The Dead Lycan
GERALD'S POV
As we neared the pack, as we broke through the wall of trees, into the light of the night, I and Ethan froze. My feet were rooted to the ground, my eyes wide, my mouth agape as a body, a still, lifeless form, lay at the entrance of the pack, the scent of death, of blood, heavy in the air.
"No," I whispered, my voice a hoarse, desperate thing, as Ethan murmured, his eyes fixed on the body, his expression a mask of horror, "No. It can't be."
The silence of the night seemed to echo, to rumble, as I neared the body, my eyes fixed on the figure, the werewolf, that lay before me.
My eyes were very sharp to observe the marks, the scratches, that covered the body, that seemed to tell a story, a tale of a struggle, of a fight, of a battle that had been waged and lost.
My breath caught in my throat, my eyes blazing with fury, as I muttered, "Witches. This is the work of witches."
In the silence of the night, as the shadows seemed to close in around them, I gazed at Ethan, his gaze met mine.
My stare, a question, a plea, "What do we do now? How do we avenge this death? How do we save our pack, our kingdom?"
Ethan's expression was solemn, his eyes fixed on me, as he whispered, "We must find the witches, Gerald. We must face them, defeat them before they claim another life before they destroy our pack."
In the silence of the night, the shadows seemed to whisper, to beckon. I called out to two of my guards.
"Take this body to Ethan's chamber, for examination," I ordered them.
The guards nodded, their expressions solemn, their bodies moving like shadows, as they gently lifted the body of their fallen brother, the scent of death, of blood, following them as they moved through the night, toward Ethan's chamber.
As I entered the chamber together with Ethan, the shadows seemed to press in around me, the very night, pregnant with secrets, with answers.
Ethan moved toward the body, his eyes fixed on the wounds, the scratches, that covered the wolf's form.
He gently touched the wounds, his fingers probing, exploring, as if he were trying to understand, to piece together, the story of the werewolf's death, as he murmured, "Witch magic. It is strong, powerful, it has left its mark."
As my mind whirled, as the memory of the dead werewolf, my fallen brother, burned like a brand, a flame, in my soul, my expression hardened, my jaw clenching, my teeth bared, I was ready to strike, to kill, as I growled, "They have taken two of our own. They will pay, Ethan, they will pay in blood."
Ethan's eyes met mine, his expression grave. "We will avenge our fallen brothers, Gerald." He growled, expressing his unwavering support.
My fury, my rage seemed to emanate from me, a cloud, a haze, of emotion, of power, that seemed to envelop me, to consume me, as I stalked the confines of Ethan's chamber, my fists clenched, my muscles tensed, as if I were ready to explode, to unleash the wild, primal power of my werewolf form.
The witches had dared me. They had challenged my rule and threatened my pack. My heart ached, my soul burned, with the desire for vengeance, for justice.
The pack had been a bastion of peace, of harmony, for some time now, but now, in the face of the witches' threat, its serenity was shattered, its peace broken.
The whole pack seemed to tremble, to vibrate, with the power of my anger, with the ferocity of my resolve, as I paced like a predator, a hunter, preparing to strike. I was a werewolf, a creature of the wild, of the night, and I would not allow my pack, my people, to suffer at the hands of the witches.
The anger, the rage, that burned in my heart seemed to guide me, to propel me forward, as I stalked through the darkness. My body was tense, my teeth bared. Like a predator, I unleashed, as I made my way toward my mansion.
I was a force of nature, a creature of the night, as I wove through the shadows, my nostrils flaring, my eyes fixed on the darkness.
The pack seemed to shrink away from me as if it knew the fury that raged within me. I stalked forward, my muscles straining, my gaze piercing, as if I were a hunter, a predator, honed by centuries of evolution, as I neared my mansion, the heart of my kingdom, my rage a fire, a furnace, that burned within me.
I was determined to find the witches, to make them pay, for the blood of my fallen brothers, for the threat to my pack.
My mansion seemed to tremble, to quake, as my steps shook the very ground beneath my feet as if the earth itself were responding to my fury. The taunting, mocking laughter of the witches, the coven, seemed to dance on the wind, as if they were daring me, tempting me to come, to face them.
My heart beat faster, and my blood coursed hotter, as I turned, my nostrils flaring, my eyes narrowed as if I were a predator stalking its prey.
The fear, the hesitation, that had once gripped my heart, seemed to evaporate, to disappear, like mist in the face of my rage. My werewolf form rose, the power, the ferocity, of my beastly nature, surging through me, as if I were being possessed, consumed, by his primal, animalistic self.
The air seemed to crackle, to hum, with electricity, as my roar echoed through the pack, a primal, feral sound that seemed to reverberate, to echo, through the very fabric of the night. I bared my fangs, my face burning, my eyes blazing, as if I were a force of nature, an embodiment of rage and fury.
I stepped forward, ready to face the witches, to face my fate.
Show yourself!" I roared, my voice echoing through the night, through the darkness, as I swept my gaze across the mansion, across the shadows, searching for the source of the laughter, of the taunting, as if I could tear the darkness apart with my bare hands as if I could rip the witches from their hiding places, expose them to the light and my wrath.
The forest seemed to hold its breath as if it too were watching and waiting for the witches to reveal themselves, to face my fury.
Through the darkness, through the shadows, my gaze fixed on a figure, a shape, that seemed to move, to shift, as if it were a spirit, a ghost of the night. My ears and my senses pricked, as I heard a cry, a scream that seemed to pierce through the night, as if it were a warning, a call, to arms.
I moved forward, my movements silent, stealthy, my muscles coiled, ready to spring as if I were a predator, a hunter, closing in on its prey.
The pack quivered and trembled as if it were a living thing, a creature that feared the power, the fury, that burned within me.
I rushed forward, my eyes blazing, my fangs bared, my muscles tensed, ready to strike, as if I were a force of nature, a typhoon, a hurricane, that could not be stopped, as I tore through the direction as if it were nothing more than paper. I neared the figure, the shape, that I had seen.
The closer I drew to the figure, the more the darkness seemed to obscure, to hide, its form, its shape, as if it were playing a cruel, taunting game, with me.
The figure seemed to shift, to blur, in the shadows like a wraith, a specter that could not be touched, could not be grasped.
My eyes narrowed, my fangs bared, as I growled, my voice low and dangerous, "Show yourself, witch! Face me, face your death!"
The image that greeted me, as I finally broke through the shadows, the darkness that had hidden the figure, shocked me to my very core.
I blinked, my eyes wide, as I stared, as if I were seeing a ghost, a phantom, that could not be real, could not be true.
In the silence of the night, as the shadows seemed to whisper, to mock, my gaze fixed on the figure, the shape, that stood before me. I wondered my mind racing, as to why, how, this being, this creature, had come to be in this place, at this hour, when the darkness seemed to hold sway, as if they were the only living things in the world, that night.