by Amy Cross
"We have to open it," Darla says.
"I know," I reply.
We stare at it some more.
"I don't hear any screaming," Darla says. "That's a good sign."
I nod.
Darla puts her ear up against the door and listens. "I don't hear anything," she says. "Not a peep."
I step forward, put my hand on the door handle and turn it. The bolt clicks open, and Darla steps aside as I slowly pull the door toward us.
We stare at the Underworld laid out before us.
"Fucking fuck," says Darla, a sense of awe in her voice. "That is not what I was expecting."
Lumic
This tunnel seems to go on forever, and it doesn't help that I'm bloated from having just eaten Matt DiMera. To be sure that there was no way he could possibly survive, I ate everything - his flesh, his muscle, his organs, his hair, even his bones. I chewed him up, grinding him between my teeth, but now I feel kind of heavy. That'll pass, but for now it slows me down somewhat. If I'd been able to run as I'd hoped, I would have already caught up with those two girls by now, and their heads would be separated from their bodies. As it is, I have to shift from my wolf to my human form, just so that I can stay upright as I walk along the tunnel and digest my unexpected meal. Still, I won't lose too much time.
It has been a long time since I was down in the Underworld. I have no reason to spend much time there; only a madman would go down there unless he had no other choice. The creatures that live in those ruins do so for a reason: there is nowhere else on Earth where they would be accepted, where their activities and their predilections would be tolerated. The surface world has a tendency to slaughter anything that it considers to be vile or evil. Down here, things are a little different. Down here, such creatures can go about their daily business without being bothered, pausing only for occasional squabbles with one another. It's a dark, rich kingdom of horrors and a place that would drive most men mad the moment that they opened one of the doors and stepped into the Underworld's vast caverns.
Ahead, I can hear Duncan. He's still far away, but I'm definitely getting closer. And I can tell that he's still weak, and he's not moving. That's good; it means he still hasn't regained his legs, so he must have crawled somewhere so he can try to recover in peace. He's wise to do so: not only am I on his trail, but there are myriad other creatures down there that will pick him off if they get a chance. Werewolf meat is something of a delicacy, and there'll be plenty of antipedes and Golvs eager to get a sample, not to mention the Flesh Weavers who would give anything to get hold of werewolf skin for their looms. So it's somehow rather appropriate that I will inevitably come across Duncan hidden away in some cave, cowering for his very life. Perhaps when I have finally killed him, I will consume his meat but save his flesh for the Weavers. They would pay me a good price for such a prize. And that would be the final triumph: to sell Duncan's carcass so that it can be woven into the most beautiful fabrics.
And of course if I can sense Duncan, then he can sense me. He knows I'm coming. With every step I take, he grows more fearful.
Jess
A city. A whole city. Buried deep beneath London. With buildings and streets and everything you would expect of a city. Sure, the buildings are all made of stone and wood, and the streets are cracked, but it's still recognizably a city, carved out of light red stone and spreading as far as the eye can see in this vast cavern. It looks to be as big as London, if not bigger, and the only real difference is that this place seems to be totally deserted. Totally empty.
"It's so big," Darla says as we scrabble down a small rock-face onto the edge of a small road. "How many fucking people lived here?"
"How did it get down here?" I ask, walking over to a building and touching the dusty stone.
"Deliberately sunk," Darla says. "When the humans decided to build their London, they drilled shafts to undermine the stability of the wolf structures. Gradually the whole wolf city crashed through here."
I look through a window, staring at the bare, dark interior. "But this didn't happen," I say. I turn to Darla. "I know enough about history to know that London has been here... forever."
"The two Londons co-existed," Darla says. "Wolf buildings next to human buildings. But some time, a few hundred years ago, all the wolf buildings were sunk down here. That's why there are gaps in these ruins. And then, once the wolf buildings were gone, the humans built new ones in their place." She suddenly runs over and pulls me away from the little window. "Careful," she says. "Keep away from doors and windows. Some of these buildings are probably occupied by... things."
We walk down a wide street, with empty stone buildings on either side. Far above us, the roof of the cavern stretches across the entire city. It's strange to think that these streets were once bustling with activity. But once the city sank, the werewolves quickly moved on, allowing other things to take control. When you think about it like that, this place is still eerily quiet and calm. After all those stories about monstrous creatures, it's hard not to wonder why the whole city seems to be so still and quiet. Perhaps Matt was wrong. Perhaps there were creatures here once, but now they're gone?
"Are you picking anything up?" Darla asks. "Any sign of Duncan?"
I concentrate and quickly realize that I can just about sense him somewhere in the distance. He's definitely down here, but that's about all I can work out so far. It's frustrating, but my sense of him is slowly getting stronger. I'm pretty sure I'll be able to find him if we just keep looking. "He's here," I say calmly. "I'm just not sure where."
Darla suddenly stops walking. She seems to be listening to something. "Did you hear that?" she whispers.
I look around at the empty stone buildings. "What?" I reply quietly.
"Something," she says, staying completely still. "Quick," she adds, grabbing me and pulling me through a door and into one of the buildings.
"I thought you said -"
"Sshh," she interrupts.
I'm about to reply when I realize that I can hear something too. A kind of scrabbling sound, like someone struggling along the road. It's really clear and distinct now, and it's getting closer, and now there's a second noise, which sounds like... well, it sounds like the wheels of a wooden cart, but it can't be that...
Suddenly there's a scream. A man's horrified scream. I instinctively step toward the window to look, but Darla grabs my arm and holds me back. She has a determined look on her face, and she clearly doesn't want me sticking my head out there.
"Loom People," she hisses.
I pause. "Why are they screaming?" I ask.
She looks at me as if I'm stupid. "They're not," she whispers. "That's some poor fucker they've caught."
Somewhere outside, nearby, there's the sound of a struggle.
"What are they doing to him?" I ask.
"Probably just knocking him out. The Flesh Weavers like their victims to be alive when they're fed into the looms, so they tell the Loom People to bring them without killing them."
There's a sudden thudding sound nearby.
"A Flesh Weaver," Darla whispers. "There's always one with a pack of Loom People, to make sure that they don't do anything stupid. Just keep quiet."
The thudding continues, like something very heavy walking close by, and it seems to be getting closer. For a moment, I start to worry that this Weaver creature has sniffed us out, but suddenly the walking stops. I stare at the window, looking out at the street. Part of me expects something hideous to suddenly appear, looking straight in at us. But we wait a couple of minutes, and finally I turn to Darla.
She shrugs.
We wait another minute or so.
"I think it's okay," Darla whispers.
I nod. "Whatever that thing is, I don't want to meet one," I say, relaxing a little.
"You and me both," Darla says. "Weavers are horrible, vicious things. They'll strip the flesh off your body the first chance they get." She pauses. "I dated one once. Just for a couple of weeks. Wasn't worth the hassl
e." She smiles to herself. "Well, we weren't really dating, we were just -"
There's suddenly a horrific scream at the window. We both turn to see some kind of creature looking straight in at us. It's so tall, it has had to bend down to look in. Wearing a dark cloak, it has only its face visible: a kind of flesh mess of old-looking skin and a large, screaming mouth with razor-sharp teeth not only inside but also on the outside, covering its lips.
"Flesh Weaver," Darla says, the color draining from her face. She grabs my arm and pulls me through into another room, as we hear the sound of something smashing against the stone.
"You dated one of those?" I ask, out of breath.
"I thought I could change him," she says as the whole building shakes. The ceiling starts to crack and little pieces of stone falls onto us. "Fortunately, Weavers are too big to get into buildings like this." The building shakes again. "Unfortunately, they're strong enough to smash their way through walls, and they usually send Loom People to do their dirty work." She grabs my arm and we head over to another door. In the next room, there's a set of stairs and we run up to the next floor.
"I thought he'd gone," I say.
"So did I," Darla says, looking around for an escape route. "But then I realized we didn't hear him leaving. I realized that right before he appeared at the window. Right before. Damn it, why didn't I realize a few seconds earlier?" She turns to me. "Sometimes I'm so stupid, I take my own breath away."
The building shakes again, and there's a loud cracking sound.
"What does it want?" I ask. "Just to kill us, right?"
Darla shakes her head. "It doesn't want to kill us. It wants to strip off all our flesh and run it through its looms to create fabrics for its temples. The killing us part is just an unfortunate by-product of the skinning us part."
I look at her.
"Seriously," she says. "It's basically an angry haberdasher, just with a lot more teeth."
"But we're werewolves," I say. "So we'd survive all that."
"Yeah..." she says, seeming a little awkward. "Did I mention that when it's skinned us, it'll probably eat us?"
"No," I say, as the whole building shakes again. "You didn't."
Darla turns to me. "You have to shift into your wolf form," she says.
"I can't," I say. "I don't know how."
"You've done it before," she says. "Do it again."
"I can't!" I shout at her. "I've only been a werewolf for a few weeks. I still don't know how to -"
"Ssshhh!" Darla says. We listen for a moment. "It's stopped." Suddenly there's a noise downstairs, like knives being sharpened. "Loom People," she says. "Right, we have to get out of here. Wolf. Do it!" And with that, she shifts her body, becoming a beautiful, dark-haired wolf with piercing blue eyes. I've never had a proper chance to see Darla in her wolf form before, and it's a stunning sight.
"I can't do it," I say.
She looks up at me. It's strange, but looking at her eyes, I can tell that it's still Darla in there looking back at me. I turn as I hear the sound of sharpening knives coming closer. Backing toward the window, I look out and see a nearby low rooftop that I could probably get onto. I climb onto the ledge, take one look behind, see a dark shape appear at the top of the stairs, and I jump.
When I land on the rooftop, something's different. It takes me a second to realize, but I look down and see that I have paws instead of hands. It's happened again. I must have changed form in mid-air. I look over and see Darla, still in her wolf form, landing next to me. She glances at me and then runs, and I follow.
As a wolf, I can run so much faster than before, and I can jump so much further. I let Darla take the lead, and together we run and leap from building-top to building-top, never even stopping to look back. The city flashes past beneath us, and I feel so free. The more I run, the more energy I feel I have, and soon it's as if I couldn't stop running even if I tried. I don't even think about the danger, I just jump from building-top to building-top, even when the gap seems too large, even when we're going up onto higher and higher buildings. It feels as if there's nothing I can't do, as if there's no way anything could ever stop me. This must be what it's like to be a real werewolf, then. To be Darla. To be Duncan. To be free and strong, to be safe from everything.
Why do they ever change into their human forms? I think I'd be happy to be like this forever, just running and running and running -
Suddenly something appears ahead. Darla and I barely have time to register that it's a Flesh Weaver before it reaches out knife-like hands at each of us. I see Darla run straight into the knives, crashing to the ground in a spray of blood. I manage to leap just beneath the other knives, although I feel them slice through my thigh. Before I know what's happening, I'm at the edge of the building-top. I try to pull up, so I can turn around and help Darla, but it's too late and I topple straight over the edge.
I didn't realize how high up we were.
I fall.
And fall.
And fall.
And I smash head-first into the stone street below, breaking every bone in my head and neck.
Everything goes black.
Lumic
Now that I'm close, I can hear Duncan's voice in my mind. He's scared. He's terrified. He knows that I'm coming, and he knows that his body isn't healing fast enough. Wherever he is, whichever crack he's hiding in, he knows that I'll find him, and he knows that this time I'll finish the job properly. He knows he's going to die soon. No wonder he's panicking. But that's good. I want him to panic. I want him to die in fear.
Can you hear me, Duncan? I know your powers are strong. Not as strong as mine, but strong nevertheless. You should be able to hear me by now. Not just sense my presence, but actually hear my thoughts. So hear this: I should have made sure you stayed dead last time. I made a small mistake; I underestimated you. Everyone makes mistakes occasionally, but I will not make the same mistake twice. I will finish you off this time, and I will cause you more pain than you ever dreamed possible.
Do you remember when I first found you? You were dying in the gutter. London has almost finished you off, and I rescued you. I offered you everything. I offered to make you in my own mold I offered to turn you into something special. But you turned me down. You continued to fraternize with humans. You showed no respect for my advice. So I have no choice but to kill you. That's what fathers do to sons who disappoint them. Even if you are not my biological child, you are my son in so many other ways. And I am your master. And as your master I have the right to choose when you die.
I choose today.
Jess
I open my eyes slowly.
That fall would have killed a human. But fortunately, I'm no longer human. Getting to my feet, I find I'm back in my human form. I put a hand up to feel my head, and find that the bones have already healed. I don't know how long I was unconscious for, but I don't think it was too long. I look up at the top of the building from which I fell.
Darla!
I rush into the building and try to find the stairs, but there don't seem to be any. I have to get back up there, I have to make sure Darla's okay. The last I saw, she was falling to the ground under a flash of knives. She's tough, like me, but that Flesh Weaver creature looked dangerous and I don't want to leave her in his clutches. Try as I might, though, I can't find the stairs that lead up to the top of the building.
Suddenly I hear a noise somewhere nearby. I look over and realize there's a sound coming from one of the other rooms. It sounds like someone sharpening knives. I bolt out the door and into the street, where I come face to face with the Flesh Weaver. He leans down to me and roars, his foul breath filling my nostrils. I try to turn and run, but I slip and fall hard against the dusty rock road. Before I can get up, I feel something grab my feet and haul me into the air. Hanging upside down, I find myself looking straight into the eyes of the creature.
"Let us go," I say, trying to sound calm. I have no idea whether these Flesh Weavers can understand what I'm saying,
and I can't see Darla anywhere. Am I too late? Did he already skin and eat her? I try to hold it together, try to remain calm. "We're more trouble than you realize Just let us go and we'll be on our way. I promise. Just let us -"
The creature roars at me. Despite the intelligence in its eyes, it seems to still be a brutal, violent animal. Its dark eyes stare at me, scanning me, perhaps trying to work out what to do with me.
"Put her down," says a female voice from somewhere nearby.
The Flesh Weaver immediately turns to look along the road. The way he's holding me, I can't see what he's looking at.
"Put her down now!" the female voice insists.
Surprisingly, it looks like the Flesh Weaver is actually thinking about what the woman is saying. And equally surprisingly, he suddenly drops me onto the ground, turns and stomps away.
"Get up," says the female voice. "It's not safe here."
I scramble to my feet and turn to find a middle-aged woman standing before me. She has long, slightly curly reddish hair, with dark brown eyes, and she's wearing what looks like a medieval kind of costume, complete with very open and revealing cleavage. But she also has a kind face, and she's smiling at me, and - let's not forget - she just saved my life.
"Azael," she says. She reaches out a hand and we shake. "Looks like you upset a Flesh Weaver."
"I didn't mean to," I say.
"Don't worry," Azael replies, with a hint of an Irish accent. "It's kind of impossible to not upset a Flesh Weaver. They're born upset and they die upset. It's what they do." She smiles at me, almost as if she knows some kind of secret and finds it terribly funny. "You don't belong here."
"I have to find Darla!" I say, hurrying along the street. I'm not entirely sure where Darla would be, but I have to get back on that roof.
"If the Flesh Weaver took her," Azael says, keeping pace with me, "you'd be better off not trying. She'll be dead already. They don't hang about." We reach a street intersection, but I'm still not sure which way to go. "The Flesh Weavers are getting desperate," Azael adds. "Time was, you wouldn't see them out and about at all, they'd leave all the dirty work to the Loom People. These days, the Weavers are out hunting for themselves. It's a sad state of affairs."
