The madness only rose upon Marco's arrival. And despite the unreal number of Hunters and Warlocks rushing toward the ice rink from the outside, he seemed invincible.
The two men he held in his hands like meat-shields weighed little more than enough to be an annoyance as their bodies shook and popped from the silver bullets filling them.
Marco roared, a monstrous leonine howl that threatened to split the ice beneath his pawed hybrid feet.
"....fourteen.... fift-- sixteen." He counted off the bullets fired.
All that followed the sixteenth bullet was empty clicks. Empty....
Marco threw the two body bags he once held. They flew through the air in a blur before smashing into two of the three hunters with a sickening crunch.
The last of the three stumbled out of the way and began running toward the exit. Each stride followed up by a slip and slide over the sleek ice.
Marco chased, digging his claws into the cold ground to move with the same speed he would've in a desert, or a forest.
"No-- wait!" The Hunter yelled.
Marco said nothing as he pounced on the man, sinking his deadly incisors into the back of his throat.
Before he could finish the kill, one of the doors beyond the rink burst open.
"Don't move you freak!"
"I'm gonna kill you bastards!"
The Hunters yelled all manner of obscenities, but only one voice stuck out to him.
"A new shifter has entered the Hunting-Zone. Near Fully Synthesized. Young, and not a WereWolf. It could have relations to the Blue-Eyed Beast-- bring in the backup."
"Yea you do that..." Marco thought before he shook the Hunter in his jaws with a growl. The snap was loud enough to pause the squadron of Hunters and Warlocks closing in on the rink. Only momentarily though.
Then the action was back in full swing. The click of loaded weapons. The smell of leathers and old blood on silver swords.
Marco was ready to descend on them when movement to his right caught his attention.
Scott, Stiles and Derek. They'd moved out from behind the large grey ice resurfacer. Derek left a trail of blood in his wake as Scott and Stiles carried him off. They weren't far from a similar state, their skins too vulnerable to the silver bite of the Warlocks blades... their bodies unconditioned for war. Even so, Scott's eyes scanned the entire area in search of one person.
One innocent.
Boyd.
He wasn't leaving. Stiles probably wouldn't either. He told them to find Boyd, but if the human wasn't within arm's reach or eyesight, there was no use. Something told him Scott didn't hold that same belief.
Even as the Hunters and Warlocks prepared to line the entire place with bullet holes.
Scott's eyes fell on his for a moment. Marco bared his teeth at him as he unholstered the gun from the Hunters hip beneath him.
"Dumbass." He growled before loading the weapon and rising to fire it into the darkness beyond the rink where the Hunters loomed.
The surprise of seeing a seven-and-a-half-foot tall shifter firing a desert eagle at the Hunters was enough of a shock for him to be able to take down a few of the newer members with ease. But they were Hunters, some being experienced Warlocks. They fired back accordingly.
Marco roared as the shots rang out and bullets grazed his toughened skin while others dug deep enough for blood to spurt grotesquely.
Silence fell suddenly. Clips emptied. Marco stood over the ice, his undersized hoodie riddled with holes that steamed. Blood dripped onto the ice around his feet in a steady pitter patter. In the silence, his ears twitched at the sounds of Warlocks and Hunters dying on the floor from bullets to the chest and neck.
The smell of blood was rousing. But the taste of revenge was sweeter than anything in comparison.
The remaining Warlocks seemed to have the same idea as they raised their blades. Based on how they moved-- and past experiences, he knew they were better with blade than their noisy and poorly crafted guns. He needed to move carefully.
With a snarl he took off into the shadowy seats lining the rink. He could feel the others eyes on him in the distance. They meant nothing in the moment. Only the Hunters and Warlocks mattered.
***
Scott and Stiles had fled the ice rink, carrying Derek along the way as they snaked through the building, stepping and tripping over the bodies of Hunters. Their bodies mauled and broken in ways that made even Derek grunt as he fought off the urge to cringe.
"Ok, I smell cleaning supplies." Derek mumbled.
"What?" Stiles said as they walked down a long unlit hallway.
"Supply.... c-closet. Use your nose." Derek whispered.
Scott began scenting the air in the hallway, trying to ignore the blood and sulfurous smell. Once he caught the strong scent of cleaning agents and plastics, he held onto it until it led him to a small supply closet.
In a rush, he set Derek and Stiles down against the left wall, jumping as a vicious roar shook the halls.
Minutes passed as he broke into a nearby supply closet until suddenly, he'd found what he was looking for and emerged with an old first aid kid. He was no Deacon, but it would be better than nothing.
"He's not looking good." Stiles said as Scott approached.
"None of us are." Scott said as he laid the kit beside him. Stiles immediately began digging into it, sporadic and jittery as usual, if not a bit slower due to the injuries.
"Ok, we'll try to clean the wounds, check for any bullets still inside and close him back up to leave, then we... Scott?" Stiles trailed off after seeing Scott looking around the halls in the darkness.
"Oh god dammit..." Stiles mumbled, too clever to not read his friend like a book. Even in such tense moments.
"I think Boyd is still in here."
Stiles just looked at him.
"I have to try to find him."
"Alright. I got Derek, go. Just let Marco draw all the attention... since he seems intent on impersonating the incredible hulk. Stay hidden, and if you can't find him in the next ten minutes, we're leaving. Remember, there's a chance he ran, Scott. Something we should be doing....."
"Alright." Scott replied before rising to his feet, he jumped again at the sound of a roar, closer this time.
Stiles watched him take a few steps before he spoke, "Be saf--"
His words were cut short due to an armored Warlock busting through the thin plaster wall near Scott. Stiles and Derek leaned away from the wall immediately as Marco burst through the wall in pursuit of the Warlock.
"Stay back!" The Warlock yelled in a daze as it swung it's silver sword in Marco's direction.
The monstrous teen sidestepped the swipe and punched him in the throat so hard his neck broke with a wet crunch. He hit the ground in a heap of metal and torn Kevlar.
Marco turned to face them. Blood dripped from his jaws and wetted his hoodie that was missing an entire sleeve, leaving his muscle-bound fur covered arm exposed to the elements.
"The fuck are you still doing here! Get out!" The sounds of Warlocks in the distance failed to overpower his guttural voice.
Scott straightened and faced him, clutching his sliced open midsection with one hand, "We're going to find Boyd and get him first."
Marco growled and grabbed the dead Warlocks sword before turning to the hole in the wall and throwing it like it a spear.
The sound of it slicing into someone made Stiles flinch. The painful scream that followed was only that much worse.
"No. You're obviously here to get yourself killed. None of you can even sprint. Don't waste your time. Get out, save your Alpha."
"He's not my Alpha. And I will save him.... along with Boyd. Because he's innocent."
Marco growled and steam rose from his right arm unnaturally. Scott could've sworn he saw something change in Marco's eye, something that made Scott's insides shrink and the wilder part of him fight against the urge to submit in the presence of something.... something more. Whatever it was, it faded the moment a reptilian shrill echoed through the building like a siren of death.
"Fire over a land of ice....How could I forget." Stiles murmured in the distance as all the warmth in the building disappeared. He and Scott had felt a similar phenomenon on the night of the full moon. At Isaac's house.....
"Oh no..."
Marco turned to face the hole in the wall. His body went rigid as stone before he turned and threw Scott into Derek and Stiles, causing them to roll further down the hall in a rolling heap of blood and torn clothing.
When he turned back to face the hole in the wall, his insides clinched at the sight of the Monster bulleting toward him. The wings, the dark purple and black scales, the hellish red eyes. He had no idea what he was looking at-- but he suddenly remembered his mother's stories of what had attacked his people.
Wings like a dragon...
"HRAAAA!!" The flying reptilian monster slammed into him, sending him through the other wall with a single punch. It didn't stop there as it flew after him with purple-red flames pouring from it's mouth.
He couldn't help but consider his mother's words-- along with what he knew of his world. He wasn't looking at a dragon. In fact, it looked like a shifter. A tainted and incomplete holder of the shifters spark. Something rare and born from strife. It looked like similar to a Canima.....
But if it was, then what did the Warlocks do to change it in such a way?
The question remained unanswered as another scaled fist slammed into his jaw and knocked him unconscious.