Rushing to the edge, Zan looked into the ditch. He saw the grotesque beasts surely climb their way toward the top. "We have to confront them the moment they reach the top!" Whiskey shouted as she pulled and let fly several arrows she had scavenged and made from local materials.

Zan agreed with Whiskey. If beasts like these were allowed near the civilians, it would be a massacre.

Readying his blade, Zan prepared to take a Life. Abominable as the life might be, and as guilt-free Zan would feel knowing the useless, murderous beasts were put out of their misery, it would still be a first for him, swinging his sword into something and drawing blood which was neither his own nor that of a deer. Feeling it important to be the one who draws blood first, if nothing else, then because he had to show his subordinates his leadership qualities, Zan stabbed his sword through the first monster which surged from the ditch; his tip pierced through several layers of deformed hands which sprung from the canine-esque body like wicked hairs from a twisted god. Finding his way to the creature's heart, once the heart punctured, it deflated the creature like a balloon. The body burst and a puddle of blood formed at Zan's feet. Feet and hands; without the monster's heart sustaining their parasitic relationship, the limbs crawled away and into the ditch.

"Fecking horrible!" Zan spat, feeling grotesque himself for merely having endured killing the monster.

Along the line, the other soldiers and civilian volunteers met their own monsters. With the help of Whiskey and Jiehong, however, Zan successfully countered each time a group of monsters sprung from the ditch. Between the experience of Winters's men, the combat they were fresh from tasting at the villa and just the fact some still had a touch of magic on them, the disorganized mob of monsters found themselves sliced and diced before long. Still running between combat zones, the places on their road where monsters emerged to attack the group, Zan released his held breath. 'No more monsters,' he said to anyone who could hear.

Splotches of blood coated the ground. The walkway. Bodies littered it both. Throughout it all, there weren't a time when someone wasn't screaming for mercy as the sight of monsters set people to panic.

Zan did not hear any of the chaos.

He heard nothing as his System headset blaring warnings about strange toxins. He heard none of the soldiers while they screamed profanity while slaying the creatures. And he blocked out the bloodcurdling pitch from the regular folk. His heart slammed his soul; the bare motions of combat -- arm up and around, forward, swing, block, stab -- became as a perverse theatrical performance as Zan moved his body not to entertain, as he did at times in the tavern during festival season, but to kill.

Across the pathway, far too many severed limbs lay. No battlefield could handle such a number of limbs contrasted to the number of combatants and still live within the grace of the gods. No battlefield except those visited by an abominable monster horde.

Glancing behind, Zan saw how after the battle, less than half of the civilians remained. This was good. Less space gave them more insight when an enemy charged and lessened the risk of an injury. Less space to protect meant the people who remained could be protected better. Even so, half? He felt panicked. Though adrenaline poured through him, he still shook from the encounter.

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"Anyone ever see a genuine monster before?" Zan shouted once the bloodletting ended.

Silence. "Really? No one?" Jiehong asked. Everyone still remained silent.

The fact no one, not even the professional soldiers under Winters's command, had ever before seen a monster proved thought-provoking to Zan. Were monsters so rare outside of liminal places like the Deep Woods? Were there monsters in the old wizard towers they were exploring?

No one among Zan's cluster knew the answers to questions like these. Who did? The learned of society, perhaps. Not the bulk, though. Not the masses of people who go about their lives and occupations with a humble intensity to their daily efforts. Zan would understand, one day, he hoped. For now? Zan counted his luck that the enemy did not come back for a second wave. Looking at the next to last group board the lift and take off for the other side, breathing came a stich easier with the final group nearing the point of boarding.

When a howling began, however, Zan's troubled peace shattered. "What the feck is that?!" he slurred.

Whiskey spoke. "Werewolf? I have never seen one in person. I am not sure how many people have. Now might be a good time to pray to the gods for their assistance."

Zan forced himself against grinding his teeth. Both hands on his blade, Zan fearfully and resolutely stood to the front of the pack, ready to confront any danger which came his way, all while hoping against hope, to meet nothing of the beast which produced the howl.

"Final group across," a soldier said from the lift. "Once we're across, we'll send the lift back for you!"

Zan voiced acknowledgement of the soldier's intent and counted down the seconds until it off-loaded its people and returned to Zan, Whiskey, Jiehong, and the two soldiers who stayed behind to confront the danger on the edge of the fence.

One, Zan counted. Two. Three seconds.

Another howl. This time much closer to the fence. Zan heard the beast's guttural cry. Four seconds. Five.

A scuffling of claws on dirt. Sounds like an overgrown beast sniffing the earth, turning up dirt as its nose dug into the soil. Then a snort and another scuttling of limbs upon the natural coil of the land. Zan openly tumbled his fear as his body was close to panicking completely. Was he about to confront an actual werewolf? A near-mythical beast?

Six seconds. Seven. Eight.

Zan glanced behind. The lift was only barely on its way back to them. Zan's whole body continued to tremble. He sweated so quickly; his whole body wet itself unnaturally. Nine seconds.

A section of the iron gate exploded outward and into the opposite ditch. Ten. Eleven.

Drenched in matted fur so disgusting Zan smelt its coat before he saw the beast, what came from the hole in the fence looked like a corpse who stole a strongman's muscles. Tall, gangly, and covered in scars, the creature's body was mostly wolf, but with a humanoid frame. Its face featured a prominent, protruding snout with fangs like the bastard offspring of a lion and a snake.

Twelve seconds...

The color drained from his face when Whiskey said, "That's not a werewolf."

Thirteen. Fourteen seconds.

"Then what the feck is it?!" Zan screeched.

"I don't know, but I am saying more of my prayers. Guys! If you can hear me, hurry that lift to us if you can! Please!" Whiskey yelled to the folk across the gap.

Fifteen. Sixteen.

Leaping in a single bound to the roadway, Zan felt blessed when he saw the beast land well ahead of them. It would take at least a minute for it to charge them and engage them in mortal combat. One more minute... Calm yourself. Get ready. That thing it going to come right at us!

Seventeen seconds. "Whiskey. Jiehong. I don't dare to look back. Is the lift nearly here?" Zan asked.

A moment later Jiehong said, "Nearly here. Thank the fecking gods!" Eighteen.

Still not able to take his eyes off the beast, Zan had to force himself not to hyperventilate. He was sure had he not had all the combat experience he had gained in the last month or so he would have wet himself and fainted. Blissfully, Zan neither wet himself nor lost consciousness. The losing consciousness part he had already done recently -- when he fought Mentality -- and so he did not want to do so again. He controlled his breathing, gripped his blade handle tighter, and readied himself for--

Then the 'Not-werewolf' jumped toward them.