Yelena
Yelena stopped in her tracks as the screams reached them. The ground rumbled, and the sounds of swords slicing through the cold air were suddenly replaced by the shrill squeals of horror coming from the hybrids at the South wall.
That, and the bestial roar of something else. Something that even caused the townsfolk to open their doors and stare towards the epicenter of all the chaos.
"Back inside, you fools!" Dimedrious bellowed. "Lena, Cynthia – with me!"
Both warriors complied, though they shared a quick look of confusion between them. The snow-covered roads of Yarruck became a drudging mire they had to wade through, each step feeling like an eternity as the screams reached their ears once more. Unnatural, blood-curdling screams that told of wicked tortures being enacted at their destination.
And when they finally broke through the South gate, they saw the impossible.
Yelena’s mind raced to understand the sight: the bodies of Virtir’s squad, slain to the man. No – she realized – more than slain: their armor was cut through by claws the size of Dimedrious’ blade. Each body was a broken, mangled mess of missing limbs and torn flesh, as though something had ripped through their meat and bones before moving on to its next victim. The snow was stained with the crimson of both the squad and the horde of wolves that had descended on them.
Yelena gripped her sword tighter, scanning the area and seeing only death, and the whimpers of someone to the left of all the carnage.
Someone she knew, blood-soaked but breathing.
"Agathae!"
On instinct, Yelena’s body lurched forward, bolting for her fallen squad mate.
"Lena!" Dimedrious wailed from behind.
She ignored the call, dropping into a slide as she approached Agathae and took her head in her hands. She was breathing heavily, and retching with blood she had coughed up over her tunic. Her left arm was twisted beyond all recognition – broken apart. No wolf could have done that. Not to her.
She heard Dimedrious and Cynthia run to join her just as Agathae’s eyes settled on her face. The wounded Tigran dragged her limp arm across Yelena’s chest.
"Run," she wheezed.
Yelena ignored her. "Aggie, can you stand? Come on, get up, get- "
"Lena," Agathae said with force, spitting up blood in the process. "Run!"
As she felt Dimedrious’ hand grab her shoulder the ground shook again, this time closer. From the forest, a body sailed through the air and landed beside them with a wet thud. The body raised its scale-covered head and Virtir’s bloodied eyes stared at them all before settling on Yelena.
"You," she breathed through crushed lungs. Nothing but a gaping gash trailed vermillion where her tail used to be.
"Y-you!"
As she fell into unconsciousness her attacker appeared through the trees, and Yelena beheld a horror that she had only ever read of in the monastery’s books.
A mass of flesh and claws rose above her to its full height – its fur torn and matted with blood, standing upright on contorted legs that gave a grisly snap with each labored movement that it made towards them. It extended its long arms – bear like – with shaking, spindle like fingers. They looked more like a collection of serrated blades than hands – blades that had been dipped in the blood and viscera of those bodies that littered the snow-crusted ground. Its head – half wolf’s visage, half skull, contained two crimson eyes that peeked out from the dark, sunken sockets of its horrid face.
Still it rose taller than them all – propelled by feet that should not have been able to lift a body of that mass. It loomed over even the South Wall of Yarruck, sniffing the air and snarling through its broken jaw – two ichor-streaked fangs poking through the flesh that still remained on its face. It was as though its teeth had been wedged into the skull of this once-wolf in some brutal experiment.
And as Yelena stood there, transfixed by such a being of darkness, its form flitted through the air at a speed that should not have been possible. It was headed straight for her.
She brought her sword up quickly – to no avail. With a strike that sent her flying through the air, the next thing she felt the impact of her back on the hard stone of Yarruck’s wall, tasting blood rise in her throat.
She barely had time to stand before it surged forwards again, howling with a mixture of wolfen rage and otherworldly scream that congealed and clouded all thoughts from Yelena’s head. She saw her death approaching faster than her body could react. Then, before the final strike came, she saw a flash of silver, and Dimedrious took a chunk out of the beast’s arm.
He fell to the ground under the weight of the thing’s retaliatory strike, falling into a roll beside Yelena and grunting under the effort of taking off the thing’s arm. It writhed there in the snow, the creature’s reeling form spewing its unnatural blood from the hole that had formed where its forearm had once been.
"You okay?" he asked through the pained screams of the beast.
Yelena simply stared at the thing, mute, unbelieving. Her breathing came in short, heavy bursts, knowing that her back was close to breaking. She watched the struggling, rage-fueled beast tear through the sky with its scream, and her blood ran cold.
"Lena!"
Her eyes returned to reality for a second, and she met Dimedrious’ gaze.
"Listen – hey! Listen to me," her commander continued, only looking at her over his shoulder, keeping his bloodsoaked greatsword trained on the creature flailing in the snow. "Grab Cynthia, and Aggie, and get out of here."
She gulped back her reply but shook her head.
"Fuck sake," he said. "Listen, listen carefully: not to state the obvious, but this thing’s no ordinary Alpha wolf. You need to get back to Caer Argent and tell Azran what’s happened here. Alright? Tell him we need reinforcements. Tell him what we’ve seen."
She found herself looking through the haze that filled her vision, and saw Cynthia shaking in the snow next to Agathae. She’d brought her to the South Gate and was standing there with an arrow trained on the creature, mimicking Dimedrious’ battle-ready stance. Cynthia knew she was looking at her, and their gazes locked.
Then all three of them watched in horror as a vile, blood-curdling snarl emanated from the creature’s mouth. They watched as the flesh of its eviscerated arm started to knit itself together again, scraps of flesh growing from the gaping wound in its body and coiling around themselves, elongating and bending till they ended in a bloody construct of claws.
The arm had just grown back.
Dimedrious gasped despite his best efforts. Then, in his moment of hesitation, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Sorry, Captain," Yelena said, sword raised and eyes focused. Present. "We are the Fangs of the Wolf. And we run from no battle."
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Dimedrious looked at her with a strange mix of pride and fear.
"In our battles we shall have victory," Cynthia squeaked from his other side, keeping her arrow trained on the creature’s snarling maw.
"With every journey, there is a return," Yelena intoned, bringing up her blade in a thrusting stance.
Fucking rookies, Dimedrious thought. Disobeying orders and staring death in the face. Dunno whether to punish them or praise them.
"And in our deaths, we make our sacrifice," he growled, as the beast made ready to lunge towards them.
"Ready, Fangs?"
"Ready!" both girls shouted.
"Flank!"
All three warriors then executed the three-pronged maneuverer known throughout Caer Argent as the ‘Flanking Fangs’ – Yelena and Cynthia diving left and right to pierce both arms of their towering, rabid assailant, while Dimedrious thrust his blade forward, aiming for the thing’s blackened heart peeking through its exposed ribcage. Their weapons struck true – Yelena felt her sword cleave clean through the beast’s skin and tear meat and tendon from the grisly body, leaving its arm hanging limply from its socket. Cynthia broke into a roll and launched three arrows in quick succession to force the screaming beast into a defensive posture, shielding itself from harm with its free arm and thus giving their leader the perfect chance at success. He roared in defiance at the beast’s hellish scream as he buried his sword in the being’s black chest, ripping through its heart emerging through the creature’s back.
With a gnarled smile, Dimedrious tasted the thick, viscous blood of the crying creature as it spewed over his fangs like a torrent of bile. Both his warriors looked on in disbelief as they watched the giant entity swerve and start to lower its head.
Then its eyes glowed with evil cunning. It jerked its head up, grabbed Dimedrious’ sword, and bit into his shoulder all in a split second. Dimedrious’ wail of agony filled the ears of the two girls looking on, feeling helpless.
"Di!" Yelena screamed as the beast bit down harder, jerked up again and threw Dimedrious into the air, trailing his canine blood in an arc through the night sky. He landed next to the ruined trees of the forest, and groaned in pain, clutching his shoulder.
"Bastard!" Cynthia roared, loosing arrow after arrow at the beast as its flesh began to regenerate again – the hole in its heart disappearing just as soon as it had been made.
Yelena had time only to register the beast’s piercing scream as it launched itself at Cynthia and brought its claws down to rend her apart, only managing to tear through her bow in its charge as the nimble Tilonxeel leaped away.
The beast turned to swat at the little hairy fly that had merely nicked its flesh like a nuisance, only to meet the resistance of Yelena’s sword.
The blue eyes of the blonde-haired girl met the black, soulless voids of the demon-wolf.
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I’ve found you.
Within your barely conscious mind, you hear the voice utter a salivating truth that fills you with pleasure.
Your entire body, charged with power, knows that this is why you’re here.
This girl.
You can smell her fear. The weak blood that flows in her veins.
And something more, locked away inside. Deep in there. Deep in her chest. The voice knows it, too. And looking through your eyes you know it feels glee.
Time to wake up.
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Yelena stood on trembling legs with her sword braced, hearing Cynthia’s withered breathing, seeing Dimedrious crawl towards them out the corner of her eye. She just needed to get his sword out of the thing’s chest. But, then what? If a thrust through the heart didn’t kill it, what would?
The brain, she suddenly thought, straining to keep her sword held high against the beast’s powerful claws. Dash the brains from its skull, and the body dies.
Her eyes bulged as the creature rose to its full height, licking its lips as it observed her from above, blocking out the red glowing moon of Averix. Again, it brought down its great claw with a speed that didn’t match its frame, and Yelena had only a second to bring up her sword to block its strike. She met its attack, but was brought to her knees, gritting her teeth with the effort of her defense.
"Now, Cynth!" she screamed. "Go for the head!"
"What did I say?" her companion yelled back. "You don’t have to tell me twice!"
She was as true as her word. Already she was leaping through the air and drawing her side daggers in one swift motion, running up the creature’s pinned arm and spinning her blades to strike at its eyes.
She got as far as its neck before it snapped Yelena’s sword in two and caught the Tilonxeel in its toothy mouth. Yelena fell to the ground, seeing her friend screaming in agony as she stabbed at the creature’s eyes, nose, fangs and neck as many times as she could.
Finally, Yelena blinked through blood and saw Cynthia’s face contorted in pain.
They shared one final look.
Then the creature brought its jaws together with a sickening crunch, and the upper half of Cynthia’s torso fell to the ground. The other half traveled down the creature’s thick, black throat.
Yelena let her sword’s broken hilt fall to the ground and embed itself in the snow.
Her eyes could barely conceive of Cynthia’s brutalized form – or the lines of bloodied entrails that spread out from her eviscerated stomach. Her friend’s eyes were rolled back in her head, her face twisted in a final scream of terror that was never heard.
She had just been living a moment ago.
She had been brimming with battle fury. Her daggers had spun through the air with her nimble body, strong and furious, silhouetted against the pale shadow of the moon.
Now, she was dead.
Her body lay still, her life running red down her torso, with only her furled fingers twitching like they sought to give one final pull on the string of her bow.
Agathae was still screaming from the gate of the wall. But Yelena blocked it out. She didn’t even hear the beast’s roar of triumph as it stepped on Cynthia’s mangled body and reached towards her.
As soon as it had come, sorrow began to dissipate. Tears that had to flow would not be released. All Yelena felt was the raging blight within her begin to rise again. Now, she feared it would spew from her throat. Her fists clenched, teeth chittering as she tried to hold it back. She tried forcing it down into her stomach, the way she did when she knew it was coming, the way she’d learned was best. Tell yourself something long enough, and you believe it.
She closed her eyes and tried to stay in control. She tried as hard as she could, but her mind couldn’t tear itself away from the image of Cynthia’s corpse being trampled underfoot. Every time she tried to control her thoughts, they returned to her deceased friend’s lifeless, dull eyes.
Her fists clenched on her knees, then they flew to her head and tore at her blonde threads.
She kept her eyes shut and screamed in the creeping dark that was spilling into her mind.
Stop.
Cynthia was dead.
Don’t.
Cynthia was dead.
Don’t let it –
Dead.
Dead.
Dead!
And you were powerless to do anything.
Then Yelena’s eyes flew open, and she saw nothing but a haze of red.
Berserk: Activated.
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Pulsing, burning with white hot strength, you bring your claws down on the girl. You savor the defiance in her eyes, feeling her bones crunch beneath your strike. The snow flies out in all directions – a cloud of white and crimson enveloping the girl’s small form. She’d be a tasty morsel of meat. You know it.
But something else is happening to you now. The world seems stuck in time, moving with the slow drudgery of paws through treacle.
Then pain radiates up through your abdomen – full and bright, ripping through your heart again and up through your throat. You try to scream, but your jaw falls to the ground, sizzling in an unknown source of heat.
Your eyes flash through the pain to track the form flitting through the snow – its transient profile barely discernible even to your eyes as they are now. Your mind races to counter it – spinning round and launching another assault with your right claw even as you realize – through an agony hitherto unknown – that your arm no longer exists. There it is over there, flailing on the ground.
You focus on the regeneration process now – willing your body to grow – to replace – to survive. But the greatsword that was lodged in your chest comes down again across your neck, and you feel yourself flying through the air till you land on the blood-covered snow and see the final moments of your life.
The girl – what was once the girl – brings the sword down on your body like its nothing more than a dog’s chew toy. She smashes through your limbs, rending them from your torso and bringing the sword down again. And again. And again. She slices every piece of your flesh apart and stomps on your twitching, oozing corpse when it begins to spasm uncontrollably, laughing as she does so. It is not the kind of laughter that should have spilled from a girl’s throat – but that of a demon thirsting for more bloodshed.
Then she notices you, and you look into her face, shrouded in a coat of inky black liquid. The smile there is wide, and full. Fangs protrude through her lips, and a lolling tongue drips spittle down the jet-black shadow of her body. She stalks towards you with the greatsword raised in one hand.
And you feel it, then. That feeling that you’ve known all your life – from the poachers and the huntsmen and the world of humans: fear.
But the voice doesn’t feel it. You can tell, even in your dying moments, that its excited.
Goodbye, my little wolf, it echoes in your brain before the world fades away. You were a pleasurable instrument, for a time.
The demon’s sword comes down, and you slip away into nothingness.
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When Yelena finally regained control over her body, she knew what had happened without the need for explanation. The scene at the South Wall of Yarruck told its own story.
Bodies, their innards removed, intestines draped round their limbs in grisly poses, lying in pools of blood that coalesced and flowed amidst the snow. Her comrades – those that were still alive – staring at her in mute horror, moving not an inch, keeping their distance and shaking at what they had just beheld. She looked down at her hands and saw that she was covered in the viscera of the unnatural Alpha wolf. She had awoken from inside its battered, ravaged corpse like she had been bathing inside it mere moments ago. Its head – what remained of it – lay at her feet.
The townsfolk of Yarruck had appeared to see it all transpire – to see one monster battle another, and watch the grisly spectacle unfold as the victor played with its deceased prey.
Virtir, supporting a terrified Agathae, pointed one shaking finger at Yelena and shouted something that she couldn’t hear. Instead, Yelena’s tired eyes flew to movement at her side, and there she saw Dimedrious standing over her.
She saw the look that was painted on his face. She knew that look.
Horror.
Then, with a heavy heart, she finally let herself fall.