Overthrown

"Huhuhu, got to get there." A man ran through a hall of black stone with candles illuminating his path and a torch in his grasp.

The rattling of his iron armor and his heavy breath created an ambiance of urgency.

He knew the importance of his missive and his duty. So he ran until he finally made it to his destination, a pair of large wooden doors with two wolves engraved upon it. Each chasing a different celestial body. One a sun and the other a moon. Each pair of wolf and body on a door.

The man in the armor stopped at the doors and breathed like his life depended on it. Then he opened the doors and briskly walked in. And kneeled in front of a raised throne in the center of the room.

Sitting on the throne was a man who looked like a stereotypical barbarian. With long hair with a braid going down the side of his face. Tan skin with tattoos all over his large muscled frame. Most consisted of wolves moons and suns. But with a mountain on his abs.

He had a pair of large wolves the size of horses on the sides of his throne. Both with dark grey fur.

The armored man gulped then spoke in a shaking tone. "M… my lord traitors th… they're all traitors."

"Who?" The lord asked.

"Everyone mi lord. The whole army is marching to your palace sir. Only your personal guard remains loyal sir," the guard said.

"Good at least my kin remains, we will be victorious again and regain our hold on the humans," the lord said.

"Sir the humans have finally had enough of our rule over them. They are slaughtering us. They have created a spell that enchants their weapons to stop our natural regeneration. Their are just to many!" He said.

"What! Our regeneration doesn't work! How have they done this. Their is no magic such as this!" He said.

The lord stood from his throne and moved to his throne rooms balcony. He looked out and saw his kin being kind in the streets and in their homes.

He could see the werewolves that he rules over and created being stabbed by sword and spear. Being shot by arrows and bolts. And unlike what he had seen in his 400 plus years of life as a werewolf they didn't get up. It used to be that only with decapitation world kill a werewolf.

They bled but there blood didn't become ash and their wounds didn't close. When they scratched and bit the human attackers they didn't turn into large eight foot tall bipedal wolves. They just retreated and splashed water on themselves. And drank a health potion then rejoined the killing.

He could hear the screams and see all of this from so far only because of his gifts as a pure blood werewolf. And he wished that he couldn't. He could see his family, his pack being killed by the hundreds. The capital city of his empire was in flames. The humans that he allowed to live among them turned on those who had protected them for centuries. It was pandemonium.

BANG! BANG!

His doors were flung off their hinges. And six people strode into the throne room.

The wolves immediately lunged at the intruders and talked two of the six men.

One of the men spoke, "fireball". And a ball of flame flew from his fingers and hit one of the wolves. Making her stagger back.

The other three attacked the other wolf with their enchanted swords while he dug into their companions unprotected neck. It took them 6 seconds to kill him. But not before it took the one of the attackers with him.

The second wolf was fighting the mage as best it could but with her burned side. It was a losing battle. The guy she tackled got up and helped protect the mage as he mad short work of the large and wounded wolf.

The lord and his guard stood where they were as the last wolf was finally killed failing to kill the attackers.

"It's your turn monsters," the mage said.