Feeling slightly uneasy about the evening after what he had done to the human. Catching him as he fled from his slain men and snapping his neck for attacking the young woman and what appeared to be her father, until he brought out that axe. Thinking to himself, I’ve seen that axe before, but where. Then, like getting hit by a Mach truck, he realized, that’s the old man from the street outside of MacTarnahans. Holy shit, that old geezer isn’t human; in fact, I doubt he’s all that old. At that moment, he decided, he needed a beer. Grabbing his ragged trench cloak, he left his room that the old Irishman had sent him to, and headed out the door telling old Nap, the house owner, that he would bring him back a bottle of beer in an hour or so.
As he left the house, he pulled his coat tighter around himself because it had begun to rain. Lovely Seattle weather, he thought to himself, why did I leave Denver? Oh yeah, you started up trouble you moron, he berated himself. Taking the back alleys to the Irish pub wasn’t all that exciting, a few drunks and homeless wandered the alleys this late at night, so there was no immediate threat to him or his friends bar just around the corner. Out of the night he heard it, Howls, coming from all over the city around him. Some howls he could tell coming from human throats, some morphing throats, and some wolf throats. They’re on the hunt, this isn’t good. It has to be that woman and man from earlier, but why? He took off like a bat out of hell.
Racing down the city streets and alleys, he jumped over trash and debris, both human and inanimate. His heart pounding in his chest, his lungs sucking down air; he had run like this before, many times while running away from packs of lycan’s after his head. This time though, Dante was heading head first into the beasts. He made it the end of the same alley way that the warrior had slashed through the humans. There he saw a dozen lycan. Doing exactly what he had thought to do, catch a scent of the couple that wasn’t belonging to humans. He knew he had to stop them before they took off. I hate ruining my cloths, but I can’t let them get the scent, they are hunting a target that isn’t prepared for this kind of an onslaught. He pulled off his coat, then taking off his shirt, boots, and undoing his belt, he wrapped them up inside his coat and hid it behind a large trash dumpster.
Relaxing himself for a moment before heading into battle. He slid down the alley way in the shadows, unnoticed, and beginning his transformation from man, to beast. Letting the blood rage start to flow through his veins, his vision began to change, heightened senses. Then the strength came, muscles rippling, stretching, tearing, repairing, and healing in a matter of a moment as his already thick strong bones lengthened and thickening. His pants got tighter, and then started to rip and tear. Hair sprouting all over his body in thick waves, from his head to the tops of his feet, while thick pads formed on the bottom of his feet and palms of his hands. His fingers changed shape, distorting painfully then reconfiguring in a stumpier, yet thicker fingered hand as bear claws sprouted from the finger tips about 4 inches in length. At the same time his face started to morph, as muscle rose up shortening his neck, his jaws elongated and his teeth grew in size, and sharpness. Dante walked silently through the shadows during his painful transformation, the only sound coming from his shredding pants.
Just as the lycan’s were beginning to find the woman’s scent, he closed the distance with a thunderous roar. Instantly dispatching two by burying his claws into the back of the necks of a lycan woman and man, pulling up, he separated their heads from their shoulders, blood instantly spurting from the stumps of the necks that were left. As the last of his powerful war cry left his throat, he brought his massive jaws down on the head of a transformed lycan, crushing his head instantaneously, filling his mouth with blood and brain matter. He took another deep breath and issued a challenging roar, spraying the contents of his kill into the air. The shocked lycan’s responded by replying with their own howl, those not transformed, did so in a moment.
He wasted no time in waiting for them to finish regaining from their shock and transformations. Slashing at their faces and chests, doing little more than scratching into them, the lycans then started to circle him. A tall brown wolf got too close for his luck, lashing out with lightening quick reflexes; he caught the lycan just behind the jaw, tearing the lower jaw off of his opponent. With the other paw he slammed his 4 inch claws into the side of the wolf’s head, pulling his hand back as the body hit the ground. A smaller wolf, clearly a woman, pounced on his back, flaying open his back and exposing muscle as she sunk her teeth into his shoulder. Roaring in pain, he reached back and caught her foot with his right hand, crushing it in his grip, pulled her off his back, swung her over his head threw her into a powerful male across from him. The force from collision sent them both out of the alley and across the small street, slamming them into a brick wall with a sickening crack.
The other lycan’s, deciding they had suffered enough casualties, took off, licking their wounds. Letting out one last billowing roar, he sunk down to his knees, transforming back to his human form. Blood running down his body, from the bite in his shoulder and the lacerations in his back, “FUCK THAT HURT, YOU BITCH,” he yelled at the slumped over lycan woman heaped up 20 paces from him. He ran his fingers through his wet hair, willing the wounds to close and start healing. In seconds, Dante could feel the skin and muscle start to knit together, sealing the wounds in his back, tender as they were, there was no more bleeding.
I don’t know how much trouble those people are in, but they will definitely need help, Dante recognized that there were still people in danger, and he had made a vow to protect those hunted by his kind. He had lost his own love to the damned beasts; he won’t allow others to lose their own. He returned to his clothing, putting on his coat and carrying the rest of his things, he went in search of those he knew were being hunted. Searching for the smell of more lycan blood, for he knew that the warrior would surely spill some himself.