Chapter 82: A Defying Werewolf
FIGHT OR FLIGHT.
It was an extensive topic back in the UEF.
What was the best decision in a particular moment of threat?
Hundreds upon hundreds of drills, theories, but during his ten years of decision-making, White had learned that the best decision was often to fight back.
In fact, as he grew in power, it only further strengthened the belief:
Rather, he’d be beaten to death than run away from a threat.
But this...this was unexplainable.
For the first thing, and the only thing that occurred to White was to run, and that...was a very bad choice.
The snow was a real impediment; having to raise his leg so high, then dig back in and raise it higher, slowed him down to a crawl.
The adrenaline helped, forcing him to go on, but eventually, it was clear that whatever was coming for him didn’t seem to have that same impediment.
Something slammed into him from the side, ripping out his entire body from the snow and sending him flying into the distance.
He spun more times than he could count, eventually slamming into an object that brought him to a stop.
DRIIIP!
He could feel it.
The liquid that came gushing out, dripping onto the snow beneath him.
Searing pain filled him by the side of his ribs, with every movement sending pain radiating through his body.
He couldn’t see; the world was still dark, but he forced himself to his knees, trying to run, but that still failed.
Something gripped his head, the sound of cracks echoing into his ear, and he was slowly dragged up from the ground, dangling in the air.
One of his eyes had been blinded by the blood dripping down his face, but the other could see.
Borrowing the blue light oozing from the creature’s eyes enabled him to see the creature’s true form.
Firstly, it was gargantuan, standing more than 3 meters in height, and secondly, it stood on two legs, just like a human would, but its legs weren’t at all humanoid.
Its legs were angled and curved, and they didn’t dig into the snow. They stood on it instead.
Its body was covered in steel-like fur, white as the snow beneath it, and massive muscles bulged in its arms, which ended in massive claws.
They weren’t ordinary claws either; those sharp fingers also burned with a blue-colored flame.
It had an elongated snout for a face, blue flames puffing from both its maw and nose, as it raised White to the front of its face.
They stared into each other’s eyes, his filled with fear and its with nothing.
Quietly, the creature’s second hand reached behind it, the blue flame burning heavily, and in the next moment, it swung its claw forward.
SLASSSH
Blood sprayed onto the snow, as three massive claw lines appeared on White’s chest, ripping apart flesh and bones.
SLASSSH!
A second slash and another outpour.
SLASSSH!
A third.
SLASSSH!
A fourth.
SLASSSH!
SLASSSH!
SLASSSH!
SLASSSH!
SLASSSH!
It continued, faster and faster, longer than White could count, but eventually it stopped, and the hold on him disappeared as he fell back onto the snow.
It was cold.
Ice cold.
And he couldn’t feel the pain, but he could still see it.
The creature remained towering above him, its blue-golden eyes looking down upon him.
He was still breathing, though his breath was ragged. White could still feel himself breathing.
The fear was gone now, and so was the adrenaline.
What followed was a moment when his head was completely clear, and now confusion set in.
This creature before him was a Werewolf, and werewolves were renowned for one thing: brutality.
They were incredibly violent and rageful, the incarnation of anger.
A pack of nightmarish creatures that create massacres as easily as breathing.
They brutalized their targets, but with a clear aim: to kill.
A claw to the neck was the easiest mark of a werewolf, but this creature didn’t go for the kill.
A werewolf would have rage in its eyes; it was their mark.
But this one had none.
A werewolf would take the shortest path to a kill, and in a human, the neck was more than obvious.
A single claw or a bite would suffice.
But this one didn’t kill.
Instead, it brutalized, then waited and watched, watching as life slowly dripped out of White.
It was in that moment that a tiny bit of emotion flashed in its eyes.
’Pity.’
An emotion that was impossible to see on a Werewolf.
After that, it slowly took steps back, seemingly floating on the snow, and disappearing into the darkness.
Never for once did it turn its back to White.
’Caution...even against an obviously defeated target.’
It was another thing werewolves never do.
CRAAACK!
The world cracked apart in that moment, the space shattering like glass and in the next moment.
_______
GASPS!
A deep gasp echoed through the room as White shot up from the bed.
His hands gripped his chest as he ripped open his clothes, but there was nothing.
His skin was as smooth as glass, with not the slightest mark on him, not even the line that ought to be there due to the surgery.
"You’re up from your slumber."
The words reached him, and he turned forward to find a woman, one who made his eyes harden.
It was that crimson-haired woman who had done the surgery.
She reclined on the wall with a cigarette in her hand.
She appeared to have been here for a while, as White noticed more than a hundred cigarette butts scattered across the ground.
"Congratulations on your successful fusion."
She said, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
For reasons White couldn’t make out, there was relief in her eyes as she exhaled.
"How much time has passed?"
White asked the first question that occurred to him.
"Exactly, 2 weeks and 3 days now."
She said, pointing to a point on the wall.
What White saw made his eyes narrow.
"Why?"
Reviews
All reviews (0)