!” screamed Landon.

  His troops looked at him, as if he were crazy, then, reluctantly, did as ordered. There really was no choice.

  Villagers, new werewolves, were slaughtered left and right. A few fought back, controlled mentally by Nicholas and Jamie. Landon and Ryker watched.

  “Wait a minute,” said the Dane.

  “I know it’s unpleasant, but—“

  “That’s not what I mean.” Ryker looked back, seeing Nicholas’ army walking slowly toward them, advancing.

  “Shit, he’s got us preoccupied,” said Landon.

  “Charge!” Nicholas screamed, sending his forces running, werewolves and vampires at great speeds, like a great rolling tide, into Landon’s army.

  Landon shifted, and roared, calling his army to battle. He then barreled through the coming onslaught, cutting a swath toward Nicholas, and Jamie.

  Ryker stayed behind, bracing himself for the tidal wave heading his way. He stretched his arms in front of him, palms facing outward, when the coming crowd was only a few yards away. Then, the Consul Vampire flexed his mental muscle and, with his telekinesis, parted the sea, splitting the werewolves and vampires, causing them to continue their advancement around him, leaving his body untouched.

  With one arm still outstretched, almost creating an invisible force field around him, he focused with his other hand, on his enemies. Immediately, hearts, both vampire and werewolf, began flying out of chests, their former casings running a few more feet then dropping to the ground, and flew toward the castle like cannonballs, pounding and exploding upon the gray walls.

  The Dane then looked up and shot skyward, like a rocket heading for the moon. From high above the low-lying cloud below, he randomly drew his enemies toward him, through the air, ripping their throats out, then letting their bodies fall back to battle below. He looked down to see Alessandro making his stand.

  Alessandro, found himself standing within a circling ring of werewolves, when one suddenly took a swipe at his torso, ripping his shirt off, leaving deep gashes in his chest. The Venetian vampire healed immediately, then crouched to the ground, eyes closed.

  The werewolves saw their opportunity, and pounced, forming a mountain of moving fur and gnashing teeth on top of the Italian.

  Suddenly, like an Appalachian mountaintop dynamited for removal, the mound exploded in all directions, fur-lined body parts littering the ground for a quarter-mile. Alessandro remained crouched. Steam rose from his once shirtless, now nude body, his clothes shredded and smoldering, the ground around him burning hot, and smoking.

  He raised his head toward those standing before him. His blue eyes opened, a blue that had never before been seen in the eyes of a vampire, an almost unnatural blue, and blazed. Friends and enemies, alike, had paused their fighting to stare at the site of the explosion. Both groups stepped back as Alessandro arose in the thickening fog.

  He then turned, away from Kilchurn, toward new enemies, and walked slowly in their direction, running his hands through their backs like jelly, removing their spines.

  Annelise and Katarzyna stood back to back, encircled by a small group of vampires and werewolves—all men. The two blondes looked around them as their enemies moved closer and closer, the circle shrinking, closing in on them.

  “Hey, guys,” said Annelise, “you and I don’t have to fight. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

  “What?” Katarzyna asked.

  “It has been a while,” said one member of the group, a thick vampire dressed in black leather, “since my boys, and I, have enjoyed the pleasure of a willing woman. And I’m very willing to give you what I got.”

  “Men,” Annelise said, “always talking about what they have, and what they’re going to do with it, but never able to back up their talk. Why don’t you come show me what you got? Just throw my sister here outside the circle, and we can have some fun.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Boys.”

  Katarzyna struggled as multiple pairs of hands laid on her, groping her, as she was picked up and tossed several yards away.

  “Don’t worry,” the gang leader said to the Polish vampire, “we’ll be back for you.” He turned his attention to Annelise, and began taking off his leather pants. “Now then, let’s get down to business.”

  The ring tightened, each man facing her.

  “Yes,” said Annelise. “Let’s.”

  The Danish vampire knelt down as each member of the gang collapsed around her, like dominoes, all sliced in half.

  Katarzyna stood outside the fallen circle, blood and pieces of flesh dripping from her hands.

  “Thanks,” said Annelise. “I was hoping you’d catch on to the plan.”

  “It took me a half a second to figure it out.”

  “I’m glad it took even less time for you to finish them.”

  Suddenly, Tsukiko appeared, running up through the mist, and reuniting Annelise with her rescuer. Katarzyna took an offensive stance.

  “It’s okay,” Annelise said, “I’ve got this one.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

  Katarzyna stood down, and walked away to another fight.

  “We don’t have to do this,” said Annelise. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “You don’t understand. Yes, I do.”

  Tsukiko rushed the blonde vampire, hitting her in the face with a right, left, right, then kicking Annelise to the ground. Tsukiko shifted and bore her teeth down on the vampire’s leg. Annelise screamed.

  The Danish vampire sat up and grabbed the werewolf’s jaws with both hands. Like the Jaws of Life separating sections of a car, Annelise spread Tsukiko’s mouth open, sliding the fangs out of her leg.

  Tsukiko tried repositioning, clawing at the entirety of the vampire’s body. Annelise held firm and fast. Then, with her other leg, kicked the werewolf’s side, sending her flying, yelping, into a nearby group, knocking them over like bowling pins.

  Annelise, not yet healed, jumped up and ran to Tsukiko. Not giving the werewolf a chance to get up, the vampire knelt down, and began removing clumps of fur and hide. The werewolf howled in pain, then screamed as she downshifted.

  “Stop prolonging it!” Tsukiko screamed. “Do what you’re gonna do, but quickly!”

  “I don’t have to do it all. Please, fight with us.”

  “You know, deep down inside, that I won’t. My fate ends here, today.”

  “No,” said Annelise, standing. “I won’t do it. I’ve seen your true colors. You don’t deserve to die. Not anymore.”

  The vampire turned to walk away, looking for a new enemy to fight.

  “Oh, yes I do,” Tsukiko whispered, shifting again, and lunging at Annelise from behind.

  The Danish vampire felt the change in air pressure around her, and spun around to see the dark-furred wolf flying toward her, jaws wide open.

  Annelise grabbed the werewolf’s jaws with both hands, a second time, and spread them beyond their limit, cracking and breaking. Tsukiko’s body dropped to the ground, dead.

  “I’m sorry,” said Annelise.

  Then, upon the hill from which she and her friends had descended, she saw a familiar sight. There, standing above the fray, watching the battle, were LillyAnna and Bianca.

  Chapter 32: Requiem

  Landon pushed through the crowd like a bull in Pamplona, Spain. Charging toward Nicholas, only a few yards to go, Jamie suddenly shifted and jumped in front of
his mentor. Nicholas took off, away from the father and son.

  Nicholas stopped in his tracks, his son growling at him. The elder Murphy stared at Jamie, then turned in a different direction, moving away from him. Jamie cut him off, again, blocking his father’s path.

  Landon tried a second time to avoid his son, only to find the blond werewolf confronting him, once more. He realized there was no escaping the teen. Landon reverted to human form.

  “This is really what you want to do?” he asked.

  The young werewolf nodded.

  Landon turned into the great, red werewolf, each circled, facing each other, growling, snarling, their rows of razor-sharp fangs glistening in the morning Scottish sun.

  Jamie charged his father. Landon knocked the boy to the side with one swipe, sending him rolling several feet away. The red werewolf snapped at the blond, growling fiercely. He lunged at the teen, then stopped, when Jamie stumbled backward. Landon saw that there was a level of fear in his son’s large, red eyes. However, the father had lost his patience with his son.

  Landon sprang forward, landing on the smaller, yellow werewolf, ripping into him with his claws, tearing at Jamie’s fur-lined flesh. The red werewolf clamped down on the other’s shoulder, tearing a large chunk away. His son howled.

  Landon reared back, having gained the upper hand, and stood erect, high above the young werewolf lying on the ground. He then came crashing down, his front paws brushing the other werewolf’s ears as they pounded into the ground. Landon’s snout touched Jamie’s as he growled at his son, then roared in his face, saliva and hot breath rolling out onto the teen’s. Landon felt his son quake, and those nearby shudder.

  Landon stood again, then turned, and walked away. He grabbed the heads of enemies, and one by one, pulled them off their necks, as he walked, as if he were picking grapes form a vine.

  Suddenly, without warning, he found himself on the ground, face down, his flesh being stripped and shredded down to his spine. His attacker then turned him over. There, straddling him, was Jamie.