The Homunculus Knight

Chapter 13: Beast Blood

“~Bear, oh Bear, you have no care! Bear, oh Bear, no fair! Bear, oh Bear, on a dare! Bear, oh Bear, into your lair! Bear, oh Bear, I start to despair! Bear, oh Bear, I should beware~” - A traditional Springtime Song from the Schwarock Wood.

Natalie ran through the dark forest. Her body finished its last repairs as she moved. Looking at herself, Natalie was thankful her clothes had survived the fall relatively intact. Despite being utterly coated in ash, her dress was still covering all the important bits. She’d lost her shoes somewhere but didn’t bother to find them. The sensation of cold ground on her bare feet was somehow pleasing despite everything.

Sparing a glance behind her, Natalie was relieved to see the distant mob was shrinking. That many people couldn’t move fast. By contrast, she could outrun a panicked Hare even while conserving blood. The Deer, Isabelle had caught was a good meal but Natalie wasn’t about to risk running straight into the Werefolk camp and frenzying. So she just kept moving, sucking down useless lungfuls of air. Hoping to catch a whiff of Werefolk as she ran.

She didn’t have to wait long. Soon a faint smell of animal musk and wood smoke reached Natalie. Redoubling her efforts, she shot through the undergrowth, heading towards the smells. Soon the sight of a flickering campfire came into focus. Five or so figures hunched around it. Each of them smelled of beast. Smiling despite herself, Natalie erupted into the clearing. Startling the five Werefolk sitting around the fire. The largest of the five sprang to his feet, a large hawthorn cudgel in hand.

Natalie’s eyes went wide upon seeing the Werefolk standing before her. Tall as Cole and twice as broad. The Man had a long silver-brown beard hanging down to his prodigious belly. Slightly balding but covered in thick body hair the man wore simple rugged clothes. His deep-set eyes were amber in color. Natalie met them while he readied his cudgel with the type of practiced ease only seen in Warriors.

“Hold their lass! What are you doing here?” he boomed in a voice like a warhorn.

Holding her hands up in a placating gesture, Natalie answered. “I’ve come from Vindabon. The city has gone crazy. An angry mob is coming to attack the Moonmoot!”

Startled by her words, the other four Werefolk got to their feet. One, a long-faced woman with tightly braided hair, sniffed the air. Eyes widening, the woman reached for the sword at her belt and yelled. “She’s dead! That thing is Undead!”

Natalie leaped back as the tree-trunk-sized cudgel came for her head. Waving her arms frantically, she yelled. “We don’t have time for this! Please send word to the Shohgard Pack; tell them Natalie is here!”

The big Werefolk swung his cudgel again, and Natalie leaped up into a nearby tree. Landing in the crook between two wide branches and yelling down at the Werefolk. “Listen to me, Dammit! I didn’t try and ambush you, I ran into your camp like an idiot! I’m trying to help!”

That got the Cudgel-wielder to pause. Leaning on his weapon like a walking stick the big Werefolk grunted: “You say you know the Shohgards? What's the name of their Swordmaster?”

Grinning, Natalie answered: “Bruto! Has a mustache, former Hussar, says ‘you ken’ a lot.”

The huge Werefolk returned her grin, his teeth a row of yellow behind his bushy mustache. “Ha! Alright, you have my attention Leech.” turning to one of the other Werefolk, he pointed somewhere deeper in the forest. “Go get the Shohgards; tell em a Leech named Natalie is here.”

The ordered Werefolk hesitated, and the big one roared, “NOW! If she ain’t lying, we don’t have time ta waste.”

Setting his cudgel down, the big Werefolk grumbled: “Alright, Natalie, come down from that tree and talk with Ol’Guorpa”

Glancing around the small clearing, Natalie decided she had no better options. Hopping down, she approached Guorpa. Plopping down next to the tree with the grace of a falling boulder, Guorpa asked, “Let's assume you ain't lying, tell me about this Mob.”

Relieved someone was listening, Natalie explained the situation. Telling Guorpa how thousands of angry people were heading toward the Werefolk camp. Each and every one of them with violent intent. Guorpa listened with an almost disinterested air. With one hulking arm, he reached out to something sitting by the firepit. As he picked it up, Natalie realized it was a small barrel. Pulling it close, Guorpa bit the barrel’s cork and spat it out. A thick smell of honey and liquor escaped the cask. Without hesitation, Guorpa held the barrel up to his lips and drank. All while, Natalie shared as many details as she could remember.

Setting the barrel down, Guorpa let out a thunderous belch and got to his feet. Gesturing to Natalie, he said, “I’ve heard enough. I believe you, but gimme reason not to, and I’ll rip yur head off.”

Picking up his cudgel, Guorpa set out, the other three Werefolk and Natalie following behind him. Idly, Natalie noticed the Werefolk had formed a loose diamond around her. Boxing her in like quarry. It didn’t bother her as much as it probably should. Somehow the oncoming tide of angry Vindabonites seemed a bigger threat.

Soon the forest gave way to a wall of wagons. Stretching far in either direction, Natalie was surprised by their number and diversity. Each was a work of art in itself. Vivid paints and intricate carvings were visible to Natalie’s eyes. They walked around the edge of the wagon wall, reaching a gap in the barrier. Revealing a sprawling meadow filled with campfires, pavilions, and hundreds of people. All centered around a huge standing stone. Easily ten meters tall, the pillar of white stone was pockmarked and covered in swirling sigils. The stone seemed to glow in the pale moonlight. An alabaster monument at the heart of everything.

Entering the Werefolk camp, Natalie heard her name called. “NATALIE!”

Jokin, the younger of the Werewolf twins, came running out of the camp. Wild-eyed, he looked at Natalie and up at Guorpa. “Natalie! What in the Moon's Milk are you doing here?”

Guorpa answered for her. “Ah, so you do know this little Vampire? Guess I don’t have to rip her head off.” smiling at his own crude humor he gestured back towards the city. “She came to warn us Vindabon is coming for our pelts.”

A number of other Werefolk were gathered round by then. Confused whispers and worried glances were exchanged between them. Gesturing to the standing stone, Guorpa bellowed. “Gather everyone! Some soft-skins want to spill our blood. Dunno how much time we have, so let's put it to good use!”

Natalie was carried along by the crowd of Werefolk, Jokin falling in beside her. The nervous-looking Werewolf muttered. “We said you should visit, but this isn’t exactly what we meant…”

Snorting in weak laughter, Natalie nodded. “I agree.”

Soon hundreds of Werefolk were clustered around the Standing Stone. A collection of older Werefolk, all in heavily ornamented dress, stood closest to the Stone. Among them, Natalie saw Kistine. The old Shaman sharing whispers with a weary-looking old man with a beard so long he looked in danger of tripping on it.

A frying-pan-sized hand smacked against Natalie’s back, sending her stumbling forward. Guorpa pointed at the elder Werefolks. “On ya go then, little Vampire. Tell the Shamans what you told me.”

As she approached, Natalie tried not to notice the dirty looks and fell whispers brought on by her identity. Ametza stepped forward from her fellow Shamans. Her bangles jangled as she took Natalie’s hand. Raising both their hands up, the old Werewoman proclaimed. “This woman is the companion of a Paladin and friend to the Shohgard Pack. I will vouch for her beneath the Moon’s light!”

That only doubled the whispers and murmurs. Old and well-practiced distrust clear behind amber eyes. Clearing her throat, Natalie ignored the heavy gazes of the Shamans and tried to explain what was happening. “There have been recent murders in Vindabon. I’m sure you all have heard about them. Someone has been ripping the hearts out of people, and people are blaming a Werewolf.”

That got loud mutters from the crowd, forcing Natalie to start shouting. “The Guards don't think it's a Werewolf, but that doesn't seem to matter to the thousands of people headed this way! Blood has already been shed, and they passed through the Woad Gate. I don’t know how long we have, but I hope it's enough to evacuate.”

The mutters grew louder, escalating to shouts and even some roars. They were cut off by a loud crack. The sound of solid wood against stone. Hundreds of eyes turned to the Standing Stone and upon the man standing atop it. The sight caused a series of hisses and gasps to escape the crowd. Clad in a shaggy cloak of feathers was a squat old man with light brown skin, a silver beard, and hawkish features. Leaping down from his perch, the old man landed right next to Natalie and spoke.

“The Van-pier speak truth. I come to warn the kin.”

His voice had an odd throaty accent, and Natalie guessed Western wasn’t his native tongue. The Circle of Shamans eyed the newcomer with a mixture of emotions, even more, diverse than what they’d given Natalie. One Shaman, a middle-aged woman with a dozen bone necklaces snapped. “Tiar, please refrain from clambering over the Moonshard like a Pup exploring a new Wagon.”

Scoffing, Tiar twirled his staff between his hands. “Daline, you ask me not to fulfill my nature. I do not say ‘don’t chase your tail’, so offer me same.”

A deep bubbling growl escaped a number of Werefolk and Natalie felt a jolt of fear go through her. Her time with the Shohgard pack had done much to nullify her fear of Werewolves, but traces of it remained.

Clicking her tongue in annoyance, Kistine gestured to her fellow Shamans. “Despite Natalie’s nature and Tiar’s attitude, they are both trustworthy.” pointing at a wrinkled old man with eyebrows so large they fused above his nose Kistine asked. “Dorian, we need more information. Can your Shadows help?”

Shaman Dorian nodded, sending his bushy brows wobbling. “Aye, I can.”

Shuffling over to one of the nearby fires, Dorian looked down at his stretched-out shadow dancing in the firelight. Jabbing his staff down into the snow, he dragged it across the ground while muttering strange words. He cut a line between his feet and his shadow, and his Shadow detached itself. Natalie’s eyes went wide as she saw the shadow slither away from Dorian, slipping along the ground and away from its owner.

Turning to Guorpa then, Kistine asked, “Will you be our First Fang in this, Honeydrinker?”

The huge Werefolk grunted, and emptied a tankard of something he’d somehow found. Picking up his cudgel, Guorpa bellowed, “FULLBLOODS WITH ME!” and started trotting towards the camp entrance.

Soon other Shamans started giving commands, and the various Packs shot into motion. Wagons were packed, and Beasts of Burden were harnessed. Spears, axes, and more were distributed. Natalie watched as a pair of nervous-looking oxen pulled a cart toward the camp entrance. While she couldn’t see what was in the cart, Natalie caught the glint of metal.

Dorian, the shadow-binder, grunted then. “They both speak the truth. Thousands of softskins are coming. They will reach the camp in ten minutes or less.”

Another Shaman asked, “Do you think we can win?”

Dorian shut his eyes and hummed. “Yes. I see little in the way of true steel and almost no silver. I don’t know what the weaklings are thinking.”

Natalie stepped forward then and asked, “Wait? You aren’t going to evacuate?”

Kistine scoffed at that, “We will move the young and the weak away from the camp, but we aren’t running.”

Eyes wide, Natalie yelled: “They will kill you all! Didn’t you hear what I said! Thousands of people are coming! THOUSANDS!”

Kistine idly played with some of her bangles. “If we run we admit guilt and show weakness. We’d have nowhere to run if we did that.” Pulling one of her Bangles off and tossing it into the air, where it hung motionless. Kistine added. “Besides, I don’t think this will come to blood.”

Kistine started walking around the standing stone then. Tossing another Bangle into the air every few steps. Soon the standing stone was surrounded by a floating circle of enchanted rings. With a gesture and a word, Kistine set the Bangles spinning. The Standing Stone started to glow brighter and silver fog started to cover the Bangles. As Natalie watched, the fog condensed into shapes. Each becoming a figure made of shining mist. Dove, Elk, Hawk, Wolf, Fox, and Fish. All Spirits bound to Kistine. The Dove and Hawk flew down and settled on her shoulders. While the rest bounded, swam, and slipped away in different directions.

Other Shamans started their preparations as well. Natalie saw more Spirits materialize and other esoteric spells be cast. Distant trees groaned as their branches came to life, ready to grip and bind anyone who came too close. Spheres of fire bubbled out of the campfires and shed light across the campsite. Wagons without drivers or pullers creaked into more convenient places. Prepared tubs of water glowed and churned, ready for whatever purpose the Shamans had for them.

A gentle hand on Natalie’s shoulder caused her to spin and see Bruto and Ametza standing behind her. Bruto, the old Hussar, frowned. “You can’t stay here. You ken?”

To Natalie’s utter surprise, Ametza, the young Werewolf, came up and hugged her. “Thank you for coming, but Bruto’s right. If they know there's a Vampire here, that’ll only make things worse.”

Bruto nodded. “Hopefully, the Mob can be scared off; and this doesn't have to come to blood. But something in my bones says otherwise. This isn’t your fight nor your place to be.”

Slightly incensed by that, Natalie broke the hug with Ametza. “Not my fight? I broke out of Temple custody to warn you. I’m involved in this mess!”

Bruto’s mustache twitched in an almost smile. “Another reason for you to return to the city quickly.”

Shaking her head, Natalie gestured in the direction of Vindabon. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn't get past the mob!”

Someone nearby coughed. The trio looked to see the old Werefolk, apparently named Tiar standing nearby. “I can help. Need to find out what happening in City. Take the Van-pier with me.”

Nodding, Bruto said, “Take her, Tiar. Just remember she’s a friend to my Pack, and after tonight she’ll be a friend to every Clan here.”

Natalie frowned. “Do I have to keep repeating myself? There is a bloody ten-thousand-strong horde of goat-botherers on their way here! We can’t get back into the City!”

Tiar clicked his tongue. “This one has fire in her soul. But not much in her head, I see.”

Glaring at Tiar, Natalie found herself wondering how he would taste. Shaking the thought from her head, Natalie let her fingers go to her amulet. It had somehow survived her impact unscathed and safely hidden in a pocket. Glancing back up at the group, she blinked. Tiar was in the process of taking off his cloak and undertunic. The old Werefolk, no Werebeast, rolled his knobby shoulders, and his body started to change.

His arms stretched and bristled with dark nubs that quickly grew into feathers. While his mouth stretched and warped to make way for a cruel beak. Tiar grew in bulk, his hands and legs becoming covered in yellow scales. Fingers and toes turning into dagger-sized talons. While his body swelled to twice Natalie’s size. Golden eyes flashed and plumage ruffled as Tiar the Werehawk spread his wings and let out a screech.

Mouth open, Tier spoke, his voice more like a crow's caw than anything human. “It is rare thing for me to share the skies with a guest. But you amuse me, Van-pier. Let us soar above the rabble and my furry kindred.”

Natalie blanched. The idea of flying had no appeal, especially after her recent ordeal. But before she could voice her disagreement, Tier flapped his mighty wings and exploded toward her. Flinching, Natalie didn’t see his talons grip her shoulder. Or the second beat of his wings that sent them both hurtling into the sky. She did, however, see the ground rapidly shrinking away below her. Bruto and Ametza looking up as Tiar carried Natalie away.

A mix of a squeal and a curse escaped Natalie as she looked down at the forest canopy. The tops of trees slipped past her in a dizzying rush. Tier cawed down to her. “Stop struggling, Van-pier! I am no crow, won’t drop you!”

Realizing she’d been twisting and thrashing, Natalie calmed herself and swallowed pointlessly. Tier had her in a reverse grip, facing away from the direction he flew. Leaving her clueless about what was coming but giving her a good view of where they’d been. From this perspective, she could see the Werefolk camp was larger than she’d thought. Other standing stones stuck out of the forest. Each surrounded by Wagons and campfires. None matched the main camp in size, but it became clear at least a thousand Werefolk in total were here.

Just then, an ear-splitting roar erupted from somewhere below them. Natalie looked down to see hulking shapes pushing through the bare forest. The roar was answered by a chorus of howls and snarls. The Werebeasts were ready for battle. Twisting her head, Natalie looked to see their foe. For a split second, Natalie thought the forest was on fire. A tide of flickering flames danced between green pine and pale wood. The mob had come.

Something whistled through the air, and Natalie felt herself be lurched sideways as Tiar banked left. Spitting curses in some foreign tongue, the Werehawk dodged between thrown stones and other projectiles. They weren’t high above the forest canopy and were well within striking distance. Confused, Natalie looked up at Tiar, about to ask why they weren’t just flying higher. Her answer came in the smell of fresh blood. An arrow stuck into the Warhawks chest, dribbling bright crimson down onto the Vampire.

Frantically, Natalie reached for her amulet and wrapped her fingers around its cold weight. Her rising hunger was stifled just in time for something fast to strike Tiar. A croaking gurgle escaped Tiar, and he went limp. Panicked, Natalie screamed as they fell. Her legs catching on the tops of trees. Fabric tore as her dress snagged on a pine, and she was ripped from Tiar’s talons. Cursing violently, Natalie tumbled through the air. Her hands grasped for anything they could.

Branches snapped, and a thin pine bough smashed into Natalie’s face. Shutting her eyes, Natalie extended her blood-claws and swiped out towards the offending tree. The claws sunk into sap-thick wood, and Natalie arrested her fall. Blinking away pine needles and bits of ash, Natalie looked around her. She was high up in a pine tree, clinging to its trunk like a startled cat. In the distance, she could see something huge smash through the nearby canopy and hit the ground with a horrific crunch.

Shimmying down the tree with as much dexterity as she could muster, Natalie reached the ground and sprinted for Tiar. She found him in a heap of feathers and broken flesh. Still in his Werehawk form but clearly unconscious, Tiar lay still on the forest floor. Natalie didn’t need to check if he lived. The sound of his heartbeat and the smell of fresh blood confirmed that easily enough. Sniffing the air, Natalie found herself licking her lips. The smell was intoxicating, a heady aroma that stirred the Hunger from its fitful slumber.

Forcing herself not to inhale, Natalie reached for her amulet. Her eyes widened in horror upon realizing she couldn’t find it. Rifling through her torn dress, Natalie realized she must have dropped it in the crash. Frantically looking around, she looked for the small lump of carved yew. Instead of the amulet, her heightened senses caught the crunch of snow and raucous voices.

Peering between the trees, Natalie caught sight of a small group approaching her and Tiar. Five in number, they each were armed with crude weapons. Spears, clubs, and a hand axe. All held torches, shedding bright crackling light through the forest. One of the strangers, the one holding the hand axe, gestured towards Tiar.

“It fell this way!”

Natalie was confused; couldn’t they see Tiar and her? Neither was hiding, and the group wasn’t that far away. Understanding blossomed a second later. She’d forgotten how enhanced her senses were. These basic humans were practically blind and deaf compared to her.

Looking around for a better hiding spot. Natalie quickly climbed the nearest tree. Her claws and dexterity carried her an easy five meters up the trunk and onto a solid branch. Thankful to be slightly away from the smell of blood, Natalie watched the approaching group.

Clad in cheap but warm clothes, the newcomers each had a rough look about them. Nothing overt but enough for Natalie’s intuition and instincts to pick up. The leader’s nose had been clearly broken multiple times. While one of the others had a strange shake to his movement. Something Natalie had only seen once before in a Caravan Guard Barnabas had said was a Dreamsap addict. These weren’t the cream of Vindabon nor professional killers. They were.. what was the word Barnabas had used once? Thugs, they were thugs.

Natalie watched as the Thugs stumbled through the snow and towards Tiar. Glancing down, she realized she’d made tracks right toward her current hiding spot. Cursing under her breath, Natalie knew she couldn’t stay here for long. She’d need to flee these men and the larger mob. But she also couldn’t leave Tiar. As obnoxious as the Werehawk was, she wasn’t going to let these Thugs hurt him.

One of the pursuers pointed towards Tiar’s crumpled form. “There! Over by that tree!”

The Thugs rushed forwards but faltered slightly as Tiar came into view. Downed as he was, Tiar was still a massive Werebeast. A thing of dark feathers, unnatural muscle, and sharp talons.

“Bugger me! What Hell spat that thing out?!” remarked the Thug with the twitch.

The leader, Broke-Nose, gestured for his fellows to be quiet. Braver than the others, or perhaps just more stupid, he crept towards Tiar. Gently, he poked Tiar’s wing with his hand-axe. The Werehawk twitched slightly, and Broke-Nose lept back. When no retaliation came, he kicked Tiar’s wing. Earning no response aside from a faint croak Natalie doubted they could even hear.

Smiling back at his fellows, Broke-Nose said, “We got a live one. Some sorta Bird Monster. Ya think it's worth anything?”

Another Thug, this one with a thick brow and absent chin, glanced around nervously. “Maybe? But shouldn’t we get back with the others? Boss said to stick with the crowd.”

Broke-Nose waved a dismissive hand at Thick-Brow. “Bah! We aint gonna make anyting of this. The rest of the crew are sacking half the bloody shops in ta sixteenth. Just cause we drew the short lot dont mean we can make some coin.”

Stomping down on one of Tiar’s wings, Broke-Nose eyed the Warhawks plumage. “Bit too big to carry round. Need to cut off some valuable bits. I bet tese feathers will sell good!”

Broke-Nose raised up his hatchet, ready and a shout echoed through the forest. “STOP!”

It took Natalie a moment to realize the shout had come from her own throat. As the thugs glanced up at her hiding place, she cursed. So much for hiding and staying subtle. Sliding down the tree, Natalie moved closer to the Thugs. “Leave him alone!”

Surprised, the group looked at Natalie and back at Tiar. Broke-Nose smiled. “Move a-long miss, don’t go sticking yur pretty nose in places it dont belong.”

Shaking her head, Natalie spat: “Jag off! I’m not going to let you hurt him.”

Natalie saw a ripple of fear spread between the five criminals as they saw her fangs. Thick-Brow cursed. “Donkeyballs! She’s a Mutt!”

Internally Natalie almost smiled at that. In the poor light, they must have mistaken her for a different type of monstrous. The Dream-Sap Addict pointed his spear at Natalie. “Why not leave the big one and just take her? I know some people who’d pay lots for… exotic merchandise.”

Natalie didn’t know if she wanted to roll her eyes or tear the Addict’s throat out. Part of her couldn’t believe such vulgar and terrible people really existed. Back in Glockmire, she’d half-thought Barnbas’s stories about Flesh-peddlers were just that, stories. How could people treat each other with such cruelty? That had to be the domain of Monsters? Not the actions of mere mortal men? Well, the ugly hunger she saw in the Thugs eyes told Natalie all she needed to know. The idea of killing these five and cleaning the world of their filth suddenly had great appeal. Shaking the bloodlust from her head, Natalie grimaced. How had Cole handled situations like this? Even if he was absent, she could still follow his example.

“Leave me and the Werehawk alone. Go back to Vindabon and forget you saw either of us. We can both go our merry ways, and this doesn’t have to get ugly.”

The hunger in the Thug’s eyes curdled into anger. Which Natalie reflected was exactly what had happened when Cole had tried something similar. Perhaps she’d not picked the best example.

Broke-Nose gestured at Natalie with his hatchet and spat: “Nuff of this, lets grab her.”

A strange mixture of terror and elation filled Natalie. Part of her had hoped for this. The part that frightened her to the marrow. Talons of blood dripped down Natalie’s fingers, and she met the first Thug with a wide slash. He squealed in pain as her claws ripped a quartet of red lines down his chest. As fresh crimson sprayed onto the snow, Natalie’s Hunger roared in pleasure. Pulling against her mind like a starving dog on a chain.

Forcing herself to step back, Natalie hissed: “Get back! Don’t make me hurt you!”

One of the Thugs in the back, this one with a long nose and hairless scalp, screeched. “YOU BITCH!” and tossed his spear at Natalie. It struck home, slamming into Natalie’s shoulder and sending her sprawling backwards. Useless breath knocked from her, Natalie screamed. The spear burned in her flesh, its cold tip searing like a red-hot poker. With twitchy fingers, she gripped the spear haft and pulled it free. Her black blood boiled and sizzled as the spear fell to the ground. Looking at the weapon, Natalie felt her stomach drop. The speartip was Silver.

Looking up, she caught sight of a boot coming down on her gut. A pained gasp escaped her as the blow crushed dead flesh. Broke-Nose leered down at her. “Not so fucking cocky now, are ya?”

He raised his hatchet up, and Natalie the Human felt fear rush through her. Natalie the Vampire, felt naught but hate and Hunger. The edges of Natalie’s vision went red, and she reached up with her working arm, tearing her claws through Broke-Nose's kneecap. He screeched and fell. Natalie reversed their position. Straddling him while her fangs sought his throat. The stink of blood was utterly intoxicating. Mouth wide in a predatory leer, Natalie lunged for Broke-Nose.

The image of Cole’s broken body in an oubliette flashed behind her eyes. Pulling herself back from the kill, Natalie hissed in frustration. Broke-Nose just wailed and pointed at Natalie, his babbling lips trying to form the word Natalie knew all too well. She wasn’t about to let him finish it. Black claws slashed across his throat and emptied his life onto the ground. Forcing herself to turn from the wasted bloodmeal, Natalie turned to the next Thug.

This was the one who’d thrown his spear. His eyes were wise in terror as the Vampire bounded towards him. Rapidly burning through her blood supply, Natalie forced herself not to bite his throat. Settling for opening his neck like Broke-Nose. A red haze filled her vision, and Natalie felt herself dance in and out of control. She couldn’t stop the violence; her body was moving on its own now. But she could aim it to a degree.

Next, the Sap-Addict gurgeled as claws plunged between his ribs, and blood flooded his lungs. Pulling herself free, Natalie slacked the Hunger a little by cleaning her talons. Licking her black claws clean as she shot toward the fourth thug. Idly she noted how the Sap-Addict’s blood had a sweet taste to it. Reminding her vaguely of spun sugar. Humming in pleasure, she skulked towards her fourth kill. Despite a few frantic swings of his torch he died as quickly as the others. Claws slitting him neck to groin. Leaving only Thick-Brows alive.

The last Thug was on the ground, pants soaked with urine, briney tears flowing free. He blubbered and begged. A sweet melody to a Vampire. Mouth wide in cruel mirth, Natalie felt a shiver of pleasure go through her at Thick-Brows predicament. This sack of blood and meat had wanted to bind her, sell her, use her like livestock. HER! A Vampire! The Alukah reborn! Now he was in his proper place, a wretched pile of organs at her feet. The Hunger laughed, and it's bubbling humor escaped Natalie’s lips. The red haze became a thick miasma obscuring all but Thick-Brow and his imminent death.

Fell whispers sang in Natalie’s ear. How she deserved a reward for helping the Werefolk. She’d been a good little Vampire, hadn’t she? What harm would it be to end this waste of flesh and taste his death? Surely Cole would understand that? Thinking of Cole sent a red warmth through Natalie. Oh, she wanted him, to taste him, to screw him, to make him hers. Human love filtered through a Vampire’s mind became something bloody and vile. Obsession crossbred with Lust and raised on a diet of Cruelty.

Giggling slightly, Natalie slinked down towards Thick-Brow. Yes, Cole would understand. And even if he didn’t? Well, she’d make him wouldn’t she? Mouth wide, fangs long and sharp and knives, the Vampire prepared to feed. Thick-Brow fumbled with something in his hand and spat the word Broke-Nose had tried to say earlier.

“VAMPIRE!”

Mouth still spread in that inhuman grin, Natalie rasped. “Yes,” and shot forward. A blast of something cold and terrible knocked her back. Hissing in fury, Natalie looked up to see what had interrupted her. Eyes widening in sudden shock, Natalie looked at her amulet. Clutched in Thick-Brows shaking hands.

Bitter cold washed away the red haze, and Natalie stepped back, confusion and horror replacing the Hunger. Thick-Brows thrust the amulet forward, a nervous smile spreading on his face. “S-Stay Back!”

Distantly, Natalie glanced back in the direction the Thugs had come from. When Tiar had lost control and spun through the skies, he must have circled before crashing. Natalie losing her amulet, and Thick-Brows finding it. With shaky fingers, Natalie reached forward. Snatching the amulet from the Thug and holding it close. Its icy radiance soaked her bones, and she felt the Hunger wither under a God’s cold embrace.

Fully in control of her faculties, Natalie looked up at Thick-Brows. Voice weak with hunger and shame, she said, “Run and don’t look back.”

Thick-Brows asked, “Wha?”

Natalie screamed, “RUN!” sending Thick-Brows crawling backwards in fright.

Regaining some composure, Natalie hissed. “Say anything about this to anyone, and I’ll hunt you down. I have your scent; you saw what I did to the others. Don’t make me kill you.”

Thick-Brows didn’t need much more convincing. Pulling himself up, he ran through the forest. Leaving Natalie surrounded by corpses, the thick smell of blood, and her own guilt. Looking back to Tiar, Natalie went to the downed Werehawk. He was still breathing, if barely. Amulet in hand, Natalie could ignore the smell of his blood and checked his injuries. He had two arrows sticking in him.

Still a little unsteady after the fight, Natalie ripped them free. Tiar let out a gasp and a grunt, and more blood poured free. Looking down at the arrows, Natalie examined their tips. They were silver. Dropping them quickly, Natalie went back to Broke-Nose’s corpse and pulled off his jacket. Aided by her claws, she started tearing it into strips. Returning to Tiar, she tried her best to bandage his wounds. It was a mildly pointless effort, but she still tried. Every now and then, the smell of blood would hit Natalie hard, and she would need to take a step back and focus on her amulet. But she still managed to wrap up Tiar’s torso and get him situated a little.

Looking around at the dead Thugs, Natalie winced. Her memory of the fight was hazy at best. Flashes of violence and alien emotions pounded in her skull. Slightly sickened by her recollection, Natalie had to admit perhaps the Temple had a point. The person she’d been while in the Hunger’s thrall was… horrible. The Amulet had helped banish the Monster, but Natalie had to wonder if it hadn’t… would she have stayed like that?

A ground-shaking roar pulled Natalie from her worries. Looking in the direction of the noise, Natalie realized she needed to know what was going on with the Werefolk. Stealing a few more blood-soaked jackets and covering Tiar with them, Natalie set about getting a better vantage point. Scrabbling up a nearby tall maple, Natalie peered out over the forest and tried to find the Mob.

It didn’t take her long. Fire and smoke poured out of a nearby copse as a wave of people rushed towards the Werefolk camp. Eyes wide, Natalie watched as a massive rock face exploded out of the smoking glade and into the mob. Blinking, she realized it wasn’t a boulder or similar; the ‘rockface’ was covered in fur. A Bear larger than a Werefolk Wagon slammed into a crowd of people. Screams and wails filled the night as the Bear roared. Its table-sized paws turned people into paste as it rampaged.

Barreling through the crowd like they were knee-deep grass, the Bear shook its head and bellowed. Legs and arms covered in gore, body stuck with spears, the Bear was reddish-brown with streaks of silver going through its pelt. The same colors as Guorpa Honeydrinker’s beard.

The Werebear smashed through another group of people, trampling them beneath its paws while a score of hulking Werewolves followed in its trail. Some were hybrids like the Shohgard Pack had been, and others took the shape of giant Wolves. All of them had blood-soaked maws and wild eyes. The Hybrids carried oversized axes and swords, cutting through people like a farmer through wheat. The fully transformed just used their mouths and weight to kill. Frantic screams and the smell of violent Death reached Natalie. Dawning horror bloomed in Natalie’s mind.

The mob of ten thousand Vindabonites had seemed an unstoppable horror to her. A tide of wrath and flesh unstoppable by anything. But she’d forgotten the target of that Mob’s wrath. And judging by the carnage below her, so had the Mob. Natalie had feared a massacre, a pogrom against the Werefolk like one out of the history books. She’d never even considered the old roles would be reversed. These weren’t solitary outcast Werefolk, easy pickings for a town's wrath. This was a small army of Werebeasts supported by a circle of Shamans and fueled by righteous fury.

As she watched, Natalie could see the riot’s momentum break. Fear spread like wyrmfire, and the surging mass of people headed towards the Camp started to reverse. Slowly at first, inertia resisting the push of fear. Then as Guorpa sent another score of people, or the remains of people, flying high into the air, the dam broke. Screams and wails filled the air, competing against the roars and snarls of beasts. Natalie watched as people were trampled beneath the feet of their fellows. As thousands turned and ran like one singular creature. She wanted to look away, to not see any more of the death and devastation. But she was paralyzed by the sheer overwhelming brutality of the display. Utterly mesmerizing in its intensity.

Clutching her amulet, Natalie watched as hundreds died. Snarling Wolves, Bears, and even a few Lions tearing through them. While occasionally, a Werebeast fell under the weight of numbers. Dragged down by scores of spears. Or a lucky shot with a bow. As she watched, Natalie realized there was a strange pattern to the carnage. While most of the rioters ran without any thought other than survival. Others moved oddly. Groups of five or ten enmeshed in the crowd, taking their time to strike out at Werebeasts who strayed too close. Something about this entire situation seemed wrong. On the surface, all the pieces made sense, but as she looked closer, Natalie could see cracks in the design. Things that didn’t quite fit, abnormalities that itched at her mind like coarse fabric.

Sitting atop her perch, Natalie knew in her soul some unseen hand was at work here. Some malice pushing things to this dreadful conclusion. She just didn’t know the source or the purpose. Looking down at her amulet, Natalie whispered a plea and a prayer.

“You were repairing your Net. You knew this would happen, didn’t you? All this death and horror, you could see it, couldn’t you, Master Time?” she tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice as she continued. “I tried, I really did try to fix things. To help people. But I failed. I wasn’t enough, and now people are dying because of that. So… so could you please help me. I know you aren’t supposed to, but if anything is worth messing with this balance of yours. I think thousands of lives are.”

Nothing happened; Natalie just sat there, shoulders slumped. Heart heavy with defeat. The urge to chuck her amulet out towards the carnage came, but she resisted it. She wasn’t going to let herself lose control and add to this disaster. Looking down at the amulet and feeling the cold numbness spreading from it, Natalie let out a useless breath. “Please, help me,”

A voice cool and crisp like winter’s first snow whispered to her. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I cannot.”

Before Natalie could say anything, the voice of a God continued. “But my kin can.”

Blinding golden light exploded out from near Vindabon. A gilded Sunrise bright enough to make Natalie flinch back and nearly topple out of the tree. As one, twenty-four thousand eyes turned to the light. Beast, Folk, and Man all mesmerized by the Holy Light before them.

Hidden in that light, at its very center, was a ragged man with tattered armor and scarred skin. Holding aloft an arrow plucked from a forgotten tomb. Paladin Cole had brought the Dawn.