Greythorne Manor IV

●●●Manor Attic●●●

A figure cloaked in darkness by the worn-out purple silk drapes stood against the window that overlooked the stormy skies and the valley on which they decided to dwell upon. The figure is relishing his freshest hunt, an annual luxury one had to partake lest one find oneself's succumbing to one's bestial manner. Yet, for all its savageness, to an old soul like the figure, succumbing to the beast within one's self was, without a doubt, the greatest an honor their clan could endow on one's self.

Tack! Tack! Creak!

"My lord, it appears that we have a problem. Your recent feeding seemed to have caused... complications within the family." Another figure soon appeared before the former, stern and deep is the figure's voice, like a grandmother scolding one's grandchildren.

"Are you scolding me, woman?" replied the cloaked figure, their voice like a someone who've smoked a cigarette since the moment they were born.

The woman stepped further. The low light of the ceiling bulb lit the woman's demure face, betraying neither fright nor wariness, a perfect mask of subservience. "I am but a servant of the ancestor. Rewarded the Gift of life for meritorious service as well as my complete and utter loyalty." She recited with a tone of reverence. "Forgive me, master, for I have sinned."

"You are forgiven." Her master stepped too in to the light; his face was gaunt and pallid, full of lines that curved around his cheeks almost like a dried tree bark. His crimson eyes glowed even in the low light as a smile escaped his horrid face, like a hound whose savagery knew no bound.

"Assemble the pack. Tonight we feast on the carcass of our traitorous kin... tomorrow... we feed on mankind." He ordered, a growl forming in his throat. The woman nodded before bowing and removing herself from the room and the stifling pressure emitted by the monster in front of her.

The man, cloaked in darkness, stood still as he gazed longingly at the night sky, partially hidden by the stormy skies. "Soon, brother. Soon you will no longer worry about our family. I will take care of them."

●●●Parlor Room●●●

Irwin flopped back on the couch with an incredulous expression on his face. Regretting his earlier outburst, seeing as he has been cursing a vindictive deity of unimaginable powers all throughout his time here. But gave it no further thoughts, for he had bigger problems to solve. "Hey, if he doesn't like me, then he can smite me."

Boom!

Lightning crackled and showered the room with bright light, urging its two occupants to close their eyes momentarily.

"Sorry." Irwin winced before turning his attention towards Spears or Garth, his real name in this world. "Can I call you Garth?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Alright, Garth. Tell me everything you know about the Greythornes." Irwin ordered, gripping the gun by its nozzle and handing it back to its owner.

Garth put down his hands yet did not take the gun, eyeing Irwin with an incredulous expression. "C'mon, you're just gonna give it to me?"

"This isn't poker night at the Ramada. I ain't gonna double cross you." Irwin chuckled at Garth's hesitation. The appropriate reaction for such an occasion seeing as he had sucker punched the guy and took him hostage. "Besides, I trust you hunters have some sort of code? Otherwise, you don't get to live long in that kind of profession."

Garth chuckled as he took the gun from Irwin's hands and tried to holster it, but the latter stopped his actions. "Keep it ready. We're in the funhouse of fur and claws. How many bullets does it have?"

Irwin now had time to scrutinize the weapon properly. It was a Smith & Wesson Model 500 loaded with .50 caliber silver coated cartridge and can It can hold five bullets in its chamber. Big, clunky, and bad-ass. The sort of thing redneck hunters like the Winchesters or, in this case, Garth uses to blow off the heads of monsters while looking their best. Garth, for all his clumsiness, brought ten extra bullets, so, combined with the five in its chambers, they have fifteen chances to kill all werewolves in the manor.

"Who'd you peg for werewolves?" Irwin asked as he scoured the room for silver, though he doubt he'd find one seeing as this was the most used room the manor.

"Well, there's Wallace, because he looks like an old Jacob from, you know, Twilight." Garth answered with a finger on his chin,

"Yeah, he does, doesn't he? I think its the chin. Now who else?"

"The governess. She gave me a dark Mrs. Frizzle vibe."

"That's two."

"And your daddy."

"First, never call Archibald my 'daddy'. Ever again. Second, he's human. Hell, from what I know, he's the humanest human to ever human. Naïve, gentle and heartbroken." Irwin shuddered as his brain drudge up the memories of Richard's father's almost daily weeping.

"Wow. A drag queen friend of mine also had her heart broken. Well, it's not surprising as she--" Garth began rambling off but was cut off.

"We have no time for this, alright," Irwin moved towards the door, motioning for Garh to follow him. "We need a plan and a weapon. I think the kitchen has a silver fork or knife, at least. But we need a plan. I'm assuming you got one?"

Garth grinned as he followed suit, his hands clenching the revolver. "Oh, I got one."

●●●Main Kitchen●●●

Bang!

"Fuck you." Irwin slammed the door open. His brown curled in anger as he strode further into the kitchen proper. "I am not going to be bait. Repeat, not going to be bait."

"C'mon, man. You're strong. Stronger than me even." Garth entered the room but stayed by the door, cautiously looking towards the hall. "You just go out there and get them pupper's attention then... Bam! Shot to the heart."

"It's all too late, Garth." Irwin turned around, facing his companion with a half-hearted glare. "Look, I realized that I need to defer to your expertise regarding monster hunts, seeing as I'm not a hunter, but this? It's stupid. You don't let your star player risk injury when the other team hasn't even subbed in Michael Jordan."

"Ok, first of all, they would if our star player is Karl Malone on magical steroids. Second, they're not going to kill you. They had their chance back at your room but still only killed your jezebel." Garth reasoned.

"Fine... fine... I'll do it, but IF I die..." Irwin pointed his finger at Garth, trailing off on his threat, which the latter responded to dismissively. Irwin shook his head before returning to his task.

"Who the fuck is Karl Malone? The father of that rapper who sang in Into The Spiderverse?" He whispered.

Irwin went around the marble countertops, his hands tracing the mahogany drawers for unlocked ones and checking if they have a weapon that could fend off the werewolves. "I don't see-- Holy Fuck!"

Boom!

The roaring thunder lit the kitchen, showing the mangled corpse on the corner of the large refrigerator. Blood and guts splayed across the dark mahogany floorboards and drawer. A shock expression on the corpse's pale tanned-skin, his heart missing with claw marks tearing open his stomach and sides of his head.

"Why? Why do I have to be the one to first see the dead bodies?" Irwin groaned, unironically lamenting his fate in front of a corpse who was clearly in extreme pain before he died.

Irwin's sudden outburst startled Garth, heading towards him in haste to see the bloodied corpse on the floor. "Damn. Do you know who this is?"

"Uh, pretty sure, but I'm blanking on it. Uh, Nigel... Niko... Miko... Mino... Milo. Yeah, Milo. Driver and part-time cook." Ìrwin snapped his fingers. Misremembering names were still apparently on the table. "Jeez, can we cover him up? I'm fucking sober right now and I can't deal with that."

Garth nodded as he scavenged a few drawers for a few seconds before finding a large blue tarp. Crouching down with a grunt, he began covering the body. "Find it hard to believe that the guy who sucker punched me and interrogated my like the Spanish Inquisition was the same guy whose now dry heaving."

"Yeah, well, I was high on adrenaline last time." Irwin responded, suppressing a shudder as he scoured the top of the drawers. "Now I'm sober and very fucking anxious."

Clack!

He opened another, finding an ornate knife on a stone pedestal with a strange metallic sheen to its blade. He grabbed the knife from the pedestal and inspected it. About ten inches long, an inch tall, and a tenth of an inch wide, if he had to guess. Beautifully designed hilt with a small, edged hilt to presumably help with chopping. Although the blade's hiding place made it to be a chef's knife, the edge work and craftsmanship truly felt like they made it to be stabbed into the jugular of a yakuza chairman in the middle of summer in front of a sakura blossom.

"I found my weapon."

"What? Oh, that is a big ass knife." Garth seemed to approve of Irwin's choice of weaponry, nodding along as he too scrutinized the weapon. "Now, we need to figure out who killed the driver. I bet it's the butler... wait... do you have a butler?"

Click! Tap! Tap!

"Afraid not, Agent." Eleanor's soft voice startled the two as they turned around to see her entering a hidden, camouflaged door in the other corner of the kitchen. "But we do have a governess."

"Balls!" "Jesus fuck."

Boom!

Eleanor sprinted forward, jumping towards the counter as the two moved out of the way. She slid across the counter as her foot encountered the fleeing Garth. The force of her hit blew him off his feet and crashing towards the top drawers, destroying it in the process.

Boom! Crack!

Irwin gasped, the blade in his hands swinging sideways at Eleanor, which she dodged with ease. His flurry of slashes never stopped as he made his way towards the fallen Garth who was now getting back on his feet.

"Damn. Pretty spry for an 80-year-old." Garth joked as he nodded at Irwin before taking out his revolver whilst the latter launched forward like a fencer on ritalin, his hand oscillating back and forth with thrusts and stabs.

Swish!

The sulfur of the silver bullet pervaded Eleonor's senses. Her eyes glowed red as she transformed into her wolf form. Grey tuffs of hair appeared on her body as claws and sharpened teeth glared at the two. She met Irwin's thrust with one of her own, sending the knife arm aside, leaving him vulnerable.

Bang! Crack!

But before she could slash him with her claws, a shot rang out, echoing around the room. She looked towards Garth, holding his literal smoking gun, and howled in annoyance.

Eleonor's second of hesitance was enough for Irwin to stab his knife at her abdomen, turning it sideways roughly and pushing her off with a frontal kick.

Clang!

Eleonor stumbled backwards, her back hitting the marble countertop and scattering the kitchen paraphernalia.

Eleonor howled as she crouched down on all fours, snarling at Irwin and Garth as they circle her, both sides taut and nervous for the other's offensive. In a second, Garth aimed his revolver and unloaded the chambers at the female werewolf.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

She swiftly jumped up to the counter, still on all four, and galloped around, trying to evade the flying projectiles. True to her name as a werewolf, Eleanor evaded but one bullet; the third one going straight to her left thigh.

Crack! Crack! Schlick! Crack!

"Uh, hey, buddy." Irwin called out as he dashed around towards the grills. "Maybe don't waste our fucking limited bullets on cheap shots!"

"Sorry." Garth apologized before ducking down, evading a claw swipe. "Also, reloading!"

"Shit!" Grabbed a pan and threw it at Eleanor, whom swatted it away and turned her attention back to Garth, but another pan went her way.

Then another.

And another.

Eleanor howled yet again and went after Irwin with leap whom diverted her momentum towards the open flames of the grill.

Hiss!

"Aurghh!"

Irwin retreated towards the door, his left hand clutching his right elbow, preventing it from further bleeding. "C'mon, Eleanor. You're too hot for this."

"Hah!" Chuckled Garth, who had just finished reloading the revolver. "Take this!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Did you get her?" Irwin asked, craning his neck to get a better look.

Garth, who had unloaded bullets at Eleanor, gained new found confidence and strutted forward, hands on hips. "Yep. Looks like I just G--"

Bang!

Before he could finish his sentence, Eleanor suddenly grabbed him by the ankles and smashed his body into the cupboards.

Crack!

Blood and wood sprayed the surrounding, a groan too escaped from the hunter's mouth. The pain made Garth lose his grip on their life saving weapon.

"Oh, Jesus." Irwin muttered as he slid across the countertop, iron skillet in hand and smashing it against the grain of her hair.

Bang!

Eleonor grunted in pain, releasing her grasp on the nearly unconscious Garth, and tackled Irwin to the ground. Her claws struggled to scratch Irwin's face, leaving only shallow marks for his own arms too struggled to hold her wrist from fully tearing his face out.

Click!

A sudden sharp click rang behind Eleanor as she snarled at Irwin, her mouth then trying to bite at him. In her peripheral vision, she saw a comely figure holding the revolver between her trembling hands.

"Drop him, Mother." Elizabeth's voice struggled to pierce the dangerous tension between Eleanor and Irwin, so she raised her voice and ordered once more. "Now, mother. Drop him!"

"Better listen to her, Mrs. Thorrin." Irwin egged, hands too trembling from the sheer strength of his enemy. "We wouldn't want you tired and bedraggled."

Eleanor growled before removing herself from Irwin's chest, which he returned as he freed her claws. The werewolf mother snorted at the two men's figures, one nearly unconscious and the other bleeding to death. Her eyes reverted to its natural color, claw turned into fingers, and fur shed from her skin. "If you think you can save your little crush, then you are surely mistaken, Sweet Pea."

Though threatened by her mother, Elizabeth did not back down; in fact, it made her more defiant. "I don't care, mother. What you're doing is insane. We are not monsters. Your are not a monster."

"Oh, but I am, dear." Eleanor smiled, showing off her teeth, sharp and crimson. "A reward for decades of service. Something you will receive once you pledge your loyalty to the Ancestor."

"Please don't make me do this, mother." Elizabeth stepped closer, her finger gently rubbing against the hammer of the revolver. "If you walk away now, then I won' shoot you."

Irwin could not help but roll his eyes for the woman who was being offered mercy had, but mere moments ago, almost killed Garth and ripped him to pieces. Yes, he knew of their familial relationship and could even understand her hesitance, but impatience and temper rang louder in his mind.

Just fucking shoot her, for Chuck's sake, he thought, adjusting his position to a more comfortable one, as if having a feeling that their conversation will take longer than expected.

Boom!

Though the kitchen had only but a door that led to the outside world, the storm's mighty thunder still roared around the room.

"Enough of this, childe." Eleanor's cadence took a darker turn, her receding claws halted its process before she swooped down and lept at her daughter.

Her mother's sudden advance startled Ellaise, her breast jiggling in her skimpy outfit as she jumped backwards and pulled the trigger on the gun.

Bang! Bang! Click!

Firing off the remaining two bullets in the chamber, Ellaise lurched backward before dropping on her ass to the tiled floors. Although trembling and unwilling, both of her shots hit true, one in the abdomen and the other hitting her mother's chest.

Thud! Crack!

Eleanor's flew for a second as she skidded against the tiled floor before breaking a floor cupboard, halting the momentum of her body.

Eleanor gurgled in her blood as she tried to crawl closer to her daughter, who, in turn, knew of her meaning and came closer. The mother and daughter held each other's hand as Eleanor succumbed to his wounds, but not before leaving her last words.

"Seer... Future... devil is coming... W-Winchesters..."

Silence reigned for a while as Irwin anxiously stared at Eleanor's figure, hoping she would not stand again whilst Ellaise bawled her eyes out, hugging her mother's corpse.

"I-I'm sorry." Irwin broke the silence as he apologized, resting on the cold hard tiled floors, blood slowly dripping from his arms and cheek. "But you need to go. There are more of them, Ella. They will kill you."

Irwin stood up with great effort and trudged towards her, grunting along the way. He kneeled down with a groan and grabbed hold of her shoulders, shaking it slightly. "Stop crying. You can do that later. Take this knife and go out on the back. By the garage is a small dumbwaiter that goes up to the second floor, ride it to the second floor using it, then enter Annalise's room. Lock the door, barricade yourself, and wait for daylight. Do you understand?"

She sniffed hard before nodding her head, cheeks puffy and rosy. "I-I understand. Please... please don't let them kill us."

Warmth spread to Irwin's stomach as Ellaise stared at his eyes with her big, wet, doe-y ones. "I won't. Now, take this knife and protect my sister. Understand?"

She nodded and tried to stand up, Irwin helping her up and guiding her towards the backdoor where the rain soon pelted her and her skimpy outfit. If he were not just subjected to the most dangerous game of cat and mouse earlier on, he would have found her rosy cheeks, thin wet shirt, and voluptuous figure titillating, but this wasn't the time.

Maybe later, he thought.

Creak! Click!

He locked the backdoor and trudged towards Garth, whom he kicked lightly. "You still alive?" He asked as he bent down and picked up the discarded revolver.

"Y-Yeah, somehow." Garth coughed, turning his aching body to its side and reluctantly pushing off his arms against the tiled floors. "So, I figured... we do my plan now."

"Yeah, fuck it." Irwin shook his head, not really feeling up to the task. Being a normal bait would have been hard enough, but a bait for power hungry, revenge-driven werewolves? Talk about nightmare mode. "If I don't get torn to pieces, then you owe me one."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." Garth took out the remaining five silver coated bullets from his pocket and gave it to his partner, who reloaded the revolver. This was, in effect, their last five chances to kill the monsters in the manor, barring, of course, the probability of them finding another silver weapon in a manor owned by werewolves.

Swish! Click!

Irwin rolled the chambers of the revolver before cocking back the hammer, he then looked at Garth and spoke. "Let's rock and roll!"

Like two aging rock stars, the two limped their way towards the main hall of the manor, bouts of aches and groans filling the kitchen.

Creak!

Irwin, using the door as a handhold, made his way out into the main hall, his eyes training on the marbled busts of Greythorne patriarchs.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

"My lord, what happened?"

●●●Grand Staircase●●●

"My boy, what- are you alright?" Archibald's hand left his cane and cuffed Irwin's bloodied face, which ached when touched by the man's calloused hands.

Irwin didn't know how to address the man in front of him. He is, or was, the father of his newly occupied body. A loving yet undoubtedly emotionally disturbed man whose only reason in life is to please and support his children. An enabler, if one would to assume correctly. Yet for all his flaws and mistakes, the memories Irwin had received as well as the silent urging buried deep within his very essence had painted the man as one of the greatest fathers to have ever lived. Better than his, if he could add.

Deciding to just call him by a nickname, Irwin let out a tired smile. "We're fine, Archie. Just... had to fight off Eleanor in her werewolf form."

Archibald's eyes widened in surprise and horror, his mouth twitching as soon anger beset him. "How? How dare they? First, attack someone you used to know, then feed on your room, and this? How gall! How daring!"

"Yo, easy there, Lord Belchwood. Don't get a heart attack." Garth said concerningly, clutching his stomach in pain.

Although Archibald paid Garth's concern no heed, the man toned down his words as he took a deep breath before looking his son in the eye.

"If they're now planning to kill you, then we have nary time to postpone our fight no longer. " He started. "Son, I must beg of you to assure your sister's survival in the coming hours for soon the Greythornes, our clan, will face an upheaval. Do I have your words?"

Irwin nodded, his face the perfect mask of solemness.

"Good. Now, I don't have time to rattle of our long history but here are the key points to it. We come from a long line of Silvered Knights. The professional name for hunters back in olden times, like your friend there." Archibald nodded at Garth. "We were good, better than most, and professional too, so we gained the King's favor. But that favor turned to bane as one of ours gained too much fame that it went over his head. Tried to do the impossible. We were good at our job but he wanted to be the best. So, the fool thought that being a monster himself would put him at the top. Of course, he wasn't that much of a fool, enlisted the help of a shaman, a powerful one from the forest of Austria. Braumhilda was her name. He then got bit by a wolf. The very creature we swore to kill and protect the realm from.

Now, the clansman of ours thought he was a sick fuck, which he rightfully is, but his results were more than stellar. Let him live. And live did he for centuries, thanks to the shaman. But then came the advent of steam and industrialism, where man and machine were but one of mind. Where a group of hunters... of knights... of scholars in the New World thought it best to pool their resources and organized themselves. They called themselves the..."

"Men of Letters."

"Aye, then they came to the old world. Set up shop in every country... broke the status quo... killed the goddamn Grand Coven... hunted down the gods of old... and then they came for us. We were thriving, son, hundreds of us Greythornes. Full-blooded werewolves roaming the pastures of England when they came and exterminated us to barely two dozens. So we came here, by the decision of our most powerful and influential. Truthfully, we had no choice. They gave us a choice: Stay and be annihilated or flee and live. Mama, your grandmother, chose for us. Well, I chose for us and she advised me. It is an extremely complicated procedure, with magic and all.

Anyway, he came with us, son..."

"Who? The Ancestor?"

"Yes, yes, he did. And if I'm right and they're attacking you..." Archibald trailed off as he trained in on a figure atop the staircase. "Brother."

"Far too late, brother." Wallace's wistful smile evoked frustration, anger, and despondence within Archibald, for he knew that their time has come.

The Ancestor had called upon a ritual cleansing.

"Fuck." Archibald cursed, a drop of sweat trailing down his forehead. "Son and friend, remove yourself from the premises and... I hate to say this... since you're a hunter, Spears, kill that son of a bitch for me."

Garth had a serious expression on his face as he nodded, promising to bring the head of the oldest werewolf clan to its knees. "Let's go, Richard. Let these folks handle their business."

Irwin had half a mind to stay, hoping to at least witness the fight between the two as he, thanks to his memory packs, gained an understanding between his father and uncle. A rivalry that could tear the sky, yet they have respect and love for each other. A contradiction, an appropriate term for the Greythorne brother's relationship. But he knew time is of the essence, or he thought it would be, so he followed Garth to the main manor doors.

"So the old fool can't even wait for my death?" Archibald asked, his steps echoing across the room as he halted before the stairs, eyeing the marbled bust of his face, a younger face, one with no scar nor memories tainted by the dark secrets of their clan.

"It seems so, brother." Wallace replied as he took a deep breath. Perhaps the last deep breath he'll take... or not.

●●●●●●

Two men stared at each other, one at the summit of the staircase, while another tapped his cane at the bottom.

"We had a great time, didn't we, brother?" Archibald asked, a wistful smile on his sweaty face. His hands tightening his grip on his silvered cane, ready to unleash a blow in moment's notice. He then gazed towards the bust atop the rails of the staircase, artworks containing the face of every Greythorne patriarch. His bust was of his younger self, joy and relief evident on the bust.

"We did, brother. That we did," Wallace answered, his foot halting at the top of the staircase, looking down on his brother. "But all good things must come to an end."

"For all it's worth, brother, I'll make pudding on Sunday." Archibald's word halted Wallace's action as his heart began aching.

Memories of their childhood echoed between their skulls, their adventures and misadventures, of happy times and of sad ones. They remembered the time where they climbed the enormous clock at the center of London when they were supposed to meet the Queen with their parents, of how they met each of their respective wives.

Should I really do this? Wallace asked himself as confusion and warmth corrupted his will of vengeance. Since the start of the 21st century, even before then, all he had known, seen, or thought about was to take charge of the family and lead them against the organization that hunted them out of their home.

Distraught over the impending battle against his beloved brother, Wallace could not help but hesitate. Though his mind had second thoughts, his body did not. For soon, his body grew larger, more muscular alongside tuffs of grey hair. His nose elongated, eye glowed bright blue, and teeth sharpened to a point, like a shark on methamphetamine.

Seeing his brother's obvious hesitance, Archibald shoot his shot and tried to plead with his him. "We don't have to do this, brother. We are both old and ashen. Best if we resolve our differences and let the children handle the future."

Wallace's sharpened claws shuddered for but a moment. His mouth, a shock full of sharp rows of dagger-like teeth, twitched. "Maybe, brother. Maybe not."

Tap!

Wallace took a step downwards. His thought racing to a conclusion where he doesn't have to kill his brother. If his brother had a rational mind, Wallace could handle his revenge better, but...

Boom!

Thunder struck the manor itself, sending shockwaves all over the home. The lights flickered and emitted sparks...

"NO!" Bellowed Wallace as the beast within him shattered any hope of reconciliation. This was no longer a conversation of what if's.

He sprang from his position, swinging both his claws towards the approaching figure of Archibald, whom dodged the steel-like fingers with a backwards leap.

Crack!

The floorboards cracked against the might of Wallace's claws, spraying bits of wood around. Wallace unleashed a flurry of swipes, but Archibald parried them with his silvered cane, causing painful gasps from the old werewolf.

Archbald, seeing his brother flinch back from the pain, took his chance and forcefully thrust his cane's tip towards his brother's chest, sending him back a few feet. He then stepped in close quarters, holding his cane on both ends and smashing it against Wallace's collarbone.

Crack!

"Aurgh!" Wallace howled from the burning pain but still had the mind to grab onto his brother's left shoulder, pressing his claws deep into it. But Archibald did not flinch, in fact, he did the same as his brother and forced the cane deeper.

With claw and cane on both shoulders, they were both locked in a stalemate. Neither willing to remove their weapons, but Archibald has had enough. He change his grip on the top end of his cane and twisted off its collar. He then pulled out the handle away from the shaft, revealing a slender chrome blade, which he deftly slashed at the arm digging into his shoulder.

Swish!

"Aurgh!" Wallace recoiled from the burning slash but not before shoving his brother off of him, causing him to stumble down a few meters away.

Swish!

"I've gotten old, brother." Archibald coughed up a bit of blood before flourishing his blade around. The shove had damaged something in his body, but he didn't know what. Hearing his brother's response was but a growl, he changed the grip of the hollow swordstick in his left hand and the silver blade in his right hand.

Archibald launched forward, his left hand blocking Wallace's sideways slash while his right pierced his brother's shoulder blade. Smoke came out of the pierced hole as Wallace brought his right claws to his brother's knees, swiping forward with such strength and momentum that it sent Archibald crashing towards the door to the...

●●●Parlor Room●●●

Boom!

Splintered wood and bent metal met the fragile bones of Archibald Greythorne. The grip on his hollowed cane loosened, causing it to fly somewhere not near him.

Archibald spluttered a cough or two, heaving with pained breaths, yet he stood up. Holding his silver blade vertically in the center of his chest, Archibald took a breath and met his brother head-on.

Swish!

For every angry swipe of Wallace's claws, there was a parry from Archibald's silver blade. Metal clashed and skin burned as they locked themselves in a dance of life and death.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

Archibald took three steps back, his blade swaying side to side, vibrating from Wallace's forceful shove.

Bang! Bang! Boom!

Wallace leap twice, one backward, to evade his brother's swirls, and the other to the side as his brother took hold of his missing cane and threw it at him.

Their fight, nay, their dance was intense, driven, full of emotion. Emotion bottled up for decades, now used to fuel their anger at each other.

Tap! Crack!

Wallace sacrificed his left arm to grab ahold of his brother's shoulder and threw him across the room, sending him towards the...

●●●Main Study●●●

Boom!

A long groan came out of Archibald as he pressed his bleeding clenched fist against the Persian rug, forcing himself to stand up even amidst the intense pain blaring across his whole body. But before he could fully regain his bearing, a kick came boring down his chest, sending him deeper into the study, causing him to crash onto his wooden office table.

Crack!

Unable to fully control his limbs, Archibald chose to let go of the cane, leaving his sole concentration to the silvered blade. "L-Let's end this, b-brother.

"We-we should." Surprise evoked on Wallace's faces as he heard himself stammer, his gaze training on his body. Broken arm and dozens of burning holes littered his hirsute torso. A far cry from his previously impressive form.

Archibald stood up, against all odds, and dragged his drained feet towards his brother.

Boom!

Another lightning thundered across the manor, sending light to a flickering form and its inhabitants to flinch for a moment.

But a moment was all the two need.

Wallace struck first, teeth baring its anger as he chomped down on his brother's neck, gushing blood across the bookshelf. Archibald struck second, thrusting his bent silvered blade upwards, its tip piercing Wallace's abdomen, tearing through his guts, lungs, and coming out of his right cheek as he too sprayed blood.

Though the two continued to lose blood, their bloodlust helped them to cope. With trembling feet, Wallace grabbed his brother by the waist, embracing him for one last time, and lurched forward, carrying him.

"ARGHHH!!!" With one last shout he took out his maw out of his brother's neck and threw him towards the window, sending him down to the...

●●●Courtyard●●●

Crash! Clink! Thud!

But not before Archibald could grab onto his blade, causing Wallace to fall with him.

Thud!

Splayed above the cracked wet grass of the Greythorne courtyard were two of its eldest inhabitants.

Archibald Greythorne had a broken rib, punctured lung, perforated eardrums, broken jaw, snapped tendons, and is currently suffering from blood loss.

Wallace Greythorne had a broken arm, multiple third-degree burns in his torso, punctured lung, punctured intestine and a fractured spine. Oh, and a silver blade piercing up his gullet and out of his right cheek.

The rain pelted both of them as dirt and water marred their faces, unable to differentiate between rain and tears. Rain soon washed away their blood, leaving nothing but their broken bodies alone in the courtyard.

"Brother..." Wallace spoke, his tone gravelly and hard.

"Yes, Wally." Archibald replied, calling his brother by his childhood nickname.

"Maybe... you were right. Maybe I should have listened to... you." Wallace smiled through the pain, though it was hard to speak as he had a sword up his mouth.

"You should have always listened to me, Wally." Archibald chuckled before coughing up blood. "I'll take care of her, Wally."

"T-Thank you, Archie." Wallace too called his brother endearingly. "And please... take care of my child too..."

"I will. I always have." Archibald closed his eyes, not daring to see his brother's last vestige leave him. "I'm sorry for what I did."

"It's alright, Archie." Wallace smiled. "I'll make pudding on Sunday... hope you'll be there."

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The sky crackled as it churned out thunder after thunder, as if grieving the loss of someone important.

It took nearly a minute before Archibald could reply, his voice raspy and tired. "I hope not..."

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I will post the next set of chapters the week after the next. Sorry!

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