Precursor

A/N: If anyone wants to know the Were-King's son's name, it's Thrasher.

Currently, the Were-King and a squad of his elite lieutenants and even a few generals were holding a meeting deep inside of the Were-King's cave. All of the burly werewolves were ranting back and forth and growling at each other, trying to blurt out their ideas about the battle first. Meanwhile, the Were-King was unsuccessfully trying to calm the wolves down.

"I say we send out the warriors first!" yelled a commander.

"NO! We're gonna attack full force with the other alpha werewolves!!" yelled another.

The commander who just retorted the other was lashed in his face with the werewolf's mighty long claws. Both of them growled gutturally at one another and were prepared to rip each other's throats out. Right when one of them was going to bite the other, the Were-King slammed his fist down onto a desk and roared loudly at everyone, similar to what he did in the Battleon hotel. It was actually more comical than menacing; seeing mature Lycans cower in fear just because another werewolf bellowed an ear-piercing howl was somewhat…amusing.

"Let me make this very, very clear and simple: Anyone here who threatens to harm or even kill another Lycan in this den will have his or her head severed from his or her shoulders. DOES EVERYONE UNDERSTAND THAT?!!!?" snarled the Were-King.

"Yes sir! It won't happen again!" responded the alpha werewolves.

"Good. I know we're not as 'civil' as those bloodsucking freaks but that doesn't mean we can't compromise over something now does it? We don't need violence amongst ourselves! We're not cannibals and we're not the Diretooths so get your shit together so we can make this work out!!"

The Were-King took a huge breath and exhaled so he could calm himself down to a more suitable manner.

"Now…what were you trying to propose Al-Kringwol?"

Al-Kringwol was a standard brown alpha werewolf wearing standard Lycan armor. There wasn't anything noticeable about him that distinguished him from the others…except for the large red rash growing on the soles of his feet.

"Since we are going to have to go up against twice as many werepyres as us Lycans, perhaps we should bring in some backup in case things go awry."

"I've been thinking about that idea, yes. We could always 'persuade' some renegade faction to temporarily join us."

"You know that Bolman Clan located near Dragonstone Mountain? They've been training WereDragons for years under Galanoth's nose, making them stronger than even the dragons located here in Darkovia."

"So you want me to make a temporary alliance with the Bolmans in order to acquire these almighty WereDragons?" asked the Were-King.

"We might as well, since I overheard Harkst saying the werepyres are bringing a small fleet of plasma dragons. This evens the odds in our favor."

"Good. I need you and Daxxil to get right on it."

"Yes sir!" replied Al-Kringwol, running out of the den.

"Hey Were-King, don't we still have some WereDragons of our own in storage?"

"…I just remembered that!"


The Were-King and all of his generals were standing outside near the Lycan fortress, gazing at least eight fully mature WereDragons. All of them were snorting and growling in the pit of their throats, agitated at the werewolves. They had been trapped inside a cave for many years now, surviving on food they could find from the inside of it. Few WereDragons have even died because when they tried to get out, the cave collapsed and some of the dragons were crushed underneath the boulders.

"Why should a dragon such as myself help you canines with any of your needs?!" shouted the leader WereDragon, named Wexlof.

"Because Wexlof, we'll supply you with all the meat you and your dragons can eat for here till the ends of time."

Wexlof scoffed. "You Lycans will say anything to get a helping hand!"

The Were-King snapped at the furry dragon and left a scar on his nose with his claws, causing Wexlof to shout out in pain.

"We already have more dragons coming into battle with us, which means we don't need you at all. I'm only doing this for my army's insurance. Of course, if you don't agree to help us we'll be feasting on your intestines and your hide for dinner." said the Were-King, smiling devilishly.

He then licked his lips and laughed gutturally so he could scare the WereDragons into agreeing.

"Okay, okay. But if you canines don't provide us with the foods we want then we'll be the ones feasting on your intestines."

"I doubt that."


Meanwhile, the werepyres were also making their strategy on the upcoming battle, hastily making final preparations. Since the 76th Division was completely eradicated, Wolfwing had to find a new set of advisors to help him in making plans. Right now, Wolfwing himself was standing outside talking to some of the werepyre sergeants that were going to go into battle while everybody else was getting armed.

"Wolfwing, I still don't exactly understand the attack pattern. Go over it again?" asked a werepyre named Quivilk.

Quivilk is a werepyre wearing a green shirt and pants. His fur color was brown and his nose was bright white. He was the Major Sergeant and commanded a large section of the army. All Major Sergeants are forced to rule a minimum of 100 werepyres during battle.

"Pay close attention Quivilk or I'm having your Major status revoked! You and all of the various Major Sergeants are the main battalion, the section of the army that attacks the Lycans first. You storm the Lycans until they decided to retreat." started Wolfwing.

"How do you know they will retreat?" asked another Major Sergeant.

"Trust me, they are going to retreat. One way or the other. Anyways, after that you need to send a few scouts to fly high into the atmosphere, preferably a group of werepyres with extraordinary vision and audible range."

"I can get that done. Orpatatz and his clan should get the job done."

"Are you sure about that Quivilk? These werepyres are going to spy on the Lycans to see if they're gonna try and plan a sneak attack on our forces."

"Trust me Wolfwing. I can depend on Orpatatz."

"Okay. As for the rest of you, focus on taking out the Were-King's lieutenants and generals first. If they lose enough of them, the Lycans will be forced to make their own orders."

"Don't you mean they'll scamper?" asked a crony werepyre.

"No I don't. Lucky for you, you get to slaughter as many canines as you want. The Were-King has trained them so much that they'd rather die in battle than retreat." said Wolfwing.

"I understand the plan of strategy Wolfwing, but what about casualties? Surely we can't get through this battle without losing key werepyre personnel?" asked Bjovak.

Bjovak was a grey werepyre wearing a blue shirt and pants. He was another Major Sergeant just like Quivilk. Although not too many werepyres hanged around him, mostly due to his schizophrenia…and his terrible foot odor. Actually, the only werepyre that even made decent conversations with him was Byric.

"You're right. Out of every three werepyres you see in this little group, one of those three will die. So I'd estimate that being at least 3300 werepyre deaths, but it's just a guess."

Some of the werepyres groaned and swore under their breath, upset and angered that their leader may be sending them to their deaths.

"What will you be doing Leader?"

"Negotiating."

A cocky werepyre scoffed. "Negotiating?"

"If I play this situation correctly, I may be able to make a temporary alliance with ogres, the Drakel, even a few humans. Before you ask, I say temporarily for a reason; the minute our new 'partners' have helped us extinguish the Lycan menace, we'll betray our partners and slowly begin to build our army until all of Lore is ours. So if anyone's putting their ass on the line, it's me."

"You mind explaining how you're doing that?"

"Remember the werepyre that flew into ogre territory just to release the contents in his bladder?"

"You mean Aronz?"

"Yes, him. All I can identify is his liver…I think the ogres ate the rest."

"What about the leader of our army, Irrovs? What's his play in all this?"

"He hasn't informed me yet, but I believe he's bringing in his own secret weapon."


Somewhere in the bowels of a werepyre castle was a room engulfed in absolute darkness. Nothing could be seen at all should any occupant enter with horrible eyesight. But the werepyre that was walking down a set of concrete stairs could see perfectly. His dark red eyes were so bright in the room that they literally were glowing in the dark. Anyone inside the room would probably soil themselves if they saw red eyes sluggishly moving towards them, but no one else was in the room. At least, that's what a human would think. In reality, a hyperactive werepyre wearing a dark green shirt and black pants was chained by his arms to the floor. He could only walk a few paces before the chains restricted him from progressing any further. Why the werepyre was chained in the basement was unclear, but Irrovs always did something for a reason. See, this werepyre that Irrovs had chained up had…problems. Many, many problems. There was no way to describe this werepyre except by saying his name.

"How have you been Tugis?"

"Oh, yes, yes! Master Irrovs is here! Irrovs is here to free Tugis from these restraints! Now Tugis can go play!"

His voice was eerie, like a gremlin with this cackling voice. It wasn't really deep, but the sound of it was simply baffling. Everytime Tugis spoke it seemed as though he would stutter a little bit or sounded like he was ranting about random nonsense. He frequently said the same statement in a different form several times over. And if that wasn't enough, he sometimes twitched his eyes and body, jerking it in an odd direction.

"What'd I say about playing Tugis? You only get to play if you've been a good boy. Have you been a good boy Tugis?" questioned Irrovs.

"Yes Master Irrovs, yes. Tugis has been good! Good werepyre for Irrovs! Tugis has been good! Can Tugis go free now?!"

"That depends Tugis. Are you going to 'play' with some of our werepyres again like you did a few days ago?"

Tugis then started to whine and whimper like an injured pup.

"Tugis wants to play…Tugis wants to play. Won't Masters Irrovs let Tugis play?"

"No."

Tugis started pouting loudly and tried to break the restraints that were attached to his arms, thrashing his body around like crazy.

"TUGIS WANTS TO PLAY!!"

"Tugis! TUGIS!!!"

Irrovs held the rampant beast by the shoulders and throat, trying his best to calm him down and keep him under control. Eventually, Tugis obeyed and began to settle down.

"Listen Tugis…in the next day or so you will be able to play with at least 5000 Lycans as much as you want to. You'll be able to play later OKAY? I'll let you play later OKAY?"

Tugis gasped loudly and started wagging his tail like crazy.

"Irrovs will let Tugis play?!!?"

"Yes. I promise you, you'll be able to play soon Tugis."

Irrovs gasped and grunted a little bit when Tugis gave Irrovs a massive bear hug that squeezed the breath out of him.

"Tugis loves Master Irrovs. Master Irrovs' warm fur reminds Tugis of Tugis' father."

"Uh…I love you too?" said Irrovs, uncomfortably.

Irrovs didn't really love Tugis in that sort of fashion, (in fact, he didn't love him at all) but Irrovs was the master of the dependent Tugis. Tugis was more of a pet to Irrovs as opposed to a son. He didn't even like Tugis that much, even though he took care of him.

"Hey, I got a present for you Tugis!" announced Irrovs.

"What?! What did you get for Tugis?"

Irrovs chuckled evilly and walked outside of the castle basement for a little while. Tugis waited with bated breath, grumbling to himself and wagging his tail so hard he thought he might tear it off. After waiting for nearly two minutes, Irrovs walked down the stairs dragging a near unconscious human behind him. It was a newly appointed Dracomancer, all dressed up in his armor too. He looked very young and was most likely a new recruit…perfect to Tugis' liking. He opened up his gaping mouth and started to drool large globs of saliva until it soaked in-between his toes.

"Can Tugis eat him? Oh please, please Master Irrovs! Let Tugis eat this creature! Tugis wants to tear the flesh off his bones!" pleaded Tugis.

Irrovs glanced at the whimpering Dracomancer and the slobbering Tugis and simply shoved the Dracomancer at Tugis' feet.

"Knock yourself out." muttered Irrovs.

Tugis laughed wildly and lunged himself forward, grasping the Dracomancer with his large fangs. He dragged him backwards to where he stood and Tugis snarled loudly before laughing again. Saliva was literally pouring out his mouth like a waterfall, dripping onto the Dracomancer's face. Tugis bite down on the Dracomancer and began to rip apart his body and swallow the meat off his bones like an animal, which was exactly what he was. He ignored the screams and cries for help and continued to devour the Dracomancer without stopping to even take a breath.

Indeed, something was very wrong with Tugis…


Near the border of Dragonspine Mountain were a battalion of War Dragons and Sand Dragons chatting amongst themselves. All of these dragons were part of the 96th Aerial Attack Dragon Squadron, a squad created for dragons to do fly-bys on enemies and enemy territory. This squad in particular had lost almost their whole squadron due to an ambush by Galanoth and his vicious dragonslayers. The dragons never stood a chance and only six of them managed to survive. Four were war dragons and the other two were sand dragons.

"What are we supposed to do now Rrylik?! Everyone's dead!" asked a war dragon named Boen.

"Yeah! Where was the backup that Jinsuz promised?!" demanded a sand dragon nicknamed Cheese-Back.

"I don't know! I don't know what happened to Jinsuz and I don't know where the other dragons are! All I know right now is that we need to stop fighting each other so we can figure this out!" said the leading war dragon, Pfuser.

Pfuser was actually a pretty forceful dragon than most people thought. He always seemed to act cowardly at first, but in reality, he could burn down titanium just by exhaling his breath onto it. When the war started, he was immediately given the position of a squadron leader and commanded a set of 11 dragons, five of which have died due to Galanoth. He also got the nickname "SourHide" because Pfuser suffers from a horrible disorder that makes him squirt acidic excrement through his anus. A normal person would think it was grotesque special ability, but SourHide welcomed it. It had actually got him out of trouble on numerous occasions.

"Perhaps we should go back to Battleon--"

"No. Last time I heard, a squad of earth dragons went there for recon and never came back."

"Then what the hell are we supposed to do? Just sit on our asses and wait for some help to show up?!" asked an irritated sand dragon named Yilkvu-Armonsobiy.

"Sounds like a pretty good idea to me…" mumbled Rrylik.

SourHide exhaled loudly, getting a little agitated by his feebleminded crew of dragons.

"The only thing we can do is fly to Dragonspine Mountain and go searching for Lord Cyrus. Maybe he and his Dracomancers can help us get through this war."

"Hey, yeah! They're always talking about saving dragons and as long as we don't seem too forceful, maybe he'll lend us a hand!" said Cheese-Back.

"That sounds like a superb idea! Let's do it!"

The 96th Aerial Attack Dragon Squadron flapped their wings cyclically and began to gain wind speed. Then they all took to the skies, flying away into the night.


Back at the vampire castle, some of Safiria's elder vampires were also making contingency plans for their rule of Darkovia. All of the Lycans were about to face off against the werepyres, so a good portion of them would be too preoccupied at the moment. Sure, it was only 5000 or so Lycans that would be gone, but many of these Lycans were alpha werewolves…and some of them were even generals for the Were-King. This would be the perfect time to take a strike at some of the minor clans that the Were-King rarely put into battle.

As of now, elder vampire Count Vork Claussim was making preparations for his teams of vampire lords and vamp assassins. Vork wore this gray coat with boots and pants instead of the normal brown coats most elder vampires wear. He wasn't exactly as tough as people took him for and always tried to find the weak point of his opponent. If he couldn't find it fast enough, chances are he'd take off and regroup with a clan of vampire warriors. No one knew too much about him, except he lost his children in a Lycan raid and has been ordering the deaths of thousands of Lycans since then. Before their deaths, Vork was decent and well-mannered and peaceful. Now he's a cold being with no heart or mercy for anyone or anything. He only cares about his vampires…and his wife, Stuset.

"So everyone agrees with the plan? Taking out the Were-King's miscellaneous clans should weaken their moral long enough for us to take him on with full force." concluded Vork.

"Sir, why are we attacking these inconsequential clans instead of aiming for the Were-King and his son's forces?" asked a vampire lord named Farken.

"If there's one thing I've learned, it's that you start from the bottom and work your way up. If we try to gang up on that slobber beast's elite forces now, we'll be slaughtered. I already made that mistake by sending Marsly-Apkins and her vamps to try and take out the 3rd Tactical Division."

"You mean those stinky yellow Lycans who never bathe or brush their teeth? I thought she took care of them."

"Apparently not, since we found her body practically cut in half. The point is we need to take out these little nuisances and wipe them clean off our watch list. At least this way, we'll be able to get some breathing room and by doing so, we'll be able to establish more clans within Darkovia."

"Gotcha. So which clan do we attack first?" asked Farken.

"You and your mob of 20 vampire warriors will storm the Bunyip Lake in the southern section of Darkovia. Take out any were-creature you find: Werewolves, were-hares, WereDragons, I don't care. If 'were' is in the name, kill it. Second, I want you, Ezcofx, to sabotage the supply shacks in the center of Darkovia, located not far from the werepyre castle."

"So I should expect some resistance from werepyres as well Count?"

"That's correct. In the meantime, I want the rest of you Vamps to go hunt for any Beta Werewolves you can find. If you can, interrogate some of them so they can lead you to valuable Lycan targets, such as the Zard Trainer Nils-Vex."

"Anything else?"

Vork chuckled. "Yeah. Try not to get yourselves killed!"


Elsewhere, another coalition was slowly forming in the midst of the chaos, ready to plan something very big. No one knew who they were or what was going on, but they all had the same purpose: world domination. But this wasn't a group of dragons, vampires, Drakel, or were-creatures. It was just a little of all of them. Outside next to a broken down barn house were dragon related and taur related creatures. There wasn't any real leader because just about everybody in this little group had their own little ranking.

"What's your status today?" asked a Dracovamp Lord.

"Rumors have been swirling about an upcoming battle between the werewolves and the werepyres." said an alpha dracowolf.

"Meaning…?"

"Meaning that they'll be preoccupied and some of the sub-races' fortified strongholds may be penetrable! Now would be the perfect time for us to take over more castles and fortresses so we can set up our HQ!"

"Can't we just stay here at the barn?" asked a dracowolf.

"We can't hold all of our clandestine meetings at a rusty old dank barn! We need to get a bigger army and more recruits, fast!"

"But there's not too many Dracowolves and Dracovamps left for us to recruit. Most of them were slain inside Nightbane's castle or have scattered themselves throughout the lands. Besides, we can't just continue finding random victims to bite in the neck so they'll turn into draco-hybrids like us."

"I beg to differ…" said a WereDragon.

Everyone veered their heads left and looked at a WereDragon with dark blue fur and sparkling wings. His name was Ferwodem the WereDragon.

"What is it Ferwodem?"

"Couple of friends of mine have been patrolling the skies and overheard Count Claussim talking with some of his subordinates. Tomorrow, when the Lycans and werepyres are fighting, Vork's subordinates are planning on assaulting various werewolf clans around Darkovia to gain more territory. I feel that this should be a perfect time for us to step in."

"How?" asked another dracovamp lord.

"I think I see what he means. See, once the two races engage in combat, only one of them will be victorious. Any of the survivors we find after the ensuing battle we can easily infect with our draconic blood. Is that what you're trying to get at Ferwodem?" stated a dracovamp with dark yellow skin.

Ferwodem chuckled. "That's what I'm proposing."

"So while the vampires and werewolves fight, we just sit back and watch the fireworks and then clean up the mess. That's pretty smart of you to think of Ferwodem! Even for a WereDragon!" said a dracowolf.

"What, you got a problem with WereDragons being smart?" growled Ferwodem.

"No! No, I was just saying…"

"But what of the Diretooths? What role shall they play in this mission?" question the dracovamp lord who started the conversation.

Everyone grumbled to themselves, saying rebuke remarks about the feral werewolves.

"Leave them in their cages. They don't need any part of this mission; they'll screw it up."

"Are you sure about that?" asked a grey alpha dracowolf.

"They won't stop eating! Anyone that even goes near those cages ends up inside their colons! Or do I need to remind you what happened to Tikic and Blostine?"

"Please don't bring that up again. I still gotta scrape the brain fragments off the walls."


Back over on the werepyres side, Wolfwing and Byric were sitting at the edge of a cliff with their feet dangling in the air. Both of them were staring at the large and radiant moon, listening to the crickets chirping and the wind rustling in the tree branches. And then they realized something…it was quiet. There weren't the distant sounds of dead animals getting killed or bombs exploding or swords clashing with each other. It was as though every faction in Darkovia was waiting until tomorrow for the battle to start, like it was going to be the biggest moment in history. Maybe it was; no battles have been officially declared so far. All the other deaths were simply self-defensive deaths that resulted because a sub-race of one creature had sent out a clan to kill a clan of a different sub-race of creatures. Perhaps this was the reason why they were sitting and staring at the planet full of craters…they might not get the chance again.

But Byric felt a little…uncomfortable. He and Wolfwing hadn't said or done anything besides sitting and staring. They wagged their tails every now and then, but nothing else. Byric had to break the silence somehow. Even if he had to make up some random story he didn't need to know. He puffed out his chest and then exhaled for a long time before he began to talk.

"I'm surprised I haven't killed you yet."

Not a good way to start a discussion.

"Why would you dare say that?"

"Because you turned me into this abomination. I can never have a normal life ever again without someone calling me a freak or a bat out of hell."

"I turned you into a werepyre. Suck it up and get over it. It's not like you can change back into a human permanently so criticizing me won't help you."

"You're also forgetting that you and your friends murdered my family."

"Weren't you the one who said that this whole thing, you turning into a werepyre, my 'children' killing your family, was fair?"

"Yeah, but I've been thinking for a while and I'm wondering if all the stuff you said is nothing but utter bullshit."

Wolfwing ignored Byric for a moment and turned away, changing the subject after staring at the moon for a little while longer.

"I see someone did some major damage to that eye there…"

Byric brushed his fingers across his red eye which was still throbbing and had Howndst's bite marks around it.

"Time heals all wounds. Don't change the subject; get back to my family."

Wolfwing shrugged. "What's there to say? Do you want me to fully describe how we killed them?"

"That would actually make me feel a lot better. Yes…tell me how they died…and why for that matter. Was it painful or did you do real swiftly with little pain?"

"My memory's a tad bit fuzzy…but I believe I still remember. Your father had asked me for help on several occasions, rob from some bandits, steal Drakel technology, kill a few Cyclops Chieftains, stuff like that. Eventually, the list began to get higher and higher and higher until one day…I got tired of it. I didn't even warn him about the debt to be paid back; I just got some of my colonels to tag along and we flew to your house. I didn't expect your whole family to be there, let alone find you hiding in the closet, but you were. I was only going to kill your father, but your mother grabbed a sword and your sister tried alerting some vampire slayers. One thing…just lead to another."

"Why didn't you kill me?"

"You were five years old. How the hell was I supposed to know you'd figure out that I killed your family? I thought you'd be too young to remember."

"I was hiding in the closet covering my ears and crying. And you just…butchered all of them. Like you didn't care about anyone besides yourself...like they were insignificant dogs."

"Shut up Byric. It's not like you haven't taken away families for your own personal gain. Besides, you should be lucky. My men knew you were hiding in the closet but we didn't do anything. You were too young to be killed."

"My sister turned ten two weeks before she died…"

"Like I said she was going to alert vampire slayers and I couldn't allow that, okay?" growled Wolfwing, gritting his teeth.

Byric could clearly see that Wolfwing was getting annoyed, upset even. He already noticed that the fur on the back of his neck was sticking up. Byric remembered when Irrovs told him about a werepyre who taunted Wolfwing so much that he cut out his intestines with his bare claws while he was sleeping. Byric decided to stop asking questions and turned away from Wolfwing to gaze at the moon. However, Byric still had one question left.

"Did they die painfully?"

Wolfwing smiled widely and chuckled evilly to himself, not looking at Byric.

"That's something you definitely do not need to know."


The Were-King and all of his subordinates were outside in this abandoned town all sitting on long benches and standing near the houses, talking and chatting amongst one another. Some of them were training and using captured vampires as punching bags to see who could beat the vampire to death first. For some really odd reason, Harkst always seemed to be the first. Anyway, the reason why all the werewolves were gathering together was to go over the final battle plans once again and to have a meaty feast from all the animals they killed and cooked in the forest.

"Who wants dead Moglins?" asked Krazat, carrying a whole bundle of different colored deceased moglins in his hands.

Before he could even set them down on the table, the werewolf warriors ravenously snatched the little creatures away and started biting their heads off and drinking the blood, just before they popped the whole thing into their mouths.

"Damn! I didn't know you guys liked Moglins that much!"

On another end of the table, a band of red werewolves were placing down several dishes that had been fried to perfection. Howndst and Renz-Furr were sitting down eating some of these meats, but abruptly stopped when they saw this really mysterious looking sludgy meat. It was grey and covered in slime and it smelled horrible, even for Lycans.

"What is that?" asked Renz-Furr.

One of the furry red Lycan warriors scratched his head in confusion.

"I don't know."

Howndst looked at the mysterious gelatin like meat and picked up a piece that looked like a long sausage roll. Some goop was falling off it and hitting the table and it was almost slipping out of his hands. He sniffed the smelly meat ans simply shrugged before taking a huge bite out of it.

"Tastes fine to me." he said.

"But it smells like Harkst's feet! Where'd you find this anyways Sytrus?"

The red werewolf shrugged and simple stated, "The ground."

"Where on the ground Sytrus?"

"I think it was near a pile of Zards…"

"Don't knock it till you try it Renz-Furr. This is actually pretty tasty." advised Howndst, taking another bite.

"…You sure you aren't eating Frogzard droppings?"

Also at the end of the table, Graknat was chatting with two young werewolf warriors, advising them about the battle.

"Okay, so the first thing you need to do is go for the neck. One quick slice with your blade and they'll be dead before you even have time to count your toes. If that doesn't work, always go for the torso. Cut it real fast and cut it real deep."

"Hey, why does your breath reek of garlic?" asked the adolescent werewolf.

"Shut up! I'm trying to make a point here. Now…believe it or not, but your jaws are the best weapons. You bite down hard enough and you can crush one of their skulls in exactly 4.829 seconds. Allow me to demonstrate."

Graknat placed a skull into his mouth and began to bite down. Just like he said, around four or five seconds later, the skull shattered into nothing.

"Wow that is so cool!"

"So do you have any other pointers to give us?"

"Do not stop moving. You stand still for too long, someone somewhere will find you and kill you and/or a random arrow could smack you in the face. The only time you should be still is if you're reloading your LycanBow weapon or shooting people with your bow; that's it. Oh yeah, eat garlic."

"Why?"

"Cause garlic irritates vampires and messes with their senses. That's why I eat so much of it."

"We're fighting werepyres, not vampires. They probably are immune to the garlic disorder."

Graknat sighed exasperatedly and yelled out, "Damnit!"

Meanwhile, Twarzy was also sitting with some of his Lycan friends.

"Hey Twarzy! Check that out!" said one of his friends.

Twarzy and some of the other Lycans sitting at the table looked to their right (or left) and saw a female werewolf warrior with dark purple fur walking through the group elegantly. At least to the werewolves anyway. She was very attractive and all of the werewolves were full of lust and wanted to be with her…especially Twarzy. Many of the Lycans were howling at her and making flirtatious wolf whistles followed by more sleazy comments.

"Damn, that bitch is sexy!" said Twarzy.

The purple Lycans walked past Twarzy and he caught of whiff of her, which only increased his devotion to be with her.

"So tomorrow…all of us could die exchanging combat with those werepyres and I have absolutely no memory to cherish if I do die…"

"…What does that have to do with you?"

"I am still a virgin you know…"

"Really…"

Now Twarzy was really starting to like this werewolf chick. Sure, there were other female Lycans in the area, but none as beautiful as she was. His mind was full of nothing but lust right now. And if that's not enough, what really turned Twarzy on was when she turned around and smiled at him, twirling her tail a little bit.

"That's it. I'm going in!" announced Twarzy.

And so the two werewolves ran to the nearest abandoned house, with nothing on Twarzy's mind except for sex. But just as he was about to enter, Harkst bit down on his tail and dragged him back on the ground. Harkst then ran to the purple werewolf and entered the house, locking the door.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!! OPEN THE DOOR!!" commanded Twarzy, pounding his fists on the door.

Meanwhile, the Were-King has just finished arranging the battle plans with his generals and was walking out of the house with his son.

"So you really think this will work out in the long run Dad?" asked the Were-King's son.

"Of course it will. We are going to lose some Lycans in the process of this conflict, but it shouldn't be murderous for us. All I know is that those wolves with wings we see tomorrow aren't going to leave that canyon alive."

"And you're absolutely 100 percent sure about this?"

The Were-King laughed heartily.

"Without a doubt son! That's why I'm promoting you to command the army tomorrow!"

"Yes, you're promoting me--WHAT!?"

"Yep! You're in command of the Lycan army tomorrow. I'm really proud of you Thrasher."

But Thrasher was still stunned at the promotion to respond. Besides his clan, Thrasher was never the leader of anything this huge before. In fact, the biggest promotion his father gave him was leading 50 werewolf warriors to blow up a vampire castle. But now he was about to rule a whole army!

"Thrasher?" muttered the Were-King.

"Um…Thrasher?"

The Were-King nudged Thrasher and he suddenly fainted and fell backwards onto the ground, unconscious.


Pretty soon it was nighttime and all of the werewolves were sitting around a campfire, excited and nervous about the battle that would soon begin and leave a mark in Darkovia forever.

"Does anybody here feel like they're gonna die tomorrow?" asked Krazat.

Everyone laughed at Krazat's question because they knew he was simply joking with them.

"Guys, I'm serious."

"Krazat, we're fighting wolves with wings on their backs. How much tougher are they than us? Besides, I hear that yellow werewolf Daxxil scalped one of the werepyres. You serious think anyone in this little ring is going to die tomorrow?" asked Renz-Furr.

"It's a lot harder than it sounds Renz-Furr. We're taking on 10,000 werepyres and they've probably got reinforcements in store for us." said Howndst.

"I know that! I'm just saying do you think any one of us sitting here right now is going to die? Like Twarzy for instance?"

"Shut up Renz-Furr! I'm not in a good mood right now!"

"He's just pissed off at me because I 'stole' his alleged girlfriend from him." growled Harkst.

"Oh. Well, if you ask me, I think the new guy over there is gonna get his tomorrow." said the red werewolf who gave Howndst the goopy meat.

"You really think I'm going to be the one who succumbs to his wounds? I can move from here into that tree the second you blink Dimsiv." said Graknat.

Dimsiv scoffed. Please! Like you could really--"

Dimsiv blinked for only a second and when his eyes opened back up, Graknat had vanished like a ghost.

"Huh?" mumbled Dimsiv.

He looked up in the tree above him to see where Graknat went off to, but he wasn't there either.

"Coulda sworn I--What the hell?!"

Graknat was sitting on the log he was sitting on before once again, smiling widely at Dimsiv.

"Told you."

"You know, I really don't care how many of us end up getting slaughtered. As long as one of us is standing and none of those werepyres are, I'm perfectly fine with that." said Krazat.

"True words couldn't have been better spoken Krazat."

Of course, Twarzy was still grumbling to himself, angry at Harkst for missing possibly his last chance at having sex before his life ended.

"Hey Twarzy! I know what'll cheer you up!" said Harkst.

"What?"

Harkst lifted his left leg and broke wind loud enough to shatter some of the wood on his log. Despite Twarzy's hatred for Harkst, he couldn't help but laugh like an idiot at the sound. Everyone else on the other hand was covering their nose and groaning.

"Nice one Harkst. Any more fetid and I'd be unconscious!" complained Howndst.

"Whoever smelt it, dealt it Howndst!"

"Okay. If that's the way you want to play it…"

Howndst started to grunt very hard until his face turned red. Before Howndst knew it, he was blasting wet farts like crazy and fanning the smell in Harkst's direction.

"How do you like them apples?!"

"I thought smart people don't lower themselves to toilet humor?" questioned Twarzy.

"What? Smart Lycans can't have fun every now and then?"

"…Well, since you put it that way…"

Graknat did the same fart maneuver as Harkst and pretty soon, all of the werewolves sitting around the campfire were howling with laughter and passing gas like crazy. Some of them were fanning the smell away while the others were laughing too hard to even care. After some time, the gas began to die down and the Lycans cracked a few more jokes about their lives and reminisced about the good old days before this war began. The Lycans soon grew tired of their jabbering and fell asleep around the campfire, except for Howndst. Even though he tried to go to sleep, all he could do was stare up at the skies and look at the stars. He was too nervous and excited to sleep now. What really bugged him though was what Krazat asked about one of them dying. He had this bad omen in the pit of his throat, thinking that one of his fellow Lycans was going to die tomorrow.

Was Krazat right? Was someone that Howndst cared for going to leave his life forever? Or was he just worrying too much? Howndst wasn't sure, but all he knew was that something very bad was going to happen tomorrow.