Atop the watchtower, two figures stood silhouetted against the moonlit sky, their gazes fixed on the shadowy expanse of the forest below.
"So, how was the white-haired man, Ray?" Desmond asked, breaking the silence.
Ray shrugged, leaning against the wooden railing. "Adam? Well he's alright. A bit too curious, though. Kept asking me about the village's history and all the news around here."
"Is he still in the tavern?"
"Yeah. Left him there when I closed up before coming here."
Desmond nodded thoughtfully.
Ray raised an eyebrow, shooting him a sidelong glance. "You didn't call me up here just to ask about him, did you?"
Desmond smirked. "No, I didn't. I wanted to talk to you about the wolf sightings."
"The ones Gaston was investigating?"
"Exactly. He found signs of a struggle at the last scene—a canine tooth left behind. And Ruby might be the only one who saw it."
Ray frowned. "But they didn't find a body, right?"
Desmond's smirk deepened as he gazed up at the sky. "Exactly. If Ruby had been there, they'd have found the wolf's body—well, whatever was left of it. It'd probably be in pieces."
The clouds shifted, unveiling a full moon that bathed the forest in an eerie glow.
~swish
A faint rustling reached their ears, growing louder with each passing second. Desmond stiffened, his hand instinctively drifting to the bow at his side.
"Ray, do you hear that?"
Before Ray could respond, figures began to emerge from the treeline. Hooded and silent, they moved with an unnatural pace, their numbers swelling as more stepped into view.
Desmond's grip on his bow tightened. "Get ready. Something's wrong."
One of the hooded figures approached the village gate, stepping ahead of the rest. Slowly, he reached up and pulled back his hood, revealing long, dark hair, a wicked scar that cut from his brow to his mouth, and feral green eyes—one clouded and blind, the other alight with malice.
The scarred man grinned as he locked eyes with Desmond at the top of the wall, his voice a low growl. "Do you miss me, Desmond?" He then burst into a manic laugh. "Because I didn't ."
Desmond's blood ran cold. "Sound the bell!" he shouted to the militia below.
Ha Ha Ha Ha
The scarred man's laughter echoed through the night as his body began to contort, bones cracking and muscles bulging grotesquely. Fur sprouted across his massive frame, and within seconds, he towered over ten feet tall. One glowing red eye glint in sinister light, and his claws gleamed like steel in the moonlight.
The monstrous figure threw back his head and let out a chilling howl.
Awooo!!
The sound reverberated through the forest, triggering a horrifying transformation among the hooded figures. They too shed their human forms, revealing twisted, grotesque werewolves. Some bore green fur, others looked stitched together as if pieced from multiple creatures, their forms unnatural and wrong.
The pack howled in unison, their cries shaking the night.
Desmond shouted again. "Militia, arm yourselves! The enemy is here!"
Ding~Dong!!
A sharp clang rang out as the bell was struck, echoing through the village.
BANG!!
Before Desmond could descend from the watchtower, a deafening crash shook the ground. The village gate, reinforced with iron, was reduced to splinters as a werewolf with vibrant green fur and oddly twisted ears barreled through it.
Grrrr!!
The beast let out a guttural snarl before lunging at the nearest militia, claws ripping through armor with terrifying ease.
Chaos erupted as the other werewolves stormed the village. The air was filled with snarls, screams, and the clash of weapons against unnatural flesh.
Amid the carnage, the scarred leader strode through the ruined gate, his hulking frame almost casual in its menace. He hummed an eerie tune, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.
"Oh, Ruby," he called in a sing-song voice, his tone mocking. "Come out, come out, wherever you are." His laughter echoed, a sinister promise of what was to come.
__________
ROAR!!
The werewolf roared in agony as Gaston's silver-tipped arrow embedded itself deep into its eye. It thrashed violently, yanking the arrow free with a clawed hand. Blackened blood oozed from the wound, but unlike the other injuries it had sustained, this one refused to heal.
The beast turned its one remaining eye toward Gaston, rage simmering beneath its glowing crimson gaze. Gaston smirked confidently, resting his blunderbuss on his shoulder.
"Hey, little man" Gaston called mockingly, "silver works wonders on this mutts. Those flashy ice tricks of yours," he threw a glance my way, "won't do much against it."
Before I could retort, the werewolf lunged at Gaston, its claws poised to strike. Gaston remained calm, raising the blunderbuss and firing.
Bang!
The silver-shot blast tore into the werewolf's chest, sending it stumbling backward with a guttural snarl. But before anyone could breathe a sigh of relief, a second werewolf emerged from the shadows'a hulking creature with fur as green as moss and eyes that glowed a sickly yellow.
The green-furred werewolf was faster than the first. In one swift motion, it swiped at Gaston's weapon, sending the blunderbuss flying and rendering it useless. It roared, pinning Gaston to the ground with its massive paws.
"Move!" I shouted, instinctively summoning my power. Ice shards erupted from my hand, shooting toward the green beast. One struck its shoulder, causing it to howl and flinch.
Gaston, taking advantage of the moment, kicked the werewolf off him with a grunt of effort. The creature tumbled to the ground, growling in frustration.
"I hate working without my toys," Gaston grunted, pushing himself up.
"Lefou!" he barked, scrambling to his feet with a sense of urgency.
Lefou, crouched behind a wagon for cover, grabbed a longsword from his side and tossed it toward Gaston. Gaston caught it mid-air, gripping the hilt tightly as the green-furred werewolf charged again.
Meanwhile, I focused on the original werewolf, which had recovered and was now barreling toward me. My instincts screamed at me, and I summoned a compact wall of winter sand between us.
Thud!
The werewolf slammed into the barrier, snarling and clawing at it. Each strike sent vibrations through the air, but the wall held firm.
"White guy" Lefou shouted, tossing a small leather pouch in my direction.
I caught it, opening my hand to reveal shimmering silver powder inside. I frowned, glancing up. "What is this? And for the record, I do have a name."
"Silver dust!" Lefou called back, sidestepping a smaller werewolf that lunged at him. He parried the werewolf's claws with a dagger, dodging nimbly. "Use it to fight them!"
"Got it" I muttered, pouring the silver dust into my palm.
The first werewolf was still clawing at the sand wall, its fury growing. I pressed my hand to the barrier, infusing it with the silver dust. The sand shimmered with a faint metallic sheen, and the next time the werewolf struck, its claws sizzled on contact. It howled, recoiling in pain.
Gaston, meanwhile, clashed with the green-furred werewolf. His sword met the creature's claws in a flurry of strikes, sparks flying with every clash. Despite its size and speed, Gaston's superhuman strength allowed him to hold his ground.
"Come on, you overgrown mutt!" Gaston taunted, sidestepping a powerful swipe and slashing across its side. The werewolf howled, black blood staining its green fur.
I turned my attention back to the first werewolf, which was circling around the wall, searching for an opening. Using the last of the silver dust, I coated my winter sand and shaped it into a long whip. With a flick of my wrist, the whip lashed out, striking the werewolf across the chest. It screeched in pain, its flesh sizzling where the silver-infused sand struck.
The green-furred werewolf let out a roar, leaping at Gaston with reckless abandon. Gaston ducked and drove his sword upward, the blade sinking into the creature's shoulder. The beast stumbled back, its movements growing erratic.
"Little man" Gaston shouted.
"I have a name, dimwit!" I shouted, summoning another barrage of ice shards. With a swift motion, I launched them at the green-furred werewolf. One shard struck its head with a sickening crack, and the beast collapsed to the ground with a guttural growl.
The green fur began to recede, and its monstrous form shrank and shifted. When the transformation was complete, what lay before us wasn't a human or werewolf, but something equally monstrous. A towering figure with green skin, patches of hairy fur, and strange, tube-like ears.
The creature groaned, struggling to rise.
"Shit" Gaston muttered, lowering his sword.
I stared at the creature, my mind racing. "An ogre?" I whispered.
___________
[The blunderbuss is a 17th- to mid-19th-century firearm with a short, large caliber barrel which is commonly flared at the muzzle, to help aid in the loading of shot and other projectiles of relevant quantity or caliber. ]