Before Sheraff could say anything Theraff jumped off, transformed midair into his werewolf form and shot off towards the village and superhuman speed. Levet, barely a moment behind, rushed after him. Ranfred and Sheraff looked at each other for a split second, Sheraff rolled his eyes and Ranfred shrugged his shoulders, and both of them rushed after the other two.
Unsurprisingly, Theraff got the village first. The village gate had been busted open. It stood in shambles, barely standing now. Theraff skid to a halt and a looked around; the village had been utterly destroyed. Bodies littered the streets, houses were blown up like they'd been hit with a hurricane, trees were knocked over, patches of dried blood blotted the entire ground and there was a small stream of blood flowing through the main street down out of the gates.
Sheraff and rushed in almost exactly when Theraff had registered all this damage in his mind. He looked around in shock too. It was scene of complete destruction. The village was destroyed like the werewolves hadn't been able to put up a fight at all. There was no smell of vampire blood in the air.
Levet and Ranfred came in last and looked around in shock too. Levet looked particularly appalled. "What the fuck happened here?" he muttered in a low voice.
"What those blood suckers always do." answered Theraff bitterly.
Ranfred started slowly walking around, almost a look of amazement playing on his face. Sheraff followed his suit but devoted his attention to inspecting the bodies.
"This is...extraordinary." said Ranfred after a few minutes, as he scrutinized a big piece of beam presumably from a house.
"What?" asked Levet, crossly. "That they'd fucking kill so many of our kind?"
"You were on the way to do the same thing." said Sheraff seriously.
"Yeah, but-"
"What's extraordinary," cut in Ranfred, "was that it's impossible to find out who did this."
"We can smell the vampires pretty clearly." sighed Theraff.
"Yes, we can." said Ranfred. "But to humans, they wouldn't be able to tell who did this at all. There is no damage that looks like it's been done by some wild animals, none to look like it was a big band of bandits, no magical residue...nothing." Ranfred paused and looked around in awe. "This village is just...destroyed. They cannot say anything more than that. They can't pursue anyone."
Theraff looked him straight in the eye for a few seconds. "Yes, but we can."
"Hey, come over here!" shouted Sheraff from deeper inside the village. The other three immediately rushed over to him.
Sheraff was standing in the main village square which had a well in the center. A bloodied werewolf leaned against, spluttering blood, but alive.
He had deep wounds all over his body. His clothes were so drenched in his own blood, you couldn't even tell what color they once might have been. His face was wounded as well; one eye missing, slashes across his face, blood coming out of his mouth. His dismembered arm lay a few feet to the left, still warm with blood.
He was drifting in and out of consciousness but perked up when he sensed four werewolves around him. His eyes scanned the four werewolves but stopped at Theraff.
"You!" he spluttered.
Theraff slammed his foot on his throat and he yelped. "What the fuck happened here?" The werewolf just defiantly stared back up at the silverback.
"What happened here?" growled Theraff a little loudly.
Suddenly, the wounded werewolf broke into a laugh. Once he started, he couldn't stop. His maniacal laughter rang out through the village streets and into the surrounding countryside. Theraff eyes glowed bright green and squeezed his foot further, stopping whatever remaining air was going through his throat.
The werewolf choked and stopped laughing.
"What happened here?" repeated Theraff, leaning closer towards the werewolf, without removing his foot.
It was like the werewolf couldn't stop himself; he grinned again. "You can't stop it." he sneered. "You're too fucking late."
"Late for what?" asked Sheraff, dreading the answer.
"Rorag left already." continued the werewolf not even looking at Sheraff. "Straight for your pack!"
All four werewolves drew back a little in shock.
"Oh, that's right. You all thought you were so smart. But we knew. We knew. We know who's fault all this shit is." said the werewolf, amused. "And that's why he left straight for you pack with the our best few."
Sheraff pushed Theraff off and grabbed the werewolf by the throat. "What the fuck do you mean?" he roared.
The werewolf seemed uninterested in Sheraff. "It's unguarded, isn't it?" he asked. "Your pack. All of the top dogs are out of the hunt. If someone wanted to attack and and slaughter your brood...now would be the perfect time...wouldn't it?"
The werewolf turned to Theraff, then to Ranfred and Levet. Upon seeing their horrified faces, he broke into laughter again, this time even more maniacal. Sheraff lost it; he roared, grabbed the delirious werewolf and snapped his neck, silencing him in an instant, the laugh frozen on his still face.
Then he turned to Theraff and the others. "We need to go back." he said. "Now!"
"We're not stopping for anything!" ordered Theraff. He looked pale. "It's not Rorag we should be concerned about!" He thought about Wenrrietta and Feraff and his heart stopped in fear. His pack wouldn't be very good on their own against a warlock werewolf and his best men. He transformed into the huge black werewolf with a silver coat on his back and with a sprint that shook the ground, dashed off, not giving this devastated settlement a second look.
The distance seemed so far away. When they'd been neighbors, the Deadtails couldn't have been further away no matter how far they were. Now, it was like they were at the end of Decimandria. Sheraff, along with the other three kept up their resolve of not stopping for anything. All of them were wolves with a target now and they were in kill mode.
Soon however the scenery did start to get more and more familiar. Sheraff's dread kept increasing with every step, but he didn't let it slow him. Not until he came into view of his village did he finally stop. It was nigh evening now, and the sky was a familiar shade of purple. He strained his ears toward his village but everything was quiet, the gates shut tight. A bit dubiously, he set off again, this time at double the speed, towards the village gates.
The perch on top of the ledge over the gate was Grazz. He noticed the Alpha and his three partners running towards the gate and immediately gave orders for it to be opened. Grazz was in amazement himself. Nothing gets past our Alpha.
Sheraff saw the gates opening; he would've grinned at Grazz's efficiency if not for worries that fraught his mind right now. He dashed past the gates, closely followed by the other three and the gates started closing.
Of all the things he was expecting, the sight he did greet him was the last thing Sheraff would've guessed. The entire pack was lined in front of their houses. Rorag, the Deadtails Alpha and four other werewolves lay heaped together on the main street of the village. Beaten up, but alive. And Luim, the young Arch Silverback of the Woodland Walkers pack stood above them. His was shirtless and Sheraff could see a few deep wounds on his chest and back which had been recently (and very affectionately) dressed.
He looked almost proudly at Sheraff as he skid to halt and transformed back into his human form, completely confused by his expression. The other three came stopped too and looked at the scene with a similar expression.
"What...what happened here?" asked Sheraff.
"They bared their fangs, I did the same. And this is the result." said Luim.
Sheraff always knew about Luim's disposition to speak very little; he always thought it was one of his good qualities, but right now, he was annoyed.
"I need more details, Luim." said Sheraff, trying hard to be patient.
"What the fuck did you do, kid?" asked Sheraff.
Luim almost grinned. His body a lot leaner than all the other werewolves around, but chiseled the best. "I was right outside the gates saying goodbye to sister, about to go hunting for the pack when I sensed five werewolves coming up fast on the gate. Guess they saw it open and decided to make their move. God knows how long they'd been hiding, concealing their presence by magic."
"And...?"
"Well, they wanted a fight, didn't they?" asked Luim simply. "And my sister was right there; no matter what happened, they were not gonna get her. So, I transformed too and lunged at them. This one," he tapped Rorag's unconscious body with his foot. "knew a few fancy tricks. But in the end, he was still a maggot in raw power. The other four were less than maggots."
"And you beat them all by yourself?" asked Theraff.
Luim looked up at him a bit confused. "Yes..." he noticed the other three staring at him in bewilderment. "Shouldn't...shouldn't I have?" he asked?
Sheraff burst out laughing; shock gave way to relief. He spotted his wife among the present wolves, walked over to her and gave her a hearty kiss. Then he picked up Feraff in his arms and laughed with his son for a few moments. Finally, he turned to Luim. "You didn't just defeat five chumps; that was Rorag, the Alpha of the Deadtails pack and his four best werewolves. They came here to come and kill our pack. You, Luim, just saved everyone. You're a hero."
Luim recoiled in shock. "Wait, what?" He wasn't shocked at being called a hero, he was shocked at his own power. He'd always heard tales of Rorag the Warlock, a werewolf who was supposedly unparalleled in using magic in these parts. Someone with talent, cunning, and raw strength. Someone built up to be so powerful, that he'd been told to not go picking fights with him if he'd valued his life. Luim was shocked that he'd defeated such a supposed legend so easily in a four on one battle. Was he growing at an exponential rate, had the stories been hyperbole, or had this legend grown weaker.
Theraff walked over to Luim and slapped him on the back. "Why do you think we rushed over here. We thought all the top werewolves were out, and Rorag would be able to do a lot of damage before being put down."
Levet grinned. "Guess we forgot to take into consideration the little greenhorn pup who's grown into quite a wolf."
"And by appearances, neither did Rorag." laughed Ranfred. The other three burst into laughter, and the entire pack followed. Luim received one back pat after another, and somehow ale appeared out of thin air, and people started toasting the young Arch Silverback.
"You're more powerful than I could've ever imagined." laughed Sheraff as he took a healthy swig of ale.
"Yes. Yes, he is." said a quiet voice behind him.
Sheraff froze in shock. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. It was like time itself had stopped. The merrymaking instantly evaporated and the entire pack froze dead. Without any of them realizing, someone had come into their midst. A dark, dangerous, and unpredictable force: Lord Valentine.