Terror.

  It was the only way to even remotely describe what Henry experienced as the werewolf blitzed into action. The beast tore its way through frightened onlookers as if they were wet tissue paper, pulping those too slow to react or unlucky enough to end up in its warpath. In a matter of moments, viscera stained practically every surface in its vicinity, and nearly a dozen lay dead or dying in its wake.

  Most of them didn’t even cry out in agony as they were struck down. The speed and ferocity of the werewolf’s attacks tore them to ribbons near instantly.

  Those who managed to survive longer than a few seconds made up for that lack of anguish tenfold.

  Henry ducked behind the counter, their final wails worming their way into his ears no matter how hard he tried to press them shut. The cold twisted metal of the ice pick was clasped between his head and his hand, and it scraped deeper against his skull as his efforts to block out the sounds of the world around him became more and more desperate.

  His blood felt like ice water running through his veins. His heart beat erratically, nearly pounding out of his chest, and his breathing came in shallow, ragged gasps. One thought was stuck looping in his mind as the sounds of the carnage behind him painted a picture as vivid as if he were seeing it with his own eyes.

  We’re all going to die. We’re all going to die, we’re all going to-

  A sound somewhere between a tree falling and a smashed pumpkin reverberated through the pub as something collided with the solid oak bar he cowered behind. Henry’s jaw shook from the impact directly behind his head, the dull ache of accidentally scraping his teeth against one another barely enough to break his free of his panic momentarily.

  He glanced over his shoulder, toward where the impacted object had been laid out unceremoniously.

  The dying gaze of Harold Donahue bore straight into Henry, eyes in the process of glazing over as his mind caught up with the fact that he was already dead.

  Crimson ichor flowed out into a shallow pool across the countertop. Leaking in every direction, spilling over the edges and toward his hiding spot.

  Henry’s eyes widened in horror as the upper torso of the elf slid down to the floor beside him. He gripped the ice pick with both hands, clinging to it as if it were his last lifeline. Not daring to even breathe as the heavy footfalls of the beast drew closer, one step at a time.

  Trembling beneath the corpse of one of the men who he’d served drinks for years, he could only silently beg for mercy as the jaws of death crept closer to his sanctuary.

  Oh God, please don’t let it know I’m here! I’m not ready to die!

  The splintered oak emitted a low creak as the weight of something extraordinarily heavy weighed down on the stressed material. Somewhere behind the counter, the monster inhaled deeply, sniffing the air to trace its prey through the metallic tang of the slaughterhouse it created.

  I’m not ready to die…, Henry repeated to himself weakly.

  The chime of the bell at the doorway cut through the demolished interior. The weight on the bar lifted near instantly as the beast spun around, alerted to the escaping presence. One of the surviving patrons cursed aloud as they realized the mistake they had made.

  “Shit, leg it!”

  The bell rang several more times as the remaining patrons trampled their way through the singular frontal exit. With a warcry halfway between a roar and a snarl, the werewolf dove headlong into the fray once more.

  The sound of glass shattering into multitudinous crystalline fractals gave every indication to the direct approach the beast had taken. Henry didn’t fancy their odds any better than he did his own.

  His breath came back to him shaky, but deeper than it had before. When he wiped his forehead, the back of his palm coming back slick with a mixture of sweat and blood. It was only a brief moment of respite, but it allowed him to breathe something that was somewhat close to a sigh of relief.

  That was, until, a hand reached around the bar and pulled him to his feet by the collar.

  Had he not been able to recognize that it was Randall once he was stood back up, he might have just died of a heart attack right then and there. Though, getting a good look of him now, the old man had not escaped the ordeal in good shape, by any stretch of the imagination.

  Nasty, purplish bruising had formed around his windpipe, only marginally visible beneath the layer of drying blood that caked him from head to toe. A deep gouge near his shoulder indicated that not all of it was somebody else’s. Henry exclaimed in shock at the sight of him.

  “You’re alive?!”

  “Barely.”, he grunted, wincing in pain as he placed weight on the other half of his body to swing himself over the top of the bar.

  Henry stared at the destruction left in the creature’s wake. Tables lay blasted to flinders, bodies pulped beyond recognition lay strewn in the center of the pub. Near the edges, a few moved subtly, groaning in pain and clutching wounds that ranged from debilitating to fatal with time.

  He staggered at the sight of it all. A wet squelch came from his right shoe, causing him to look down.

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  It took all his remaining strength to not throw up when he realized he had stepped through Mr. Donahue’s chest cavity. The innards soaked through, seeping inside for a moment before he was able to wrench his foot free.

  Those same hollow orbs from before gazed back up at him. Morbidly, he wondered if he’d look the same way when it was his turn.

  Randall finished rummaging around in the compartments below the bar, and shoved a backpack into Henry’s chest. As the wind was temporarily knocked out of him, the old man spoke slowly and deliberately.

  “Take this… and get my daughter as far away from here as you can.”

  It took Henry longer than he liked to admit to catch up with what was being said. “What?...Aren’t you going to get out of here, too?”

  “Probably not,” he replied candidly, reaching further back into the cabinet than Henry thought the space allowed. Randall grit his teeth as he fought through the pain to pull out a long, narrow case from within. “Which is why I need you to get her to safety.”

  “D-Don’t tell me you plan on fighting that thing!”

  Beyond the smashed window pane, pained outcries echoed through the city streets as the wolf claimed yet more victims before their very eyes. Henry glanced back at his surrogate father, who’d instead begun opening the case and unpacking the contents within.

  The polished wooden stock of a Pre-Domain service rifle reflected the light from above back at him as Randall unclasped the locks on the sides of the case.

  “Randall,” Henry begged. “Don’t do it. You’re throwing your life away.”

  “So what?! I’m a dead man walking, anyway.” He jabbed a finger towards the slash through his shoulder, still slowly leaking blood. “Least this way, I won’t die lying on the floor pissing myself like you were about to.”

  “But what about Layla?! She needs you now more than ever!”

  “We don’t have time for this Henry! For once in your life, just follow along and-”

  “And what?! Have her end up with two dead parents, too?!”

  “Damn it, son! She’ll be the one dead if you don’t hurry it up!”

  “If you don’t drop this death wish of yours, I’ll drag you along if I have to!”

  “It’s too late-”

  Randall was cut short by a howl that vibrated through both of their skulls, causing Henry to clutch his head in pain with one hand. When he looked up, the wolf outside was coiling up for another pounce, mirroring the first from the initial onslaught.

  The old man shook off the nauseating effects of the beast’s challenge, bringing the rifle to bear in a ready position. Tears streaked down his face, leaving clear channels in the brown-red smears that had spattered him.

  “Do one thing for me,” he croaked, squinting his eyes as he lined up a shot on the beast. “Tell my daughter… tell her that I’m proud of her.”

  He fired, and the lead projectile sliced through the air with a thunderous report. The werewolf’s head reared back, snarling in pain as one of its unnaturally reflective yellow eyes was put out in a lucky strike.

  “GO!”, Randall bellowed. As he cycled the bolt of the weapon and lined up his next shot, the beast began its charge back into the building. He fired a second shot, this one impacting on the much heavier muscle tissue in the shoulder to significantly less effect.

  “GO!”

  Henry was shoved back towards the rear of the bar, backpack and ice pick in tow. Scrambling to maintain his footing, he saw Randall lining up a third shot as the werewolf bounded back through the open window. Just a short distance away lay the door to the stairwell. His legs pumped with adrenaline as he ran to escape the battle behind him.

  Wrenching the door open, Henry dashed up the stairs two at a time to carry out the last request of the man he never took the chance to properly thank for raising him.

  < -|- -|- >

  From the second story window, Layla watched on in horror as the streets ran red with blood. Through the obfuscation of the fog outside, all that could be made out were the odd flash of movement from some wolf-like thing nearly the size of a car. In its wake, all that could be heard were screams of terror and pain cut short, and the human offal left behind.

  One thought was stuck looping in her mind as she watched the carnage unfold.

  This can’t be real. There’s no way this can be real. Not even Domain magic is capable of this!

  Structured magic, while impressive working as a bunch of small parts building up to a greater whole, simply could not have come close to creating such a monstrosity. Even the Fauna Domain, which this nominally should have fallen under, couldn’t hold a candle to what would be required for this to be possible.

  I must be hallucinating all of this! I mean, it was considered a huge development when they used it to clone that sheep in Edinburgh! That alone took a decade, and it still died of complications a few years later!

  The beast howled into the night. The intensity of the noise made her head shake, the vibrations resulting in a nauseating sense of vertigo. When she managed to shake the aftereffects, the creature was no longer on the street, shots ringing out from inside the building.

  Oh my god, DAD! I need to-

  Her train of thought cut short as Henry slammed through the doorway at the base of the stairs. Shouting at the top of his lungs, Henry called up to her from down below.

  “LAYLA!! WE NEED TO LEAVE, NOW!”

  “Henry! Where’s Dad?!”, Layla exclaimed, panicked.

  She raced to the staircase, where he was just reaching the top of the flight. Ignoring her question entirely, he attempted to pull her along into the second flight leading upwards.

  “We need to get to the roof, it’s the only way out!”

  “But what about my father?! Where is he?”

  “He’s doing what he can to buy us time. He’s-”

  “He’s down there, isn’t he? Let me go, I need to help him!”

  She slipped her wrist from Henry’s grasp and attempted to sidle past him. He reacted immediately, using his whole body to block the entryway in an effort to prevent her from the suicidal maneuver.

  “Henry, he’s going to die if we don’t do something!”

  “I know! But he wanted this, so that he could be sure you’d be safe after he’s gone!”

  “Stop talking like he’s already dead!!!”

  An agonized bellow echoed from the stairwell, emanating from the pub below. Both recognized who it was immediately. Layla made one last desperate attempt to force her way past Henry, who in turn pushed his hardest in the opposite direction to keep her from running to her death. Tears streamed down her face like rivers, as she flailed fruitlessly to save him.

  “DAD!!!”

  The screams fell silent yet again with a wet crunch. Her chance was gone. And despite everything the three of them had done together in their lives, Henry had simply let it happen.

  The fight left Layla completely as despair began to settle in. She looked back to him, his face a grim, despondent mask as he listened to her father’s death alongside her.

  “We… we could have saved him…”

  “No,” Henry disagreed. “…There was nothing I could do.”

  Lumbering footsteps cast faint vibrations through the soles of their shoes, traveling through the floor from a distance that implied a terrifying weight behind them.

  Shock washed over her as the realization that her father was gone forever began to sink in. Henry, more mindful of the imminent danger, grabbed her by the hand once more and made a break for the roof access.

  He can’t be gone… None of this can be real…

  She robotically followed after him, propelled more by the force it took to pull her along than her own input. Below, the creature growled in a low, bassy tone as the sound of crumbling stonework reached their ears.

  As much as she wanted to believe her own lies… She knew she’d be coming back to find him after they got away.

  And she knew that no matter what, she wouldn’t like what she found.