BOOM.
George woke with a start and looked around. Must have been thunder he thought. He looked at his watch, it was quarter to eleven. "I must have fallen asleep." he mumbled. George had meant to be there for only half an hour or so. Darkness blanketed the park, with only the sporadic pools of light from the path lights. At least there were plenty of lights around the clocktower and sitting area George was in.
BOOM.
I should get home before it starts raining George thought to himself. He rose to get his bike and leave when a sudden downpour hit. The rain was heavy and cold. The kind that chilled down to the soul. “Great. What else could go wrong?”
BOOM.
George was thrown back against the bench he had been sleeping on and flipped over the back. George lay on the ground stunned. His breaths wheezy. “What the hell was that.” George groaned out as he slowly rose to his feet. He looked around and saw a pile of rubble where the clock tower used to be. Sandy brown bricks were scattered everywhere and a few of the smaller, newer trees around the outside of the calming oasis had been broken by flying bricks. George counted himself lucky that he didn't get hit by any of the bricks.
He walked over to the pile of rubble that used to be the clock tower. Someone must have blown it up. He thought. Lightning couldn't have done that, lit it on fire maybe, but not blown it up. Right? Even though it’s not a large tower, it’s in the middle of nowhere, and there are no stories of anything valuable hidden inside; so why would someone blow it up? George wondered. He looked over the pile of rubble a glint of light caught his eye.
George stared into a small opening between a couple of bricks and what looked like a yellow eye stared back. He was confused and fascinated at the same time, until the eye blinked. A low growl reverberated through the air that caused a chill to run down his spine. A primordial sense of fear froze him in place. The mound of bricks shifted and slowly rose up. Bricks cascaded from the pile to reveal a large wolf the size of a horse staring at George.
George felt fear unlike anything he had felt before. Time stood still for him. He could feel the hot breath of the wolf on his cold skin, smell the stink of its breath mixed with the smell of wet dog, and see the drool dripping off the fangs. The wolf lunged at him in slow motion. This must be a nightmare. He thought. Giant wolves don't exist.
He was pulled to the side as the wolf passed through the space he had just been in, missing him by an inch. The wolf skidded to a halt a few feet away and swiveled around to face him. George fell to the ground and looked up to see a large man standing between him and the wolf. He was dressed in big black biker boots, black jeans and a dark red t-shirt with what looked like some kind of magic Symbol, peeked out from the man’s long black leather trench coat that draped across his broad shoulders. He couldn’t see the man’s face hidden behind his shoulder length straight black hair.
The man raised a thin wooden stick with a small chunk of metal at the tip and copper wire coiling down to the base. Sparks danced around the metal tip and a white-hot bolt of electricity arced out toward the wolf. It jumped to the left as the bolt slammed into the ground where it had been, thunder boomed around the clearing they stood in.
George was blinded by the bright flash and the thunder deafened him. Seconds stretched into minutes; time meant nothing to him. Had it been a few minutes, hours, seconds? Was he alive and safe or was he dead and in the belly of the monstrous beast?
Slowly his vision came back and the ringing in his ears faded to a high-pitched keen. He looked around and saw several more scorch marks on the ground near him. Spikes of rock rose from the ground haphazardly around what was once a peaceful clearing. The wolf stood about twenty feet away from him with the large man a short distance to his right.
In the glow of the lights, he could see blood dripping from a dozen small wounds on the wolf. The man was breathing heavily, a gash above his eye. The same metal tipped wand was in one hand and in his other George saw a new wand that looked like it was made out of clay with a few quartz crystals embedded in it.
The wolf howled and charged at the man, the rain slicked grass proving no challenge for the large beast. The man lifted the clay wand and a spear of dirt and rock shot out of the ground in front of the wolf. The wolf dodged left but was caught on the shoulder opening another small gash in its hide. A bolt of lightning shot at the wolf, and it dodged to its right. It crossed the distance to the big man in a matter of seconds and lunged at him, but the man dropped to his right and rolled out of the way.
Spears of rock and bolts of lightning, razor sharp claws and gleaming teeth slashed and flashed through the small clearing, weaving in and out of the glowing lights of the few lamps. George was mesmerized with the savagery of the wolf, the calm demeanor of the large man, and the grace of both of their movements. Neither the wolf nor the man could land more than just a small scratch on his opponent.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
George snapped back to his senses and realized he should get out of there before they realized he still existed. He turned away from the fight and took off running, his shoes sliding on the gravel. The wolf heard George slip, growled at the large man, and took off after George.
George ran for his life, his heart pounding. This is crazy. This has got to be a dream. He told himself. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
George could hear the wolf chasing him. The large paws throwing gravel with each step. His breath labored with every step. Why did I have to skip gym so much? He chided himself. He looked back and saw the wolf catching up to him, drool flying from the wolfs open jaws ready to tear him to pieces.
When he looked forward, he saw the ground in front of him rising up into a point, launching itself at him. He tried to stop and slipped on the loose gavel, his feet sliding out from under him as he barreled toward the approaching spike and his impending death.
He closed his eyes and waited for the pain to come. He wasn’t sure which would be worse, the sharp rock piercing him or the teeth and claws of the wolf shredding him apart. He waited for the darkness that people said happened when you died or the flashes of his life to pop up. he waited for the cold chill of the grave. He waited for any sign that he was dead but instead he felt warm despite the rain still pouring onto him. He opened his eyes and saw the spike of rock just above him. He looked up along the rock and saw that it had skewered the wolf up through the mouth and into the brain killing it and saving his life but covering him in wolfs blood at the same time.
His adrenaline stopped rushing and a wave of fatigue rolled over him. A shadow covered him as the silhouette of the large man came into his view. Fear gripped George again as the man reached out for him and grabbed the collar of his shirt and lifted him to his feet.
“Glad to see you’re alright George, if a little messy,” said a deep smooth voice.
George stopped struggling, confused that the large man knew his name. George looked at the man’s face.
“Dave?”
Dave was the older brother of Mike, the guy that had asked out Liz. He had gone off to college a few years back to study earth sciences, or so he said.
Dave helped George get his to his feet and looked him over head to heel, while he put his wand away. George noticed that there were other sticks of different kinds sitting in several pockets that lined Dave's coat. One looked like it had come off of one of the trees that Dave had passed in the park, it was about the size of George's forearm with a few smaller branches coming off it with a few bright green leaves; One looked like Dave had pulled it out of a campfire, it was charred black with cracks running through it, the tip glowed like it was still burning and it was smaller than the most of the others, as if it was slowly burning away.
“Well, you don't look to hurt to me.” Dave said after a few moments of silence. “Let’s get you home and out of the rain.”
“I just have to grab my bike.” George said still in shock after what had happened. He grabbed his bike from near the bench he had been sitting at, luckily it didn't get any damage from earlier. George and Dave walked through the last stretch of park, in silence. When they got to the street on the edge of the park they turned north and walked along McClusky Drive.
“So,” George finally broke the silence “What was that thing?”
“A Warg.” Dave said simply.
“A Warg?” George asked confused. “As in what orcs and goblins ride in fantasy games?”
Dave laughed. “Kind of.”
“And you?” George asked hesitantly. “You were shooting lighting from a stick.”
“Wand, not a stick" Dave corrected. "I’m a warlock.”
“A warlock?” George asked skeptically.
“Yup.” Dave replied.
“As in demon worship? Do you use magic and voodoo to steal souls?” George asked hesitantly.
“And dance with skeletons at night while drinking the blood of a goat.” Dave said looking at George.
George looked nervously at Dave for a moment before Dave burst out laughing.
“The stories about warlocks are a little skewed thanks to movies and stories,” Dave laughed. “Except for the magic part.”
“Devil magic?” George asked a little nervous about the answer.
“Don’t know.” Dave replied. George looked at him confused. “A warlock’s power comes from a pact with the devil, at least that is what has been portrayed in books and movies, but no, it is not the dark evil magic people think of. We harness the destructive power of nature to fight our enemies using the wands we create. My mother is a witch as was her mother. Witches harness the healing power of nature to cure and defend against enemies. Our family has had witches and warlocks in the family since before the dark ages. That’s what our grandmother used to tell us.”
“Is Mike a warlock?” George asked suddenly afraid for Liz.
“No, Mike is not a warlock, but our sister is a witch.”
“I guess I can see that with the way she dresses, but I thought witches were always depressing and loner types of people. She is so bubbly, and a cheerleader. Not quite witch material in my eyes.” George said resigning himself to go along with what he was hearing.
“You’re thinking Emo. Witches and warlocks are no different than other people, except, you know, being able to use magic. We all come with different personalities, and taste in fashion.”
When they got to Buckler Street, they said goodbye to each other. George hoped on his bike and headed west while Dave continued north along McClusky Dr. It only took a few more minutes for George to get to his house.
When George got home, he opened the side door to the garage, stored his bike, and locked the garage. Luxton wasn't known for having a high crime rate, but his dad would kill him if anything happened to the Thunderbird that his dad was so proud of. He went into the house through the garage which opened right in front of the basement door down to where his room was. George descended the stairs and was so exhausted from the day’s events that he just took off his shoes and fell straight into bed. The last thought on his mind was of Liz telling him that they should just be friends.