The Wolfman leaped- and the Werewolf jumped back so that his grandfather landed five feet in front of him instead of on him.

The Wolfman growled, but he didn't seem especially disappointed. Instead, half-crouching, he regarded the Werewolf once more.

The Wolfman was more human in appearance than the Werewolf that was his descendant. The erstwhile Lawrence Talbot had no muzzle to speak of, and his ears were almost human. The heavy brown fur that covered him was shorter than the gray hair that covered his descendant. His hands had sharp black talons, but they were not as claw-like as those of Ronald Talbot. Lawrence Talbot was still more man than wolf.

Physically, at least.

Yet if the older Talbot was more human than lupine in appearance, he seemed to have no mind to speak of. There was something indisputably feral about his movements- he moved with a kind of animalistic grace that his descendant lacked. His every gesture, every turn of his head, indicated that he listened to his senses in a way that no thinking animal ever could.

"Do you know who I am?" the Werewolf asked the Wolfman. His voice was harsh, inhuman, but it was understandable. That much of his humanity remained to him.

The Wolfman looked at him in surprise. Then he growled again- a question, this time.

The Werewolf slowly raised his damaged arm. Already it was healing, becoming whole again. He was slightly taller than the Wolfman, with a more defined build, but the other creature seemed possessed of a heavy power and agility that made him far more dangerous than he appeared. "Do you know who you are?"

The Wolfman snapped his jaws. He seemed annoyed by the Werewolf's attempts at conversation. There was a low growl in his throat like the warning a dog gives just before it's about to bite.

The Werewolf felt his own temper begin to fray. The brief excitement of overcoming the Alligator Men was beginning to wear off, leaving him dissatisfied. The reptile men had been cold, sluggish things. Killing them had not satiated his desire for the hunt, to kill. The wolf part of him was starting to hunger for violence again.

And the human portion was angry as well. It was the Wolfman's blood- both literal and figurative- that had made him what he was. The Talbot heritage had driven his father to madness and suicide; it had left Ronald Talbot with a violent temper that led him to seek trouble and danger.

And the Wolfman's blood had triggered his transformation into a Werewolf. Nevermore could he consider himself to be human- and the creature before him was to blame.

"I know who you are," the Werewolf growled at the Wolfman- and he lashed out with his left claw.

Incredibly, the Wolfman ducked the blow and lashed out with his own, more human claws.

The Werewolf cried out and raised his right claw to his face, felt the hot blood on his face. He growled, low and deep, as he crouched down, bracing himself like a young wolf about to take on his pack's leader.

The Wolfman's jaws parted in something that might have been a smile. Snarling, he leapt forward . . .

Elsa regarded the giant figure that followed Elizabeth Frankenstein like a shadow as the scientist made repairs to the machinery of Dracula's lab. Frankenstein worked with an almost inhuman efficiency as she repaired what had been torn asunder in their battle with the Werewolf.

Dracula had left to attend to other matters, so his assistant was left alone with the monster she had been made for and the descendant of the one who had made her.

"Elsa," Doctor Frankenstein said, "some of this equipment has seen recent use."

"The Master has been trying to duplicate your ancestor's experiments," Elsa replied. "Even as recently as this evening. To date- other than reviving me- he has not been successful."

"What has he done with his . . . failures?"

Elsa gestured towards the floor. "The Wolfman proved very useful in that regard."

Doctor Frankenstein nodded. She looked at the equipment. "What was Henry Frankenstein like?"

Elsa pointed to Adam. "Hasn't he told you?"

Elizabeth Frankenstein almost smiled. "Adam doesn't talk much. From my studies of him, I don't believe that he's physically unable to talk. He simply no longer wishes to communicate with us." She looked at him. "And after all that he's been through, I don't ask that of him."

"But you ask it of me."

"Yes."

Elsa closed her eyes and considered. "I don't recall much. Things happened so quickly. It was a matter of minutes from the time of my birth until the Monster- Adam- pulled the switch that triggered the destruction of the tower. I barely had time to realize that I was alive before the darkness came upon me.

"I remained in the wreckage of the tower for years- only coming back to consciousness when a particularly violent storm generated sufficient electricity to awaken me. Even then, I couldn't get free. I would have stayed that way forever . . . if the Master had not found me."

"Dracula."

"Dracula. He made me what I am. He had me educated. He clothed me. He made me into a thinking being. I owe him everything. And I will serve him for all time."

"Why?" Elizabeth Frankenstein asked.

"Because there would be no purpose to my existence if I didn't."

"It is good to have a purpose," the daughter of the House of Frankenstein replied.

"But you were asking about Henry Frankenstein. I do remember him. He was so different from the others-"

"The others?"

"Adam." She gestured. "And my other father- Dr. Praetorius."

"Praetorius," Elizabeth Frankenstein said with a nod. "I remember. He made your brain."

"Yes." Elsa closed her eyes. "There was such joy in Frankenstein's eyes when he beheld me. Then I thought it was because he was happy to see me- now I know that it was the sheer joy of creation. It was like a drug to him, being able to do what no other man has done- before or since." She looked at Elizabeth Frankenstein. "I see that in your eyes too, Elizabeth Frankenstein."

"Thank you."

"I did not say it was a compliment. Henry Frankenstein paid- with years of untold misery and unhappiness- for his life's work. You may yet do the same."

"Science does not progress without risk," Elizabeth Frankenstein said. "Without the potential for destruction, there can be no true creation." She lightly touched a lever. "Even as this machinery is capable of giving life, it can also bring death. This control moderates the forces that are necessary to bring life to dead tissue. But if it is moved too quickly- if the forces are not allowed to balance properly- it can blow this Castle to atoms."

"I know," Elsa said softly. "I remember."

"But to do what my ancestor had done, he needed to master such forces- because the goal was worth the risk. It is always worth the risk." And Elizabeth Frankenstein returned to her work.

Softly, Elsa said to the giant, "She is just like our father, Adam."

Adam said nothing. He simply returned to watching Doctor Frankenstein at work.

At first, the Wolfman's charge forced the Werewolf back. The older lycanthrope was heavier, and strong. He half-pushed the younger Werewolf into the waters of the swamp before the former Ronald Talbot was able to dig his claws into the soft mud of the swampland and counter the Wolfman's momentum.

Growling, the Werewolf snapped at his predecessor's face. His jaws were more pronounced, so he had a longer reach in that regard. Given a chance, he was quite capable of tearing out the throat of the Wolfman.

The Wolfman knew this, of course. With something like human cunning, he kicked the Werewolf's knee as he simultaneously broke lose of the youngster's grip.

The Werewolf went down, and the Wolfman was instantly upon him. The former Larry Talbot put his hands around the throat of his grandson and began to squeeze.

Darkness swam before the Werewolf's eyes. He felt the world fading away . . . and did the only thing he could.

He went mad.

Instead of trying to break the Wolfman's grip, the Werewolf instead raked his claws over the mashed in wolf-like face of his grandfather. His claws went in deep, making red furrows in the face of the Wolfman as he tore away fur and flesh and cut down to the bone.

The Wolfman howled in pain and covered his face. Seizing the moment, the Werewolf thrust his legs between them and used them to kick his attacker off. With a surge of supernatural strength, the erstwhile Ronald Talbot propelled his ancestor over ten feet into the air before the older man-wolf came crashing down.

And he came down hard. The soft mud gave way before him, but there was still the unmistakable cracking of bone as the Wolfman hit the ground.

And he had no respite. Before he could do much more than start to get up, the Werewolf was upon. Growling, the Werewolf bent down low and seized the thick furry throat of his grandfather with his powerful jaws. With a savage twist of his neck, he tore away half the throat of his ancestor.

The Wolfman twitched feebly as his life's blood gushed out of his neck, but still the Werewolf attacked. Again and again he savagely clawed the Wolfman's chest, tearing away inches of fur, flesh, and the soft organs that lay beneath.

Finally, it was over.

The Wolfman- his torso little more than raw meat- lay still and unresisting on the ground. His yellow eyes had turned dark and were as lifeless as the rest of him.

The Werewolf rose unsteadily to his feet. His jaws were bloody, and bits of brown fur and flesh clung to his claws. His yellow eyes were tinted with scarlet as he beheld the body of his victim.

The creature that had once been Ronald Talbot gazed upon his handiwork and smiled. Throwing back his head, he howled his triumph into the night sky.

The Wolfman was dead.