Post by Cole on Feb 6, 2006 19:14:47 GMT
Got the idea for this yesterday, and finally sat down to write it XD Applied it to the community quote_ficlets over at LJ, for Quote #27, but I would've written it anyway ^_^() This features Dia and Steven again, but they don't actually say anything... again XD
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The moon hung in a lazy crescent in the sky, peering through the drifting clouds to briefly illuminate the stretching landscape below, interrupted by the canopies of trees, or bushes or rickety fences. Wildlife darted back and forth for cover, and cows, sheep or carriage horses lifted their heads from night time grazing. A light thunder built, growing in intensity as a rabbit jerked upright in the grass, eyes wide and alert as its ears twitched. The whiskers flickered and the nose wiggled as it waited for the storm to break.
And then the true origin of the thunder started to appear as shadows, drawing closer and more dangerous by the minute. The rabbit panicked, and darted like a streak of brown lightning for the cover of the trees, headed for the safety of the warren. Within moments, it was gone.
The sound grew louder still, and before long, the shapes of several horses tore through the open field, kicking up great chunks of earth as they galloped. One of the beasts of burden, eyes showing the whites in fear, wailed, ears flattening back. It could smell something predatory and savage on the air… it could feel the threat sweeping up behind the small company, and its heart drummed in its chest, terrified. Instinct.
The leader of the mounted company cast a hasty glance over his shoulder. He couldn’t see them. But that didn’t mean they were gone. Glancing to the others in his group, he let his eyes change colour; the vivid red was mirrored in his companions’ eyes, and they whipped the reins of their horses against the animals’ sides to speed them up. They leapt a rocky fence, and charged on.
Retreat wasn’t always cowardly… sometimes, there was just no other option.
Not far back from the mounted men, more shapes thundered over the sloping landscape, their feet pounding stealthily and agilely as they moved with preternatural grace and speed. They varied in size, shape and colour, but their instincts and intentions were unified; never wavering. Fangs parted as they travelled, and eyes gleamed in striking shades of silver, blue, red, yellow and green. Those with tails let them streak out behind their powerful forms to give them extra balance, while those without simply roared over the hills and grass relying more on power and natural grace than equilibrium. Claws gouged into the dirt under them, kicking out a dark cloud in their wake as they covered ground with ease. They knew the lands better than any other creature that might inhabit it, human, animal or… anything in between.
And they knew a clear intrusion on their territory when they saw it. Or rather… when they smelt it.
The hunting party rocketed over the wobbling fence; some skidded under it or through its wooden partitions. They never slowed, and no obstacle could halt their pursuit. They wouldn’t rest until their home was clear of the trespassers. They had one thing on their minds; they had to eradicate the threat. Perhaps they could have a little fun at the same time, but the main focus had to be on making the territory safe again.
The vampires had to be destroyed.
The leader of the hunting party had no intention of simply driving them out. His hatred for their kind still burned with a fiery passion, and as he led the group over the lazy inclines and slopes of the lands they ‘owned’, he let out a low growl to the others. The vampires had changed course, albeit only by a few degrees. They shifted like a flock of birds to match, paws pounding over the ground as they gained on their targets. The huge black creature charging on all fours at the front of the patrol was clearly larger than all of his hunters, but where he had brute strength and mass, his companions had their own traits that made them perfect for the chase and equally ideal for the kill. Cunning, speed, agility, grace… when combined, the abilities of the group were beyond deadly. Their bestial prowess was awe-inspiring, and would ensure that vampire blood stained the ground that night.
Cole Stanton’s bright amber eyes turned a fraction to his left, and he took in the misleadingly vulpine form speeding along beside him. The white streaks in her mane, coat and tail highlighted her, but her dark eyes almost blended into her graceful features. The moonlight caught them briefly, and he saw the anticipation there. On his other side was a rather lanky creature, travelling mostly on two legs; the other male’s speed in such transportation was astounding, but Cole appreciated such a seemingly-impossible swiftness.
The vampires may have equine speed on their side, but there were few animals that cold outrun a fully transformed werewolf… especially an entire group of them.
The bloodsuckers had changed direction again. And drastically this time; not just a few inches to either side. The hunting party slowed, and came to a unified stop. Powerful noses lowered, or lifted to the air respectively. At the head of the group, Cole rose to his muscular hind legs, and rocked his large skull back. He inhaled deeply, bright eyes closing as he concentrated.
There is always a clue, he reminded himself. Even in the more bestial form of lycanthropy, they could think. They relied more on instinct, true, but their human sides were never fully submerged or overwhelmed.
There!
He had heard the telltale sound of hooves crashing against tumbled wood to his right. Snapping a growl, he dropped to all fours, and thundered towards the sound. Behind him, his hunting party kept pace with ease, eyes gleaming with the exhilaration of the hunt, and the anxiety that came with the promise of a kill. To his left, Dia Mantenega’s vulpine wolf form weaved low to the ground, and to his right, Steven Manning’s slender beast-self charged like a bloodthirsty warrior. To the three older wolves’ rear, the younger hunters carved hungry paths; they wouldn’t rest until the vampires’ remains littered the ground.
The trees did little to hinder them; werewolves were forces of nature, and actually used the forest to their advantage. Cole grinned as he realised the vampires had made their fatal mistake. Whereas horses would have trouble in the trees, the werewolves would shoot through them like arrows. They had practically given themselves up; they had made the hunting party’s job easier.
Up ahead, he saw the flicker of a flaxen mane. He growled quietly to his pack mates, and though none of them even uttered a response, he knew they understood his request; the horses were to be spared. Intelligent beasts of burden though they were, they had no part in the vampires’ treachery. They were simply the mode of transportation.
That didn’t mean the horses couldn’t be further used against the leeches…
They gained on the fleeing trespassers. Behind Cole, one or two of the party leapt at the trunks of the trees, and into the canopies themselves. Over the heads of the werewolves still on the ground, the hunters leapt and swung towards their prey, more like primates than creatures of lupine ‘descent’.
The remaining wolves separated into two groups. Cole swung to the left with Dia, and Steven cut to the right, leading the other half with him. Cole saw the tall wolf’s mane vanish behind the foliage, and lifted his jowls eagerly. It was nearly done, and his adrenaline was pumping through him now. Just a few more feet…
Seconds passed, and the werewolves charged alongside the mounted vampires. The forest had separated into a kind of passage; the vampires on their horses were down in a kind of carved, dried riverbank that enabled the lycanthropes to race at higher levels beside them. Cole turned his flashing eyes to the vampire in the lead of the company, and almost grinned at him. He saw the red eyes widen, and heard him call warning to his fellow intruders.
Too late, the Beta male thought in mock humour as he howled a command.
He was the first to break from his chase. Charging closer to the ledge that dropped down into the old riverbed, he kicked off with his hind legs, and bodily tackled the vampire leader’s horse in the side, latching on where he could. He clutched the thick leather saddle with two of his gripping paws, but the others drew blood; some vampire, and some equine. He wouldn’t kill the horse, and the animal wouldn’t be infected with his lycanthropy, but his father had once taught him a valuable lesson regarding mounted opponents.
“Take out the horse, and you take out the rider.”
It was as simple as that.
The rest of the hunting part used the same lethal tactic. Flying through the air like an assassin, Dia’s oddly-fox-like wolf form slammed into the vampire just behind the leader, practically wrapping around him, and swinging her heavy lycanthropic form to the other side. Her body weight overwhelmed the horse, which screamed in terror as it lost its balance, and tumbled horrifically to the side, ploughing into the ground. The leg of the vampire rider shattered under the animal’s weight.
Steven leapt from his own ambush point, and roughly crashed his thick head into the vampire’s shoulder, using his powerful limbs to crudely shove and heave the horse over from underneath. It wailed, and slipped in the mud, and the lanky lycanthrope was soon upon its rider, savagely tearing into him.
The other wolves howled in an eerily warlike manner as they exploded from their cover, and rained down from the trees. The horses screeched and whinnied in terror as they were barrelled over or suddenly overwhelmed with extra weight from the ambushing werewolves.
Cole latched onto the lead vampire’s meaty shoulder with destructive fangs, which cleaved through the joint like hot knives. The vampire yelled loudly in agony, and the horse flailed its head before losing its balance. Its hooves scraped against the stones underfoot in the abandoned riverbed, before the mass of its body pounded into the mud. It kicked desperately, reminding the Beta male that he had to get the rider away from its panicking mount if he was to return to the pack unharmed. The last thing he wanted was a shattered collarbone, or fractured ribs.
Digging his claws in as he ripped his fangs free, leaving bone fragments sticking out of torn flesh, Cole wrenched the cowardly vampire around, and released him. He sailed over to the other side of the dry bank, and slammed into the compacted dirt. The large black male wolf revelled in the sound of shattering ribs, and possibly the crack of a limb, even as the vampire crumpled to the ground.
Cole dropped to all fours as the rest of his hunting part ravaged the trespassing vampires, parting his bloody maw to reveal his murderous fangs.
Not murderous, he told himself. Vengeful.
Vampires had killed his parents not five years ago. He wouldn’t tolerate the scum in his presence…
The leech drew a single-shot pistol, and hastily, not to mention shakily, pulled the trigger. The report echoed around the trees. Cole hadn’t even flinched. The bullet had zipped through the air just past his left ear, and he almost sneered. Such a poor aim from such a spineless creature. Idly, he realised that killing this vampire would be doing it a favour… he would be putting it out of its misery, clearly.
A towering mass of muscle and raw, lupine power advanced on the injured, bloody vampire, and he struggled to reload his weapon. His torn shoulder made such an endeavour near on impossible, but Cole didn’t pause to gloat or mock. He had a mission tonight, and he intended to follow through. As the vampire cowered back against the riverbank, the Beta wolf pressed one huge paw against the chest, hearing the weakening of bone beneath the cold flesh, and tuning out the sound of the leech’s whimpers. With his other forelimb, he took hold of the gun-wielding arm… and tightened; crushed. The ligaments and tendons caved instantly, and any semblance of stability in the limb was soon broken; it all shattered. The werewolf hadn’t even broken the skin, his hateful gaze boring into the vampire’s skull. He met the flinching red eyes of the leech, and heard what would become the creature’s last words.
“Please, no—”
Maw wide, with a meaningful snarl, Cole took the vampire’s head in his jaws, and clamped them closed. He grimaced heavily at the taste of cold, dead blood coating the inside of his mouth, the strangled scream of the ‘victim’ dying before it even really started. The head ‘collapsed’ under the pressure, and the Beta male immediately released, seconds before the remainder of the body exploded violently into ash. The pungent remains clung to the glossy black coat of the powerful second-in-command male of the local pack, and he grunted in displeasure. Their stink was sickening…
Turning, he saw clouds of ash settling, and heard the sounds of the fleeing horses. The vampires had been destroyed.
The hunting part was victorious once more.
And to add to their success, there wasn’t a wound in sight.
Giving his large body a forceful shake to rid it of the vampiric ash, he paced back over to his patrol. Dia brushed her lycanthropic body alongside his triumphantly, even as the male threw back his head. A deep, resonating howl pierced the night sky, causing birds to scatter from their night’s roosting points overhead. Dia joined him, and then Steven. The rest of the party joined in, throwing back their heads and closing their bright, intelligent eyes as they sang their victory to the sky, and to the moon.
~Fin~
