Zachary was alone. The moon was full and gave a small amount of light when the clouds did not cover it. The machine was behind him, and Suykimo was still at the witch’s hut. The older man would pay his price with knowledge, and the younger man would collect the flowers and any blood he came across.
He hunted now. To the east of the village was a mountain, a forbidden place that was owned by the lord of the region to whom the village paid tithe. On these lands Zachary would find what he sought. The witch had told him to take what he needed to protect himself from unnatural things, things that would hunt him for sport.
He lowered his goggles, which he wore only at specific times to keep dust from his eyes when riding, in cold and snow to protect his tears from freezing his eyes shut, and their third function was to allow him to see at night. Special green glass lit his vision with an eerie tint, not allowing him to see color, but allowing him to see into the shadows almost as clear as day.
He was not the only one that could see in the shadows though. The hunting owl, the small animals that foraged in the dark, and the predators that hunted at night could also see. One such predator had caught his scent; a taste of blood, the smell of oil and man. It followed the trail. It skulked closer, creeping silently, waiting for the perfect time to beset its quarry.
This was the ultimate hunter. The arsenal of weaponry both natural and crafted was at its disposal. The best money and nature could provide. Tracking by scent, sight, sound, and taste, it always ran its victim to ground. It never lost its prey. It patiently followed this new interloper in its territory. Sighting its game, it leapt to a higher ridge to stalk the man.
Zachary twitched. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he was sure they would do the same on his arms if his leather and brass bracers didn’t cover them. Something was wrong. Stopping, he peered into the darkness. His breathing slowed and he allowed his senses to blanket the area. Staying still for many minutes, he waited. The leaves rustled across the deer track up the side of the mountain, following the path of the trailing clouds across the sky. Sweat cooled on his skin as he waited. He trusted his training and instincts.
Zachary knew whatever it was he sensed was not going to make a move until it was ready, so he moved on and continued his search. In less than an hour, he found roses. Kneeling, he brought his torch forward, a small device powered with electric, to light his prize. He lifted his goggles as the beam showed him the color of the flowers. Blue. He drew a knife from his boot and cut the stems, making a pile of as many of the blooms as he could find.
The only warning Zachary had before the attack, was a slight growl then he was knocked over from behind. He tucked his body into a roll as claws tore at his back. His leather protected him, but he felt it tear. He came up in a defensive crouch, knife at ready. Blinking, he turned off his light and tossed it on the roses and let his eyes adjust, trying to size up his foe.
The moon came out from behind the clouds and Zachary saw his attacker was a full head and shoulders taller than him. Lupine in appearance, it stood upright and wore some clothing. The enemy had the hind legs of a wolf, bent backwards as if ready to spring, and each thigh had a weapon strapped to it. The right had a large pistol of brass and glass, and blue current danced inside of it. The left had a long black steel baton with a thick handle with switches and a single dial. Each hung from wide twin leather belts that crisscrossed the beast’s waist. A long coat, with gold braids on the shoulder, was worn open, and showed it was a male of its species. The man-wolf’s forearms had leather and black steel bracers that came down to cover the back of his steel tipped, clawed hands, each ending in brass knuckles made to be part of the defensive covering. The metal that ran the length of each side of the bracers gleamed with a razor sharp edge. The attacker had a contorted face, more beast than man. It showed large mutton chops on its cheeks that stood out further than the brown fur that covered its mushed visage and the rest of the body. The nose was wide and flat and gleamed with wetness, though the eyes were very human, glaring blue at him with hunger and hatred. Tufted ears swept back from the head, and the monster’s lips curled back showing spittle and a red froth.
Zachary scanned his surroundings. He was on a small cleared ridge no more than five paces in either direction. The beast had jumped from another, thinner ledge, above him. Below was a straight drop off to the rocky canyon, filled with rubble and scrub trees, not a soft landing if either took a spill in that direction.
The werewolf lunged towards him, trying to come between the cliff wall and the warrior, testing the other’s reflexes. Zachary quickly side stepped towards better footing and drew his sabre in the same breath, now holding his knife in one hand and the ancient weapon in the other. The blade was given to him by his mentor and it was a unique weapon. The steel had been folded many times, strengthening the blade. It was also imbued with blessings of priests and alchemists to enhance the alloy and allowing it an edge like no other. The handle was smooth in his gloved hand, and became an extension of his arm. Zachary made himself a smaller target by balancing on the balls of his feet in a partial crouch. The beast would have to pass two blades to reach him.
Zachary stepped forward, leading with his left foot and his knife, and slashed. His enemy dodged with unnatural speed, and its black steel tipped claws shredded the armor on the man’s ribs as easily as a child would tear through cheesecloth. Leaping with ease, it bounded to the upper ledge, four meters above, and let out a hyena laugh that echoed off the cliff walls. Distant thunder boomed as the monster toyed with its prey.
Zachary spun to face his foe as the werewolf jumped down again, falling onto its back and sliding on its haunches below the expected sword swing, and sliced deep into the warrior’s calf with the deadly edge of the blade on the bracer. The man-wolf rose to standing as it passed the man, and with incredible speed rained down a flurry of claws and punches at Zachary’s face. Blood flew as contact was made and the warrior stumbled back three steps, holding his weapons in front of him to ward off any more damage.
Breathing deep, Zachary found his balance physically and mentally. Reaching up with his knife hand, he placed the night goggles back over his eyes, as much for protection as to improve his vision. The world turned bright green and his pulse slowed into a steady rhythm as he became what he was born to be, a singular force and combatant. Stepping forward, he feinted with the knife in his left hand and brought his right foot and the weight of his body forward for a full swing with his longer blade.
The werewolf blocked it with a deft movement, and it clanged on the same bracer that had torn the man’s face open moments ago. Expecting this, Zachary brought the knife in low and the weapon tore deep into the gut of the monster. The warrior pulled to the side, and then up, hoping to disembowel his enemy. Both clawed hands shoved Zachary away, towards the cliff. He stopped centimeters from going over the edge.
The monster looked down at his midsection and both watched as the gash closed, healing itself in less time than it took to cause the wound. The werewolf gave a rictus smile, its lips drawing back in a sneer as it sniffed the air, testing it for the scent of fear. The hyena laugh came again, and it raised its head and howled.
Zachary did not let the opportunity go to waste. He threw the knife at the beast, and as it was knocked aside midflight, the warrior closed the distance between them. The sword flashed as he attacked his unnatural opponent with a combination of blows to the shoulder and chest, jabs that came in straight, aiming for the heart. The werewolf blocked with a bracer, but the tip of the sword slid into the meaty bicep. Sparks flew with that cut, and a gleam lit the surface of the sword. This cut did not close.
The werewolf’s angry howl shook the valley, as it reverberated through the chest and throat of the killer. Zachary did not let up on his attack. The werewolf blocked strike after strike. In the midst of the attack the monster slashed with his bracer, cutting deep into Zachary’s chest. Blood flew with the strike, and the warrior staggered backwards.
/> “I am Lord of this land,” the werewolf growled, in a deep baritone that was almost unintelligible, “and some whelp shall not best me!” The beast of noble birth reached down and pulled the metal baton free of its thigh, and with a movement of a bent thumb, it crackled with yellow electricity.
Charging forward, relying on its size and strength, the monster battered Zachary. The warrior blocked each blow with his sabre, and electric current traveled up the blade, numbing his arm and fingers. Within seconds the blade fell from his hand, and his foe kicked at the sword. The ancient weapon caromed over the side into the deep canyon below. The baton flickered as it used the last of its power, but it had already served its purpose. The beast charged, weapon upraised, to either force the man over the side of the cliff of crush his head with the steel club.
Zachary grabbed the forearms of his foe, who was stronger, and fell to his back. He kicked upward with his legs, throwing the beast over his head and the edge of the precipice. The warrior rose into a crouch, spinning to face the cliff. Edging towards it, blood and sweat dripping from his face, he wiped the distraction away. His chest throbbed, and a piece of flesh hung loose, along with the shreds of his armor.
He approached the ledge with caution, and was not surprised at what he saw. The beast hung by its claws, and leered up at him. The Lord flung himself upward with ease, bowled the battered man onto his back, and landed by the wall, leaving the wounded man by the drop-off.
The werewolf reached for its last weapon with a slow and casual move, smiling through the bloody froth around its jowls, a low rumbling laugh issuing from its throat. “This will not kill you,” it explained. “Merely make you unable to move so I may enjoy your flesh while you still live.” The weapon was clear of its holster, and the fiend flicked a switch on it. Zachary could see the glass light up with energy as the weapon charged for the shot that would incapacitate him. The warrior watched as the beast took aim.
As the energy burst forth, Zachary rolled to the side, drawing his own gun as he did. A loud explosion echoed as the cliff face lit up from the energy pistol, dirt spraying. Another explosion sounded as Zachary fired his own pistol.
The beast stared at him with wide eyes, its clawed hand going to the center of its own chest. Blood trickled through its fingers, and it slowly slid to its knees. Blood crept from between its canine lips and it spit on the ground.
“I hate these things,” Zachary explained, holding the gun up for inspection, “no style. But they have their place, especially when I have silver bullets and am facing a beast like you.” He fired twice more into the skull of his adversary.
Zachary watched as the man-beast twitched and convulsed its final death throes. Looking around he saw the flowers, and his knife. His calf, chest, and face pounded with each heartbeat. He looked into the chasm with a sigh; he would have to go down there to get his sword. Though it would have to wait until after he gathered his gear, and field dressed his wounds. It began to rain.