The camp went silent as Deadrick, Danyel and Serul walked across the limit, Ganir’s lifeless body in Serul’s arms.

Deadrick and Danyel stood to one side as he carried the corpse into the centre of the camp, hundreds of glowing yellow eyes watching him, and dropped it slowly and carefully to the ground.

He rose to his feet, looking out across the crowd of werewolves, and said three words that sent a chill through the air.

“Ganir is dead,”

There came a rabble of yowls and cries of disbelief. Serul watched the grief around him intently, his own face looking as though it was about ready to burst into a cascade of inhuman tears.

Then, the noise turned into a low growl, the werewolves turned their attention to Danyel and Deadrick.

“No!” Serul cried, “It was not the outsiders… brothers, it was… something a large amount worse. Without the aid of these strangers I would have perished too,”

The rabble died down as Skrule and Nerui came from the tent, she rushed over to Deadrick.

“Do you have the flower?” She asked. Deadrick took it from the bag and handed it to her. She looked at Ganir’s body, “What happened?”

“Something bad, something that means we have to leave quickly,” Deadrick said quietly.

Nerui nodded and returned to the tent. Skrule had calmed the crowd and strode towards Deadrick.

“Skrule… I’m sorry-“

“It was not your fault, Serul said something about an Unholy horde,” Skrule whispered the word. As though it was some kind of spoken disease.

Deadrick could only nod. Skrule sighed, and looked up at the sky.

“We have always been hunted by them. We are forbidden contact with any of the Prime races because of those creatures… and yet- we run from them too. Tell me Deadrick, will we ever find a home?” Skrule asked rhetorically.

Deadrick didn’t reply, he was interrupted by a surge of what felt like painless electricity climbing his spine and entering his brain.

“Skrule!” He whispered quickly.

“I know, I can smell them,” Skrule replied, he turned to the crowd, “Brothers and sisters! More creatures of the night come, to hunt us because of our choices. Now is your time to avenge the death of Ganir Feren, your cursed brother!”

The crowd surged into life, wolves howled, barked and snarled, as a familiar screeching filled the trees around them.

“For civility! For the kan madu gral! For Ganir!” Skrule yelled, the crowd echoed him, as even juvenile wolves snarled at the amassing noise around them.

The Unholy came from all sides, screeching and yelping. The wolves were ready though, and viciously collided with the black mass of evil creatures that seemed to flood like water into the camp.

Danyel had gotten lost in the skirmish, but his blade could clearly be heard among the tearing of flesh by claw, and his excited yelps as he fought.

Deadrick had climbed onto the roof of a tent, staring over the undergrowth. He saw another group heading towards the camp fast. He grinned as he unclipped a grenade from his belt.

“Chew on this,” He grinned, throwing it into the trees. It exploded, sending dozens of Unholy flying, some going in a completely opposite direction from their extremities, into the trees.

Skrule had thrown himself into a crowd of ugly, stout creatures called Groks, he tore them to bloody ribbons, screaming and yelling.

Then, there was silence.

The werewolves ceased tearing and howling. The Unholy were gone, and the battle had been won.

Joyous whoops and victorious roars replaced the silence, Skrule howled, and then another wolf joined in, then another, then another. The forest was quickly filled with the amassing howls, it bounced around the trees and echoed miles away.

“My brethren!” Skrule yelled, “The battle is won!”

Then, from the tent, a huge hulking man stepped out, rubbing his eyes in the light. The crowd went silent as death.

   “I feel as though I’ve missed something,” Bruad said quietly.


The End

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