Greythorne Manor V

The storm gradually worsened as its mighty tendril descended upon the hills of Lisbon Valley, raining down its anger towards the sprawling estate that lie atop the sloping hills. On the estate's left is an enormous oak tree, its thick mighty trunks assailed by the blustering winds yet still standing still and steady. To the left lay a destroyed garden, its vegetables crumpled and wet, unable to grow further; eggplant vines and hyacinth beans swayed side to side, hanging on to its fragile branches as the rain pelted its mushy form.

Two men, limply and strenuously, trudged through the garden, their heavy feet dirtied by the mud, stepped and squelched the vegetables.

"C'mon, there's a cellar door by the side of the garden." Spoke one, his blue eyes bloodshot and tired. "I think there are a shit ton of guns in there. Mostly WWII rifles, some machine guns, and a couple of land mines."

"Extensive armory for a werewolf clan." Replied the other, clenching his stomach as he plucked a stray chip of wood embedded into the side of his neck. "Don't tell me you have a nuke in there."

The blue-eyed man halted, his gaze locked with the other man's eye as rain pelted their forms, washing away the blood that cached their bodies. "It's disabled and doesn't have a warhead..."

Boom!

The two continued on their journey as another clap of thunder rang in their ear, blinding their eyes for but a second. The blue-eyed man guessed the lightning's distance and noted that it was growing closer and stronger. But before he could partake of that note to his partner, a blue window appeared in his sight.

[Quest Update: Make sure at least two (2) members of the Greythorne clan survive until 06:00 a.m. (5/6 Surviving Members]

Irwin held down the gasp in his voice and walked faster, his legs growing better by the second, which he owed to his Bloodbane origins. The battle between brothers had finished too fast to his liking, though as he digested the information, it seemed appropriate. Archibald was an old soul, unable to fight his brother at full strength, whilst Wallace, driven by revenge yet had an unfilial love for his only brother, was unwilling to kill him.

Irwin did not care for the results of the battle for whoever lost or won, it would still result in his loss. If Wallace won, then the old wolf would go after him, which, according to the result of their battle with Eleanor Thorrin, a half-blood wolf, would end in their utter defeat; if Archibald could win, which had an abysmal probability, then he'd likely be unable to further stand and fight to see as the man was alive to see the end of the third Reich and probably drank whiskey with Winston Churchill.

'A lose-lose situation for me. Goddamnit.' He thought.

"There, there!" Irwin ended his musings as he pointed towards the old worn-down cellar door, trembling under the fierce winds and nearly destroyed by stray branches and bricks from the nearby worker's shed. "Give me the gun and I'll break it."

"No, no. I'll handle this." Garth grinned as he kneeled down at the cellar door and produced a lock pick bag before working on the door's giant lock.

Click!

It did not last long before a snap and a click came from the lock. Garth pulled himself up and removed the lock from the door with a heavy grunt, still reeling from the pain of being thrown across the kitchen wall.

"Wow, where did you learn that?" Irwin asks, astonished at his partner's quick sleight of hand as he grabbed the door's handle and heaved it open.

"College." Garth responded, a bit of pride evident in his tone.

Creak! Thud!

"Let me guess... Dentistry?" Irwin said, a playful smile on his face as he washed his hands in the torrid rain for rust and mud had cached his palms. He then entered the cellar.

Garth's eyes widened as he took out the revolver and followed suit. "Whoa, how'd you know?"

A chuckle escaped Irwin's mouth. "Your teeth. They're shiny."

●●●Annalise's Room●●●

Tack!

Three children scattered around the room, flushed faces and panting breaths as they trained their attention toward the noise coming out of the hallway. The oldest and largest one, Annalise Greythorne, hushed the other two as they whimpered.

"Enough. Look, I will protect the two of you, but we need to properly form a trench." She commanded as she took a stern tone, her hands held akimbo. Sweat dripped down her blond lox, clearly she, too, was panicking.

Annalise knew some of the events happening outside of her large room, even having a hand in one of them. But regret had not come sooner, for the loud bangs heard both inside the manor and the outside estate have proven their Ancestor's plan to have started.

"No, we need to go home! Now!" yelled the small red-headed girl, 8 years of age, as tears dropped continuously along her face, dampening her clothes.

"Shut up, Lisa! This is my house, so I'm in charge." Annalise doubled down on her commanding town. "Jermaine, grab the pillows, clothes, and blankets. I want you to build a fort, that's where we'll gather all our stuff and food and weapons.--"

"But we don't have weapons--"

"Shut up and just do it! We don't have much time." Anallise interjected as her ears heard the jingle of keys outside of the room. "Lisa, grab that candle stick and hide behind that nightstand. When I say go, you come out and charge at the person entering our door. Clear?"

Lisa nodded furiously, holding back her tears as she remembered her mother's words before she came here. "Candlestick. Attack the person. Candlestick..."

Annalise clapped her hands and urged her lackeys to begin their work as she hid her tiny body beside the door, intent on ambushing the person coming towards them.

Clink! Click! Creak!

She tensely watched as the door unlocked and its handles gently turned. The door's, as well as the whole damn manor's hinges, creaked as it opened up fully, revealing a figure cloaked in shadows.

Annalise's eyes turned red as she ordered Lisa to attack. Her bent, taut legs quivered before springing from her hidden position, pouncing upon the shadowed figure. Arms wide, hands curled, she latched on to the figure as her teeth sank deep into the figure's neck.

"Ahhh!" the figure shrieked and ran forward, stepping onto the light of the room, revealing the form of Ellaise Thorrin. Her body swiveled as she tried to shake off Annalise. Her hands reached into her pocket and took out the ornate chef's knife. It gleamed under the light of the room.

"Lisa!" Annalise took her mouth off Ellaise's leather-covered neck and yelled for her lackey.

Ellaise, in a fit of panic, swiped her knife at her attacker's exposed arm above her ample chest, slicing a long wound along her wrist to her elbow, which elicited a pained shriek from Annalise. "Wait? Lisa?"

Sizzle!

Annalise's wound crackled as she jumped off her victim, recognizing her voice. "What? Ella?"

"Oh, god. Lady Annalise?" Ellaise turned around, gazing at her master's sister. She hurriedly neared her, gently holding the wounded arm as blood dripped from it. "Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god. What did I do? I'm so sorry."

"N-No!" Annalise took her arm from the maid, hiding its wounded form. "I-It's ok. What about you? What happened? Brother?"

"He's alright. We fought in the kitchen, we fought... It's ok. He told me to keep you safe." Ellaise soothed his master's sister, excluding the death of her mother. "Uh, Annalise? Why is your wound smoking?"

●●●Cellar●●●

Click!

Sliding the glass window and locking it in place, Irwin's gasp and subsequent laugh echoed around the dusty cellar as he stared at the litter of firearms and cold weapons that bedecked the glass organizer.

A few rifles, dusted and polished to a shine, lie on a rack; a sniper rifle, adorned with a small scope and something, sat on a pedestal; two dozen of pistols of both German and British origin stacked neatly perpendicular to each other with their bullets contained inboxes on the drawer below; boxes of ammunition stacked with hollow-point, jacketed hollow, and full metal jacket bullets inside, alongside a small box of spiked ammunition for the Winchester M12; and at the bottom of the glass organizer, locked with a large metal padlock picked open by Garth, are a strip of MK 2 fragmentation grenades and a claymore mine.

Garth whistled low as he stared in awe at the fully stacked armory. "We could take out the National Guard with these babies!"

"Garth, just a dozen werewolves could take out the National Guards. These? This is just their Plan B."

Ding! Dong!

Irwin gazed at the grandfather clock alongside the caskets of wine liberated from the allied invasion of Sicily. He took a big breath as he calculated their reinforcement's arrival and, seeing as it was still half past midnight, he knew they would not arrive before the Ancestor had torn them to shreds.

"Grab that De Lisle carbine with the folding stock and take two mags of the .45 ACP; give me that Winchester M12 and the explosive shotgun shells; get that bag and stack the frags and the claymore mine and be careful in putting it," Irwin ordered as he grabbed a sniper rifle. The short magazine Lee–Enfield Mk I was one of Archibald's favorite and most used a weapon during his tour of sub-Saharan Africa.

"Smelly Archie" as they used to call him. Partly due to the weapon's nickname as well as his refusal to alleviate his horrendous hygiene problems.

"Alright. I'm all set. I'll take the M12, SMLE, and the Claymore mine. Plant the mine at my feet, take a few potshots at the Ancestor with the sniper rifle, and when he comes down to deal with me, I'll unload the explosive bullets at his wolfed ass. And you..." Irwin began covering his body with ammunition and weapon as he laid out his plan before turning around and seeing Garth's outfit. "Are going to a circus, apparently."

"What? I'm being prepared," Garth cocked his shoulder as he placed another rifle over his torso. Wearing a ballistic vest over his shirt, Garth had tucked in four MK 2 grenades, holstered in two M1911, a Browning A-5, and the De Lisle carbine his partner had mentioned. He then trudged forward, clunky and heaving from the weight of his weapons.

"Fine. Just tell me you're a crack shot because you're gonna be atop the oak tree's branch." Irwin shook his head in resignation, wondering how he could survive the encounter when his partner's waddling to his death. "Fuck's sake. You look like a malnourished Rambo."

"No, duh, I'm like John McClane, but for werewolf hunters." Garth retorted, checking his rifle for blockages and loading it with hollow-point bullets. "Also, I am a crack shot. Like a night parrot and Canadian geese combined."

Garth bragged as he reassessed his gear and waddled towards the cellar door.

"What? Both of those have terrible eyes— Garth. That does not bode well for me." Irwin was aghast as he heard his partner's flex, scoffing at the incredulity of it all and the not-so-low chance of being left in the breeze by a stormtrooper incarnate. "Please, god, don't let me die by his hands."

Boom!

Irwin shook his head as he heard the sky's response, walking towards the caskets of wine. "Oh, well, guess I need to live a little. Show me Skills."

■■

[Personal Skill/s: Marksman (Lvl 01); Minor Alcohol Tolerance ]

[Job Skill/s: N/A]

[System Skill/s: Natural Immunity; Enhanced Physique]

■■

"Yeah, fuck it. We're good to go." He muttered as he scrounged the wooden boxes behind the wine casket until he felt a glass bottle, which he took. "Oh, this one's good. From 1892."

Irwin popped off the cork with a kukri and drank half of the bottle's content before sighing. He then placed the kukri into his slacks' back pocket and walked towards the exit. "Hooo! Let's rock and roll!"

●●●Attic●●●

Boom!

"I guess you're a little angry, huh?" muttered the Ancestor, clad in his Victorian aristocratic wardrobe, as he sat upon his gilded throne in swathed in thorns of grey roses, sipping from his chalice embedded with the clan's ancient coat-of-arms. "It's a good thing you're but a superstition. A rumor spread amongst your celibate followers. Hah, an omnipotent being, creator of everything, throwing a tantrum when his creation breaks free of his makings. Like a little child."

Boom!

He complained of God as if they were not too dissimilar. He thought of days were mere mistakes that cost someone their life. Of the bygone era, where the lives of the lesser were cut down like flies. He smiled at the memories of their glorious days, their wont to hunt, unburdened and unfettered, the peasantry and their fearful subjects. But all that came down with the rise of the people and their hunters. From predator to prey, exterminated from thousands to nothing but a handful by the very people that served them. For that, they will pay. For the death of their kin, the hunters will die. For their exile to the new world, the Men of Letters will cease to exist.

Bang! Shatter!

As his musings took a darker turn, the sound of glass shattering and his goblet forcefully removed from his hands brought him to his senses.

Clang!

His gaze traveled downwards, landing upon his chalice, its form bent inwards by the cartridge.

Bang! Crack!

Another bullet entered his abode, the cartridge hitting a wooden post.

Bang! Shatter!

The bullet entered through another shattered window pane, spinning around until it lost its momentum and tumbled to the ground.

"Playing games now, aren't we?" The Ancestor had a soft smile on his face as he walked towards the projectile's entrance, stepping through the shattered glass on the ground. His gaze trained on the brown-haired, blue-eyed, lithe young man improperly holding his great-grandson's favorite weapon, the Lee–Enfield Mk I. A gift from him on Archibald's twentieth birthday.

The young man entered another cartridge into the weapon's slot, doing so for far too long to the Ancestor's liking. A few seconds later, the young man had reloaded the weapon and aimed at the attic once again, this time locking gaze with him.

"Give me your best shot." He muttered and, as if hearing his words, the young man grinned and aimed his best at him.

Bang! Schlick!

True to the young man's promise, the cartridge flew through the rain and lightning as it entered his shoulders and exited out his back.

"Good shot." He smiled as he removed his suit jacket and his shirt, revealing his lithe form with a hirsute chest. "Now, my turn."

His sinewy legs went taut as he bent them, the floorboards cracking under his might as he pushed off against the floor, pouncing out of the attic.

Boom!

●●●Garden●●●

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!"

Irwin ran back to the garden edge, jumping over the claymore mine before dropping the Enfield rifle and grabbing the M12. Checking the loading port and stocking his shirt pockets with two 20-gauge shotgun shell magazines, Irwin looked back to the blurry figure descend unto the ground, a few meters from where he once was.

Boom!

"Oh, shit." He cocked the shotgun's forearm before taking aim at the ancestor. "Hey, assbutt."

Bang!

He pulled the trigger as the M12 recoiled. His shoulder, which was holding the butt, took the brunt of the force. The explosive shell propelled off the barrel and exited off the muzzle, traveling towards the lithe figure of the Ancestor. As it neared the Ancestor, the shell's back opened up to three fins, causing the shell to revolve until it hit the Ancestor's chest.

Boom! Whoosh! Thud!

The shell exploded with a high-pressured fire that launched the Ancestor backward. The explosion momentarily lit the dark gardens as the ancestor flew down.

"Fuck yeah." Irwin cocked the shotgun, removing the previous shell as he entered another explosive one before rolling his rotator cuffs. "Hurts like hell, though."

He cocked the shotgun once more, the outer shell bouncing off of the chamber, as he aimed it at the Ancestor's smoking figure. "You still alive?"

"RAHH!"

The Ancestor lept off his feet and transformed into his werewolf form. Unlike Wallace's partial wolf transformation, the Ancestor grew thick grey fur that covered his whole body, had an elongated nose, crimson red eyes, and large curved claws that were sharp as Damascus steel.

He rushed forward, on all fours, nearing Irwin, his claws swiping forward, which the latter side-stepped clumsily, even falling and landing on his ass.

Irwin raised his shotgun and fired off a shell at the Ancestor. His terrible aim caused the shell to fly wide, exploding meters off the Ancestor, who took the chance to pounce forward, crashing into Irwin.

The two tumbled onto the garden grounds, flattening the cabbages in their way. Irwin tossed the gun away, using both of his hands to place the Ancestor in a headlock, while the latter clawed his way into Irwin's side.

The Ancestor dug deeper into his waist, hitting a rib or two, as he forced his kin aloft, his toothy maw opening up and trying to bite off whatever it can reach. Which, to Irwin's luck, was nothing as his headlock kept his enemy's head upwards and away from any part of his body.

"Garth!" He yelled for his partner, who was waiting on the ancient oak tree's thick branches.

Bang! Schlick!

Pained grunts escaped the Ancestor's maws as he lurched forward, his back spurting blood from the bullets lodged inside of him. He removed his claws inside of Irwin and threw him off to the side, his enemy's body crushing the eggplant vines.

"AWOO!"

Angered by the bullets in his torso, the Ancestor tried to run towards Garth, but the explosion that his arm halted his steps, lurching backward from the force of the blast. The explosive bullets' effects had lessened once he planted his feet on the ground, much to Irwin's dismay.

"Ok, let's try another one," Irwin muttered as he quickly plugged a magazine into the carrier before sending an explosive shell onto his enemy, then another, and another, until all twelve shells had blasted off the ancient werewolf's face.

True to his name as an ancestral werewolf, the Ancestor took all shells with great fortitude, merely stumbling a few steps backward for every shell that hit his body and head. Parts of his cheeks were destroyed, showing off the burnt muscle fibers underneath. His melted torso cascaded off to the ground, like a rubber tire on a sea of flames. The smoke that once hid the grotesque figure he had become dissipated and fully revealed his form; a burnt humanoid creature devoid of hair and flesh.

"Y-You..." The Ancestor's voice came out rough and stammering for his larynx has been burnt to a crisp, only able to speak thanks to his impressive regenerative ability. "Do n-not know..."

Irwin care not to listen to the rambling of furry Darkman and merely replaced the empty magazine with another one, his last explosive magazine, before cocking the handle and aiming at the Ancestor. "Watch your step."

He fired shot after shot, his feet stepping closer to his opponent. Every blast lifted the Ancestor inches off his feet, making him stumble back to where he first landed on the garden grounds. Irwin knew of his trap's vicinity but was careful not to overplay his hands. So, with one last shot left, he fired off wide, burning off a patch of pumpkins.

As the Ancestor saw the missed shot, a grin escaped his toothy maw. His feet immediately stepped forward, but before he could make another, he felt a hard, slippery object underneath him.

BOOM!

A thousand small steel balls traveling at a thousand meters per second exploded upwards, enveloping the area with smoke, dirt, and rubble. Underneath the smoke and mirrors, the small steel balls ripped apart and into the Ancestor's body. The freshly healed wounds were once again destroyed, organs torn to pieces, and blood poured out of him like a malfunctioning fountain.

The Ancestor growled weakly, falling to his fractured knees before fully collapsing to the ground.

●●●●●●

Seeing the smoke dissipate and reveal the shredded body of the Ancestor, Irwin trudged to a large pumpkin and sat on it; pressing his hands to his sides, preventing further blood loss, but he figured, with so large of a wound, he would need a barrel cork to plug it.

"You still alive?" He mocked but grunted in pain soon afterward, keeping the pressure on his large gashes. "Oh, goddamnit."

Boom!

"Well, that was easy." Garth's voice rang from behind him. Holding his rifle and revolver filled with three silver bullets, Garth winced at the form of their enemy. "It wasn't easy for him, I bet."

"Thanks for the help, by the way." Irwin's voice dripped with sarcasm, rolling his eyes at Garth's barely disheveled figure.

"No problem-o!" Garth smiled as he draws nearer to the Ancestor and going as far as to poke the werewolf's torso with his rifle. "Well, old timer, looks like you've been Garth'd."

"God, I forgot you do that," Irwin muttered before taking a deep breath, stabilizing his quickened heartbeat. The adrenaline from the fight had subsided, and he was now feeling the full brunt of the pain, so any entertainment, no matter how droll, would do him some good. "Garth, don't go near the dead ancient werewolf, please."

"What? C'mon, it's dead. The mission is finished." Garth replied, even poking the smoking werewolf's cheek with his finger, tracing soot and ichor across his finger.

"Wait. What?" Irwin's eyes went wide as he commanded his system. 'Quest Objective. Quest Update.'

[Quest Objective/s: Make sure two (2) members of the Greythorne clan survive until 06:00 a.m. [5/6 Surviving Members]; Stay alive until 06:00 a.m. [Time: 12:48 a.m.] ]

"GARTH, GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE--"

"Wha-?"

"RAWR!"

Boom!

A flicker of a furry figure bodied Garth and sent him careening a dozen meters away. No sooner did the flicker attack Garth that it lept from pumpkin to pumpkin towards Irwin, grabbing onto him and sending both of them to tumble away.

The Ancestor's left claw scratched deep into Irwin's cheek, tearing flesh, and muscle and cracking his lower jaw; his right one continuously used its longer reach to slice his stomach apart; and his maw tried tearing off Irwin's ear.

Blood sprayed to the ground but was quickly washed away by the rain as Irwin tried to fight back with all his might, using his feet to kick the Ancestor's testicles.

The Ancestor whimpered, rolling away and reeling from the pain before once again leaping to this enemy who stood up and met him halfway.

Bang!

The Ancestor swiped his claws to the right but was sidestepped by Irwin, now feeling the effects of his Bloodbane origin. Irwin took his chance and sent a left hook to the Ancestor's side, hitting his kidneys. The Ancestor recoiled from the hit as Irwin followed up with a palm to his snout, breaking it as blood poured out.

"Rawr!" The ancestor growled, ducking his enemy's next attack then biting his outstretched arm and tearing flesh from it.

A scream erupted out of Irwin as he lurched back, willing his feet not to stumble down. He had no time to assess the damage on his body for he knew it would be a fool's errand anyway. His punches and kicks, although stronger than normal, dealt but superficial damage. He needed something stronger and so he ran.

His eyes scoured the garden ground for any usable weapon as he limply ran with the Ancestor behind him, growing closer by the second. Then he saw it, although hidden by the dirt and rain, its unmistakable silvery glint did not mask the shape of the revolver. He dove for it, narrowly being missed by the hound behind him.

Bang!

He turned around, his hands firmly clenching the revolver, and gazed at the healing form of the Ancestor. He knew that he had only three chances and each one had to count for the monster before him was no ordinary werewolf.

"I-Is that all you g-got?" He mocked through gritted teeth and swelling tongue, taut nerves as he waited for his enemy to act.

Although the Ancestor's only response was a mighty roar, his approaching figure still allowed Irwin's plan to continue.

Irwin's taut nerves began to quiver, an instinctual response to a frightening stimulus such as the fast-approaching werewolf, but he held on. As the Ancestor's blurry form and sharp claws were inches away from him, Irwin revealed his gun and shot him thrice, making sure all three hit.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Being hit by three silver bullets to the chest, the Ancestor lost control of his momentum as he bodied Irwin and sent both of them careening a few meters away.

Irwin coughed and cursed his life, feeling the weight of the Ancestor and his surprisingly heavy body boring down on him. With a push, he shoved the werewolf to the side, grunting in pain as his wounds flared up. "F-Fuck. Y-you still a-alive?"

A bout of weakened yet angry roar escaped out of the Ancestor's maw. Irwin sighed before crawling atop him and hitting his face with the butt of the revolver, breaking the werewolf's snout.

The Ancestor tried to retaliate but Irwin merely fingered the hole in which the silver bullet was lodged, making him spasm in pain.

"Shut up and just fucking die!" Irwin punched the Ancestor's face once more before grabbing the kukri from within his back pocket and stabbing it deep into the werewolf's chest, sliding it sideways to the left. The Ancestor's beating heart revealed itself as the blood came pouring out.

"Let's see if you can heal a missing heart." Slashing the arteries apart, he took out the still-beating heart from within the Ancestor's chest as the werewolf's body spasmed in uncontrollable pain.

Irwin, heart in his right hand, clutching tightly to form a fist, brought his frustration and pain upon the Ancestor's face. As he sent a heart-covered fist to smash against his skull...

And another...

And another...

And another...

Punch after punch gave way to pain as the Ancestor's body shuddered with every strike his head took.

Irwin pressed his finger against the Ancestor's eye, bursting it with a light pop, as his other fist, holding his enemy's still beating heart, forcefully shoved itself upon his maw, breaking it and the hand upon contact.

The Ancestor, through his mangled maw, silently pleaded for mercy, yet he had none to give. Another punch came through, cracking the skull in his forehead.

A final clench broke the beating heart in hand, spraying blood and ichor at him as his fist, broken with his wrist bone protruding out of his palm, barreled through the werewolf's skull and pierced his brain.

[Quest Update: Make sure at least two (2) members of the Greythorne clan survive until 06:00 a.m. (5/6 Surviving Members]

Boom!

As the message appeared, a peal of thunder roared across the horizon.

"ARGHH!" Seeing the message, Irwin could not help but rejoice. Tilting his head upwards, rain pelting his sore body, a scream of relief came out of him for finally, the Greythorne Ancestor is dead.

●●●Minnesota●●●

Tack! Tack! Tack! Thud!

A muscular bearded man wearing a red checked flannel shirt and grey bonnet hacked at the large pine tree before him, his sinewy hands tightly gripping the handle of the axe as he swung it thrice more and fell it opposite him.

He heaved a breath as though only slight exhaustion affected him after felling off three trees in the past hour.

"Ooh, Marcus. Give it a rest. Why dont'cha?" A cheerful woman's voice rang behind him.

The man smiled as he nodded and scratched his bonnet in shame. "Sorry, Donna. I'm just gonna finish this tree, then lug it back into town. Director Millicent needs these for the charity bonfire."

"Ya know, people told me you're like a big bad wolf." Donna shook her head with a grin, her hands reaching down to the wicker basket and retrieving a hot mug of black liquid. "But seems to me you're just a big old hairy teddy bear."

Marcus snorted as a blush splashed into his cheeks, his free hand receiving the hot mug Donna gives him.

"It's cocoa." She remarked. "Just don't hurt yourself, alrighty?"

Marcus smiled, rather glad to have befriended the newly instated sheriff's deputy for her genuine friendliness and utter charm. "Thanks, Donna. You're very swe-aurgh!"

Bang!

Marcus dropped to his knees as he felt a jackhammer pound his mind, his hands clutching it in pain. The mug slipped from his hands and broke upon contact on the ground. His eyes grew brighter, his natural blue slowly turned red.

Drool fell off his mouth as his teeth enlarged, and soon a howl escaped his throat. "AWWWOOOO!!!"

●●●Los Angeles●●●

Tring!

"Scene 16, Take 03. Hound of the Winchesters." A scrawny man held a clapper as he looked in front of the camera before starting the scene with a...

Clap!

Two actors, a lithe blonde-haired man, and a red-headed, freckled woman, arrived at the peak of a curved bridge, their attire Victorian yet had a modern style.

The man turned around. His blue eyes had a hint of crimson peppered around his iris. "W-What are you doing here, Vanessa? Please go. I-I cannot control the beast within me no more."

"Hah." The woman sniffed, her eyes red and teary as she gazed longingly at the man. "Please, Logan. I beg of you. Your curse will not rebuke my love for you. My father is but a fool, yours as well. If we just--"

"No! I said no!" Logan roared as he felt a prickling heat emanating from his body, his eyelids growing heavier by the second. His blue eyes were now mixed with a blood-red paint as he faintly hears the echoes of a dying howl. "W-What the hell is happening?"

Logan looked around the set, arousing the confusion of the film crew and his coworker. He clutched his head, feeling his body grow bigger. No longer can he control his transformation. "Why? What? Ancestor? No. No. No. No-AAWWOOOO!!!"

His howl thundered across the warehouse, shocking the film crew. He then lept off the bridge, his body bouncing off the set pieces and leaving the shot of the camera.

"Wow. Now, that's a goddamn method actor." The actress, Vanessa, remarked with the director sitting atop the gaffs nodding along.

"If he doesn't win an Oscar for that, well..."

●●●Sussex, England●●●

Deep within the confines of a large nondescript office building lies an underground prison system. Esoteric inscriptions are embedded in every wall, ceiling, and floor protecting its workers from outside intervention.

Within a metal chamber sits a man tied to a slender silver cross, parts of his body that were touching the metal continuously burned. The scorched skin fell off which was immediately siphoned off by the drain at the bottom of his cell.

Ding!

As the man tried to remove himself from the pain he was receiving, the opening to his cage slid open, revealing a curvaceous woman in a long, tight skirt and black frilly blouse, holding a clipboard full of data.

"Any difference in effect?" She asks of the man whose eyes fluttered open.

"Less pain than Gen 12, but does not have the sting of Gen 5. Suggest making purer bonds through micro-chemicals." The man's deep voice reverberated across the chamber. It was calm and logical, unlike his situation.

Click!

Another sound echoed as the slender pole turned and slinked back to its base position, removing the pain from the man's back.

"Have Dr. He--" The man began ordering the woman when he suddenly sniffed. His heart beat faster and faster until it slowed down as a feeling of emptiness pervaded his senses. Dizziness spread to his head, but he brought forth great will as he removed himself from the pain. "It looks like the Old Fool has died, Alicia."

Clang!

The woman's eyes went wide, losing her grip on the clipboard as a tear trailed down her eye to her cheeks. "Then I shall return to meet my son, Lord Aldrich."

●●●Garden●●●

[Warning! Extreme Blood Loss]

[Warning! Limb Nerve Damage]

[Warning! Obstructive Shock In Progress]

[Warning! Distributive Shock In Progress]

[Warning! Cardiac Arrest In Progress]

[Warning! Multiple Bone Fractures]

[Warning! Floating Rib Fractured]

[Warning! Epithelium Damaged]

[Warning! Punctured Lungs]

[Warning! Destroyed Kidney]

[Warning! Lower Jaw Slight Fracture]

"Oh, god. You could just kill me, you know?"

Boom!

"Fuck you, too, bud."

Boom!

Irwin mumbled some more before turning to his side with a heavy grunt, feeling his organs sloshing around in his almost destroyed body. "Show me... god fuck you! Trade Shop!"

Boom!

■■

[Trade Shop]

[Please Select And Specify The Item You Wish To Trade]

■■

"Hahaha" Irwin laughed as his mouth poured out bile and blood, crawling all the while towards the corpse of one of the oldest werewolves to have ever existed, barring, of course, the Alpha Werewolf. Rain pelted his body like a hail of rubber bullets hitting against his reddened skin.

Status, he thought as his consciousness began vanishing into the blackened sky.

■■

Physical Status: Barely alive

Mental Status: Wall of fortitude, wavering by the second

---

Resistance/s: Werewolf Curse +50%; Poisoning +7%

Weakness/es:

---

Blessing/s: Touch of the Almighty

Curse/s:

Mark/s: ]

■■

Trembling in pain, his weakened hands lay against the rough and tack-like textured skin of the Ancestor before shouting with all his might. "Trade this fucker!"

■■

[Trade Accepted]

[Trade List Incoming...]

■■

Irwin's eye glazed for no sooner than the message appeared than another message replace it, its contents flashing before his glossy eyes. Hundred upon hundreds of items automatically scrolled down from supernatural weapons to angelic Grace. The list contained all materials, weapons, artifacts, or even conceptual objects in existence that are equal to or less of the value of the Ancestor's body.

"S-Show me... Jesus... health items..." Irwin commanded, his eyes getting heavier by the second, breathing shallower. With all his will, he skimmed over hundreds of items before training in on a couple of peculiar ones.

■■

● Paracelsus' Alchemical Concoction [Consumable] | Trade For: Five (5) Drop/s

● Drop From The Fountain Of Youth [Consumable] | Trade For: Two (2) Drop/s

● Seed Of Eden [Consumable] [Medium] | Trade For: One (1) Seed

● Pure Soul [Fragmented] | Trade For: One (1) Fragment

■■

The sheer amount of mystical items on the list astonished him, before a grimace formed on his bloodied face. "Worst time to be an indecisive shopper."

[Warning! Death Imminent]

"Fuck it. Give me three drops of [Paracelsus' Alchemical Concoction] and small [Seed Of Eden]."

A high-pitched sound rang in his ears, intensifying his already perforated eardrum. The Amcestor's corpse began crumbling, turning into a fine powder that was washed away by the flowing rainwater.

[Ding! Trade Complete]

Show me, he commanded in his mind.

[Paracelsus' Alchemical Concoction: This liquid concoction is the pinnacle of the 16th-century physician's medicinal knowledge and alchemical expertise. The physician created only one vial containing five drops in existence, in a fluke, when he went on one of his drunken rants. Able to regenerate most tissue, nerve, and cell damage at an unprecedented pace using the body's innate vitality. The larger the user's vitality and stamina, the greater the effects of the concoction.]

[Seed Of Eden: A small seed that houses most of the Garden of Eden's ability. Categorized as both an Occultum and a Hands of God, the seed, if planted, within seven days, would create a fifty square meter lush forest of divine origin, filled with extinct and existent flora and fauna. List of flora and fauna that has a chance of growing:..]

Irwin sighed in relief, thankful for his choice as he willed the drop atop his index finger and let it drop upon his tongue, the liquid immediately dissipating within his mouth.

As soon as the liquid melded into his tongue, his flesh felt alive and active, vying for more energy as they ate the blood and mud that cached his body. His muscles felt taut, rippling and repositioning, compensating for missing parts, even making some of them. His blood burned as they came out of his holes, singeing the gashes and cauterizing the wounds.

For an entire minute, Irwin felt indescribable pain from every orifice, natural or wolf made. Until it all ended. The once agonizing rain washed the cache of ichor and mud as a wave of relief washed over him, his body, once broken, was now filled with unmatched vigor and health. That was until utter exhaustion hit him, like gravity was now punishing him for merely existing. Heavy and burdened, his figure was.

"Hah." A wistful laugh escaped him, turning his head towards his fallen partner. "Hey, Garth. When we do this again, I'm gonna buy you a silver machine gun."

Although his face embedded and scraped into the garden, while the tomatoes were stuck in his ear, Garth still responded. "Yeah, I'd like that."

--

Apologies for the late post, this week is holy week and all so I had to volunteer and stuff. Oh, speaking of it, if you're in a generous mood, donate to your local food bank, orphanage, or charity that does not have the word 'awareness' on them.

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