Descendant of Nephilim. Part 8

The beginning.

 

The night air was cold on his already cold nose. The northeasterly breeze coming off the lake always hit this far into the wood land. The term lake almost seemed insufficient for its mass, as you couldn’t see one side from the other.

The smells of the forest assaulted Garrick’s senses, the recent changes still fresh and new, his eye sight was sharper than ever, he had always suffered from short sightedness but that had become a thing of the past. His sense of smell was a thousand times stronger too, and then there was his hearing. The tiniest of sounds were like cannon fire. The scared scampering of the rabbits through the bracken trying to get back to their warrens. The owls and other nocturnal winged creature seeking they own dining for the night. The labored breathing of his pack mates surrounding him.

The Alpha heir stopped at a tree line, his huge white lumbering form towering next to the big trees. Nearing seven feet tall with gigantic back legs that ended in grotesque human feet. A tiny waist that triangles out to a big barrel chests with dark leathery skin coated in what could loosely be called white fur.
Elongated furring arms with abnormally long fingers which ended with sharp claws dangled down to his knees, and his head was an emasculation of wolf and man, his shaggy muzzle was littered with pockmark and scars from challenges he had won.

 

A dark stretch of tarmac snaked through the forest breaking the tranquility with its intrusive inevitability. Marcus turned, his fluorescent green eyes sparkled in the twilight cast through the sparse trees. His pure white fur rustled in a breeze that bent the smaller of the shrubs at his feet.

The pack slowed and gathered around him in bunches, some sat on their haunches breathing heavily. Other paces back and forth, one swung a huge tree trunk arm at an old redwood, the bark exploded in splinters.

“Be ready, and attack on my signal.”

Marcus turned again to watch the road.

The mind link between packs allowed them to be a complete unit whilst hunting. Telepathy although natural to every werewolf, could only be used when one joined a pack. Other werewolves not of that pack wouldn’t be able to communicate telepathically useless they surrendered to the pack’s alpha.

The mental voice inside Garret’s head made him scamper and jump. A primal fear shocked him like electricity through his body. A female beside him annoyed by his sudden jerkiness, snarled and punched at his chest, knocking him back a few feet.

“Be still. Pup. It’s just the way we speak to each other.”

Garrett flatten his ears and placed his hand over them before falling to his knees, the voice rattling around his skull made him buried his snout in the dirt and leaves. He swatted at his ears like the bottom of a ketchup bottle, only the intrusion didn’t go away.

“You will get used to it in time.”

The pure white female pushed him once again and walked closer to the front of the pack. No one stopped her advance as she brushed up to Marcus’s flanks and stood by his side.

The echo in his head subsided but as the white noise cleared, he could hear more gruntled voices in the static of his head.

“What’s taking them so long? I saw a bunch of tents a while back, easy picking.”

“Shhh, you moron.”

Another voice, less gruntled than the others sang a quiet song, the words rang of vengeance and destruction, how Seth had been given the gift by God to eradicate his enemies.

More of the monstrous beasts picked up the tune, and the song grew stronger. Soon his head was swimming with the heavy bass voices. The werewolves slowly worked themselves into a frenzy, white saliva flew from their snapping jaws as they snarled, and lashed out at each other.

A dim light appeared around a far away corner. The yellow glow steadily getting strong, and soon the light separated to two spheres. Marcus howled through the mind link and into the night. The call was taken up by the pack.

 


 

 

The radio crackled.

‘Country road, take me home, to the place, I belong, West Virginia.’

Trent pressed the search button and the radio bounced to a jaunty tune. The younger of the two men started to nod his head to the music. He slapped a hand against his black cargo trousers to the rhythm.

Burt pressed the button back again as the red armored truck bumped down the road.

“Hey man!”

“I’ve already told you boi, don’t touch my darn wireless.”

Trent kicked a leg up and place a size 11 steel toe cap boot on the dash board.
He banged his head repeatedly against the re enforced window.

“Come on man. We’ve listened to your shitty music for over an hour. Stop being a douche.”

The black uniforms of Transgate logistics would make any casual observer looking in on the drivers at night, think that the van was driven by two ghostly heads. Their matching uniforms as black as the upholstery of the seats.

One head belonging to a young 20 something, square jaw and spiked hair, probably a jock drop out using his only means to pay his way. The other a sour lined, bald head, wrinkle ridden face that had seen for more years than he cared for.

“You look here you little twerp, when I’m driving the darn van, then the wireless is mine. If I have to turn it over again I’m gonna kick your ass from Utah to Mississippi.”

Trent sucked in a breath through his teeth and crossed his arms.

“You old fool, you wouldn’t last one second. You’re like a hundred years old. I’ve got hard things growing under my bed.”

Burt screwed up his face and repositioned his glasses against his face. He leaned forward until his nose was touching the steering wheel.

“What the hell?”

The armored van slowed and eventually came to a stop. He reached below the radio and flicked a switch. Four big spot lights on top of the truck slammed on. The normal headlights splaying out before the truck were lost in the illumination. Trent pulled his foot off the dash and replaced it with his chin.

A young girl was lying between the chevrons on the road, she was completely naked and seemed to be unconscious. The slim blonde had a caramel tone to her skin. Her knees were curled up and away. she laid facing away from the truck so neither of the men could see her face.

“You stay here boi, grab a gun and learn out that door there. Something doesn’t add up.”

“She’s probably drunk, her friends must have thought it funny to leave her and are probably filming our reaction right now. That what everyone is doing these days.”

Burt reached between his seat and the double passenger seat, he unclipped a shot gun and passes one to Trent, then unclipped another and reached for the locked box.

“Somethings not right, and I didn’t get to be this old without being too careful now.”

He finally got the lid open and pulled out a pack of shotgun cartridges. Burt efficiently loaded his, while the young and less experienced man, fumbled with his.

“Not so cocky now ah?”

Burt didn’t wait for Trent to finish before he unlocked the doors and open it to the cool night air.

“Hey there! Young miss? Can you hear me?”

Burt leaned out over the driver’s door and cupped a hand to his mouth.

“Young miss, can you hear me? Oh, Darn it.”

Burt lowered himself to the ground and pointed his gun at the small of her back. She hadn’t moved, even with the sound of the old 8.2 diesel idling 10 feet away. The old man repositions his glasses with a finger and looked up the road. The dark Tarmac seem to disappear into the darkness of the night ahead, tall trees stood like guardians of the forest on either side of him, and the full moon hung above him like the torch light of God.

A primal fear crept up Burt’s spine, the kind of fear that grows from the pit of your stomach and slowly works it way up until you feel a ring upon his head. The hairs on his arms and neck stood up like a billion tiny antenna, turning into an energy older than time.

The old man froze and slowly took a step backward, the girl in front of him leisurely rolled over and smiled up at him, the shock of her full boobs and hair patched nakedness barely registering as the forest to his right came alive.

The sound of branches moving and breaking caused Trent to overhang on the door. He fell to the floor and lost his gun under the truck.

“Aargh, fuck it.”

A high school footballer with a lot of potential had turned in to a college legend in a small town south of Kentucky. The promise of scholarships to the major league had led to the younger man to a life of hard training both on and off the field. It wasn’t until a freak accident at frat party had stopped the 6’2″, 240-pound package of hurt achieving his dream.

His right leg had twisted on the fall, the metal pins in the lower half, courtesy of the accident, felt like there had instantly caught fire. Trent pulled himself upright with the help of the steel steps and doubled over to look for his gun as the pain in his leg set shivers up his nerves.

A loud bang made him jump, his leg twinge again as he twisted round just in time to see Burt’s limp frame slide off the front grill to a mangled lump on the floor. His head had been wrenched so far round that he now looked up at the stars from his back. Panic and adrenaline surged to the running backs legs as his flight reflexes kicked in.

The shotgun lay forgotten as he barrelled past the van. He hadn’t noticed the midnight black van that had been following close behind the truck and if his recently deceased partner did, he couldn’t tell him now anyway.

A firm hand caught the young athlete at the throats and lifted him off his feet.
Trent’s brown eyes widen even further as he gurgled from the tight grip.

Abel sat the young man down again.

“Run.”

Trent didn’t need telling twice, he would later tell the story of his recent brush with an army of werewolves, to a bar full of people hanging off his every word. The tale would be slightly embezzled with the demons being in their 100’s, and that he had taken out 2 before a government team rescued him, and eradicated the hound of hell.

Abel, Willow, and the Blood Banes poured around the armored van. Evan, Greg, and Henderson, armed with automatic rifles loaded with silver tipped bullets cleared the way for the group.

Willow stopped sharply at the sight of the bear size werewolves. One sprang for Evan and sank teeth into his arm but not before a good few bullets had mangled its ribcage.

“Arrggh, god damn it.”

Geezer pulled forward and with a downward strike took the head clean off. Just as quickly he span back and took Evans bitten arm off just below the elbow.

Evan collapsed in pain and clutched at the bloody stump trying to stem the bleeding.

“Arrgh man, what the fuck.”

The Blood Banes split and started to attack.

“Willow, catch.”

Willow caught the rifle and let the fire rain.
She held back by the front of the truck as the others moved forward, pressing the attack. Abel danced through them with his normal savagery, removing limbs and heads with his long polished sword. Now he really did look like the picture in the Regents halls.

Two white furred werewolves attacked Henderson from either side. One pulled at his arm while the other grabbed his other and bit down on his neck. The two then wrenched at him like a tug of war until an arm was torn from him. Henderson screams slowly died as blood pumped from the wound on his neck. The white werewolves snout was covered in blood and gore as it repeatedly torn into Henderson’s body.

Willow screamed and pointed the gun at them and let loose a few rounds. A bullet hit one in the leg and both howled and bolted for the cover of the trees, whilst the rest of their pack slowly fought on.

18 naked human bodies with various lethal wounds lay dead on the cold tarmac, unsightly eyes looking on they comrades as they slowly retreated back into the forest. A lone howl echoed off in the distance and the remaining werewolves turned and ran on all fours back into the trees.

The Blood Banes took stock and regrouped, two had died in the fighting and Evan was still losing blood. Abel counted heads and walked over to Henderson’s mangled corpse.

“Fuck it.”

He bent down and closed his eyes, he hoped that his last thought before death claimed him had been pleasant but under the circumstances. He nodded his head and stood.

“Let’s get Henderson and Matthew back in the van.”

Abel turned back to the red armored truck with the black grill that Willow had been standing by.

“Willow? Willow?”

That’s when the feeling of dread blossomed in his gut. Abel turned quickly looking in all directions. He grabbed at Geezers shoulder.

“Have you seen her.”

The panic in Abel’s voice broke no lie.

“She was right the… oh bollocks.”

Geezer turned to the truck and winched.

Abel pulled at the others and ask the same question. All had said that she was by the truck with the rifle. Desperation washed over him like a tidal wave. The freezing cold feeling swirled heavily within his stomach and shot through his veins. He had felt the same feeling a hand full of time in his long existence, and only when he had lost a child. All those experiences had turned out bad for him. Very bad.

 

A glint of silver caught his eye at the tree line to his left and he ran to it. Panic crept up Abel’s body like a thousand mite’s. Skewed upon Willows black staff was a dirty piece of paper, it resembled the pole you see in the hands of a park attendant picking up littler, but a lot more lethal.

Abel pulled at the paper and read the note.
The scruffy Aramaic sentence written in what appeared to be blood, made his knees buckle.

“Captain? I think your gonna want to see this.”

Greg called from the back of the armored truck, Evan had passed out from blood loss and now laid on the ground whilst a Blood Bane bandaged his wound.

Abel stood and slowly walked back to the truck, he reached for a door and pulled it open to show the reinforced gray steel floor, walls and ceiling were bare.

 

Descendant of Nephilim. Part 9.

 

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