A series of loud howls pierced the chaos of the village, with women and children each rushing to their cabin, hoping it would provide some form of protection against the incoming threat. Gideon held a child’s hand as he led her to her parent’s cabin, her mother rushing out and grabbing her before dragging her inside. Gideon took a deep breath as he calmly began walking back to his cabin. “I leave the safety of everyone in the village in your hands…Hero.”
Drystan’s hand tightly gripped the handle of a small hatchet he had been given. It would be impossible for him to fight with it and simultaneously keep a suitable distance away from the wolves, but it would have to do. Unless it was absolutely necessary, unless the life of a villager was at stake, he refused to use the sword gifted to him by Seraphina.
Looking to his left, he looked on as a young boy, just barely old enough to be considered an adolescent, nervously fiddling with a large scythe, a middle-aged man putting a hand on his shoulder in a vain attempt to comfort him. How long has it been since I’ve fought with someone else? How long has it been since I last even considered helping others, instead of just trying to survive another day? His mind flashed back to when he and Rowan both fought against a young bear that had been hunting a small child, distracting it just long enough for the child to escape, and delivering enough damage to cause the bear to flee. He still had the large scar on his back from when he was scratched to prove it.
Another series of howls brought Drystan back to the present. “T-They’re much closer…” The adolescent boy squeaked out, his grip on the scythe tightening even more. The few other men who were in fighting shape stiffened up. “T-The pack was at least thirty strong when they last attacked us years ago…h-how m-many more do t-they have now?”
The sounds of dozens of paws running towards the village could now faintly be heard as around twenty wolves burst out from the tree line, running as quickly as their legs could carry them. “Here they come!” One of the men shouted, raising up a bronze hoe. Everyone shifted their feet, trying to improve their footing as best they could. Drystan did the same, his right arm carrying the hatchet. Thirty feet. Twenty feet. Ten feet. Now!
Drystan swung the hatchet forward, its sharp edge burying itself into the neck of the first wolf, a sickening crunching sound, followed by the sound of a wolf loudly yelping in pain before becoming silent, falling onto the ground, dead. One down. He thought as another wolf leaped at him. Sidestepping to the left, the wolf missed its target, landing on the ground but immediately turning back, swiping at Drystan. As Drystan took a step back, another wolf leaped at him, its paw swiping at his legs, causing some deep scratches.
Pain immediately rushed through Drystan’s body, but was ignored as Drystan swung the hatchet upon the second wolf, slicing its rear leg, blood gushing out and coating the ground with a crimson stain. A third wolf launched its attack on Drystan, leaping and attempting to chomp down on his arm. Once again moving to the side, Drystan avoided the bite and swung the hatchet once more, just barely missing the wolf above the head. The three wolves started circling him, teeth bared and snarling, the smell of rotting flesh emanating from their mouths.
Taking a moment to glance around, the other wolves were surrounding what few defenders the village had. The young adolescent was swinging his scythe wildly, keeping the five wolves attacking him at bay. The loud squeals of agony from a wolf in pain drew everyone’s attention, the man with the bronze hoe having sunk the hoe into a wolf’s back. As he pulled the hoe towards him, the wolf’s skin and pelt started tearing from the wolf’s flesh, revealing bulging muscles and the chalk white vertebrae of the wolf’s spinal cord.
Upon hearing one of their own in severe distress, a few wolves changed their targets, rushing towards the man, barking incessantly as they approached. “No you don’t!” An elderly man shouted as he swung a sickle at one of the charging wolves, slicing into its side, its intestines spilling out onto the ground. The wolf convulsed momentarily before lying still. They’re doing fine so far. Drystan thought as he swung his hatchet at one of the distracted wolves, bashing it into its head. The wolf fell over instantly, blood and bits of brain matter flowing out of the crushed skull.
The wolves began furiously resuming their attacks, desperately trying to bite or claw their way at the men. Movement coming from the forest caught Drystan’s eyes, seeing another wave of at least fifteen wolves charging towards them, one much larger than the rest. Must be the alpha of the pack! If I can kill it, the others should…
Striking another wolf with the hatchet, digging into the wolf’s left thigh, he yanked the hatchet back and kicked the wolf away, allowing him to charge at the alpha. Upon seeing Drystan’s charge, the alpha glared at him, separating from the others as if accepting a duel. Knowing the others wouldn’t be able to hold off another wave of wolves for long, Drystan didn’t stop, charging straight towards the alpha, swinging the hatchet, but hitting nothing but air as the wolf easily dodged the swing, snapping at his legs. Instinctively moving his leg out of the way, the sudden change in his center of gravity caused him to stumble.
Just as he regained his balance, the alpha pounced on him, knocking him to the ground, slashing and clawing at Drystan’s stomach. Despite getting scratched several times, none of the wounds were deep. Raising the hatchet, Drystan again swung at the alpha, who dodged by leaping off him. Before Drystan could stand, however, the wolf pounced yet again on him. The wolf bit at the hatchet, clasping onto it as it continued to claw at him.
As the wolf caused more and more cuts, Drystan could feel extreme annoyance begin to course through his body. This wolf caused pain but was more like an annoyance than anything else. It was smart enough to stop him from wielding the hatchet, and quick enough to dodge his attacks. “You…irritating…MUTT!!!”
He screamed as he used his left hand to press against the wolf’s belly. Immediately, the wolf yelped and jumped back, rolling on the ground in pain. As he stood up, Drystan felt as if his hand was encased in a block of ice. Looking down, he could see his hand glowing blue before dissipating. Even with the glow gone, his hand still felt frozen, needing him to furiously shake his hand quickly to regain feeling and dexterity to his fingers. Is..this…a power from the goddess? But…wow was that cold!! It felt as if my hand could fall off at any moment!
The wolf by now had gotten back up, rage and hatred in its eyes. Drystan met the wolf’s glare with one of his own before charging. “Just die already and leave the village alone!” He screamed as he swung his hatchet at the alpha. Again dodging the strike, the wolf tried to snap at his legs, but upon seeing Drystan’s left hand reaching down towards it, the wolf backed off, not wanting to feel the biting pain of pure ice pressed against its skin. This gave Drystan enough time to again swing his hatchet, this time connecting with its front paw, severing it completely from its leg.
Howling in pain, the wolf staggered backwards as blood gushed from its leg. Dashing forward, Drystan hacked and slashed at the wolf, before the wolf fell onto the ground, struggling to breathe as blood pooled around it. Lifting up his hatchet once more, Drystan slammed his arm down, the wolf’s head separating from its body. The shouts of joy from several men could be heard over the sound of the fight, with the other men, having returned from the fields, joining in the battle, slaughtering the wolves.
Despite their alpha’s death, along with now being outnumbered, the wolves refused to back down, desperately trying to slash and bite their way through. Something isn’t right. Drystan thought to himself as he started observing the wolves in their desperate refusal to budge. Wolves aren’t stupid. Surely, they know that they have no chance at surviving…then what’s…
The hair on Drystan’s neck stood on end as he felt a familiar sensation, one felt earlier in the day. Looking back to the tree line, he could faintly see the outline of a bipedal, beast-like creature, its orange eyes visible and staring directly at Drystan. Within a second, the creature charged at Drystan, its roar paralyzing both man and wolf alike as it charged, crossing over several feet with each stride. Drystan’s eyes widened as his brain registered what was going on. The werewolf he had encountered earlier in the day never left. It had stalked him the entire time, and now, having scared the wolves into attacking the village, was intent on finally claiming its prey.
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