Author's Note: This chapter is R-rated!!!! You have been warned! Hehe… just thought I'd put that in there first so you're aware. Now that that is over and done with… well, I don't really have much to say apart from the fact that this was all written in one sitting. Hope you enjoy it, despite the violence and carnage! It's drawing to a close now…
Sethoz: Ease up on that poor plushie, buddy… quick enough for you?
BloodMoonLycan: *pat pat*
More acknowledgements on the next chapter, I swear… I was just feeling lazy, funnily enough. anyway, on with By The Light of The Moon…
Anise heard the terrified and enraged cry from Tom as she fell to the ground, the silver bullet biting into her abdomen and burning wildly with the heat of a thousand suns, blinding her to anything but the agony she felt from the blow. She gasped, despite herself, and sensed Dmitri looming over her protectively and with concern, trying to talk with her, though she could not make out his words. Though she tried to fight them back, tears blazed in her pained brown eyes, and she whimpered, hearing Tom yelling and shouting angrily and worriedly for her, making out her name.
She had no idea what was going on around her, and she felt the heat rush through her as the silver only continued to intensify the agony she was feeling, scorching the flesh around the embedded bullet in her stomach. She let out a quiet noise of anguish again, and then felt her breathing lapse into a slow, shallow rhythm as her consciousness started to slip away. She was bleeding, she knew, but with her eyes closed and colours swimming behind them to make her dizzy despite her stillness, she could not see the extent of the damage.
Anise slipped into the darkness.
Mina looked, wide eyed, from Anise as she lay unconscious on the ground, to the raging form of the restrained Tom Sawyer, who thrashed and fought against the guards holding him back from Woods, who laughed evilly and twirled his pistol in one hand, before slotting it away. Mina snarled in a rage, and glanced to Allan Quatermain and her fellow companions. They shared a look of distress, coupled with determination, before they surged forward and threw themselves into combat, Skinner yelling something not too unlike a battle cry as he slammed full force into one of the men who had harmed him not long ago. The guard was thrown off his feet, and crashed to the ground with a hollow thud.
Mina threw herself upon the closest guard, wrapping her hands so tightly about strategic places on his head and neck, that with one savage twist, he was dead, with a horrific snap to accompany his demise. She snarled, and grabbed another who attempted to flee, tearing into his jugular with elongated fangs.
All around her, battle raged in the large room, and despite her hunger, she noticed Woods was fleeing from the room. She brought her head up, kicked out at another guard that tried to sneak up on her, and called to Tom, "Do not let him escape!"
Quatermain rammed the butt of his elephant gun crushingly into the face of one guard, smashing his nose and spraying blood, before turning the weapon away and punching him around the jaw, sending him falling to the floor, messy and unconscious. He dropped his gun, and did not move, even as Allan moved on to his next target… the man holding Sawyer.
"You'd do well to let the man go," Allan said icily, not even registering his use of the word 'man' in regards to the one he had – for so long – considered a 'boy', and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, hauling him away from the restrained American. He yanked him forward, and subsequently rammed his forehead into that of the guard, hearing the blow land, and the grunt of affirmation that came with it. Wobbling slightly, the guard was punched in the face, and to the ground, to join his companions.
Zachary Fairfax – as he had been called – bowed over forwards, twisting out of his captor's grip, and stretched a foot up and back, catching the man under the chin and snapping his head up and away. Blood trickled from the corner of the man's mouth, and Allan assumed he had bitten his own tongue. With a grimace, Zachary snapped the chain joining his cuffs, and spun, backhanding the same guard with a balled fist, the force sending blood off to the side, and before the man fell, Allan caught the side of the red substance oozing from his mouth and nose. The werewolf had probably shattered his nose and loosened some teeth in the attempt.
Growling, the yellow eyes looked around for another target. Allan did the same, his wise gaze falling upon a new opponent.
Skinner had no idea where his sudden bravery and determination had come from, but he did not dispute it, as he used the newfound strength to repeatedly punch the man in the face, the same one he had grounded not moments ago. The man's face took on a very odd appearance indeed, with the invisible fist that crashed down into it every few seconds, blow after blow, and Skinner let go when something landed on his back painfully.
Grunting and wheezing, Skinner fell off the man – who was far from conscious now – and glanced over his shoulder at a man with a gun, aimed in his direction. Skinner uttered a curse, and quickly untangled himself from the jacket he had been given, only just in time to avoid the bullets that tore into the fabric that fell in pieces, torn with holes, to the floor.
Reminding himself to be more careful, he watched the man try to figure out where his opponent was, gun barrel trembling slightly with uncertainty as to this new challenge. Skinner grinned cheekily, and chuckled inwardly, delighting in the fun that could be had. True, he was not much of a fighter, but entertainment was entertainment, and these men had tried to take something from the League… they would not get away with that.
Jekyll had not had time to free another elixir from his pocket before he had been assaulted by one of Woods' men. The two had gone down to the floor in a tangled heap, limbs scrabbling for purchase on the weapon that they both wished to use. Henry could feel the small vial in his pocket, but dare not reach for it, lest he become the victim instead of the victor.
"Hit him, Henry!"
"I'm trying," Henry growled, and noted the man's confusion, using it to his advantage. He brought up his knee as quickly and accurately as possible, slamming the other man in the groin. Henry grimaced, and almost muttered an apology, before he tore the weapon from the winded man's grasp, and turned it as best he could, closing his eyes as he pulled the trigger.
The gunshot resonated unbearably, and the man landed on top of Henry in death, a hole blown in his chest at close range. Henry's own torso was dotted with the evidence, and – eyes wide as ever – the doctor pushed him off to the side, panting as he rose to his feet, before another man tried to assail him.
Twirling and leaping with predetermined and practised grace, Captain Nemo delivered sharp, powerful and precise kicks to his enemies, strategic blows that left them either winded or unconscious. Their grunts and cries were music to his ears, as he showed no mercy, lashing out with all things available to him. Hands, elbows, knees, feet… they were all weapons. He did not waver in his assault on the Americans, simply continued to spin and evade their own attempted retaliations.
They fell all around him, and before long, his right hand tore his sword free of its scabbard, slashing one man along the back and downing him instantly. Three or four men tried to surround him, but he simply faked a smile as they closed in. He welcomed their… 'challenge', and would reward them by sending them for judgment in the afterlife… though he seriously doubted in their religious beliefs… men like these deserved no justice, no mercy. He would be their judge… and he would deal swift prosecution to all who dared to interfere with those he considered friends.
With battle raging all around him, Tom did not know what to do. He ducked under a blow that one free guard tried to land on him in a – seemingly – moment of panic, and spun quickly, coming back to his full height. Halfway through the spin, he broke his hands of the chain from the cuffs, bringing a foot up into the air, and slamming his heel into the side of the man's head. He heard a resounding snap that signalled the breaking of the neck, and saw the man fall to the floor in death and defeat. Ignoring him entirely, he sprinted towards Anise, dropping near to her and skidding to her side, tears burning furiously in his eyes.
"Oh god… Anise… not again," he whispered disbelievingly, and shook his head, touching her face. Dmitri reached out a hand to his shoulder. When Tom looked the man in the face, he saw – to his amazement – that the Russian was smiling.
"She lives," Dmitri told him breathlessly, relieved, and nodded. "Go… stop the man responsible for this carnage."
Tom growled, and leaned down, kissing Anise's forehead, before practically bounding to his feet and following his senses right out of the door, after the man who had deemed it his right to try and ruin his life. His legs pumped with the exertion, and his breathing slipped into a rhythm of steady heartbeats and slow intakes of breath, keeping him from panting or tiring himself. He felt as though he could run for an eternity, so long as he caught the man accountable.
Anise is alive… thank you, Tom thought, not knowing just who it was aimed at. He was never entirely certain in his religion, and this was one of those moments were it most certainly strengthened, though unsurely. Growling, he resisted the urge to change, and use four limbs to speed his travel. He wanted Woods to see the rage in his human eyes before he killed him.
He was going to kill him… this monster did not deserve leniency. He deserved everything Tom could consciously conceive to make him suffer for the horrors he had unleashed. Everything from planning this operation to bringing it into being was a crime, and he could not be allowed to live for it. He was even worse than Evans, if such a thing was possible.
That was when the scent took a definite turn, and Tom followed it so quickly that he was forced to push a hand against the wall of the corner to stop from crashing into it. He practically bounded away from it, pushing himself on faster, wondering just how Woods had managed to cover so much ground in so short a time. Tom's panting was showing through now, and he was growling with every exhalation… he was pretty sure the green of his eyes was gone, replaced by the fluidic metallic silver that signified his lycanthropic alter ego.
With a definite leap, he crashed through a door ahead of him, shattering it off its hinges and slamming right down onto Woods, sending the two of them rolling down to the floor. Woods gave a shout of surprise, and the pistol clattered out of his holster to the ground. The older man struggled to his feet, just in time for Tom to pound his fist into his face, throwing him backwards, almost unbalancing him.
Woods shook his head, stunned clearly, and panted, "You think I deserve this, Sawyer? You think you're worthy to be my judge?"
"I don't give a damn," Tom snarled furiously, and squared his shoulders in what he assumed was a threatening, challenging manner. "All I know is I'm going to kill you, whether you think you deserve it or not. And you're talking isn't helping, because every second you waste trying to justify your actions, your voice only makes me more certain that I want to tear you apart."
Woods arched an eyebrow, and smiled grimly.
"What are you smiling at?"
Woods laughed, even as the gunshot rang out from behind Tom, and he felt the bullet slam into his back. He cried out loudly, and dropped to his knees, feeling the warmth of the flow of blood ooze from the wound near to his right shoulder blade. He gritted his teeth, trying to will the bullet out of him, and gave a low groan, even as Woods strolled over to him, twirling something like a pocket knife in his hands, saying, "Thank you, Edmunds. Much obliged."
Tom gasped lightly at the searing pain in his shoulder, and hissed quietly, looking up with pained green eyes at the approach of Woods, who said, "Edmunds is my right hand man. Good to know he's here when I need him."
"You're welcome, sir," came the smooth accent from behind Tom, and a hand latched in the hair at the back of his skull, yanking his whole head backwards, so that his face was lifted to the ceiling. He winced, and closed his eyes. For a while, his mind was blissfully blank, being gnawed at by the burning pain that swelled from the gunshot wound.
Why is it always the shoulder? Tom thought, recalling the past injuries he had sustained there. Evans' knife in the mansion all that time ago, and Quatermain shooting him… it seemed like a favoured place for wounding.
The blade of the knife brushed against his throat for a moment, and Tom gave a yelp as it burned… silver… the blade was silver. Tom growled, and was rewarded with another application of the weapon to his neck. He tried to prize himself out of the grip, but the culmination of the wounds he had sustained, the shock and the burning of the silver was making it too much for him to simply twist out of the hold of the man, Edmunds.
"I'll teach you how to obey, boy," Woods was saying to him, as he held the blade against Tom's throat, even letting it nick the skin slightly, "and you'll be on your knees in the end, begging me to drug you to make it easier. You'll wish that hunter had never shot you with that godforsaken weapon of his. You'll pray for me to make it all end."
Woods and Edmunds chuckled slightly, even as a snarl rumbled in the depths of Tom's throat, though they did not hear it.
"And the first thing I'll do to make you realise that you never should have disobeyed me… never should have defied my orders or command," Woods began icily, "is kill that bitch of yours… slowly, and make you watch."
… That was it… that was when Tom snapped, and using all the speed he could muster, snatched a hand upward to the knife in Woods grasp, and latched onto the blade. His hand stung and bled madly, and despite all that, he literally wrenched it from the man's hand, before twisting so suddenly that Edmunds was in a state of shock as to what had happened.
Though Tom was certain he had torn some of his own hair out in the effort, he pressed upward off of one knee, and surged forward, flipping the blade so he was holding the wide hilt, and rammed it forcefully into Edmunds' vulnerable abdomen, twisting it savagely with a growl, before kicking him backwards and away.
Why am I being so unbelievably violent lately? He didn't know the definite answer himself, but he suspected it was the bestial instincts within him that were driving him to these courses of action, which he would not have considered a month or two ago, when perfectly human and in his own, right state of mind… not that he was less than sane now… or so he hoped. Maybe it was all just becoming too much for him.
He whirled on Woods, who took two or three wary steps back. He was clearly alarmed, and the blood on Tom's hands from his 'right hand man' only startled him further. "If you touch her," Tom was growling, quite literally, "I… I'll…"
Woods opened his mouth to say something, perhaps try and beg for his life, but before he could do so, Tom pushed off from the floor and slammed his body full force into the other man's. His back collided loudly and painfully with the floor, and Tom thought he heard a crack. He disregarded it entirely, even as he sat pinning Woods to the ground, and proceeded to pound his left fist into the man's face, thankful for the fact that he was skilled in ambidexterity.
His eyes were filled with unrivalled rage as he landed blow after blow, each one more forceful and furious than the last, as Woods' words burned into his mind vividly, reminding him of just what had happened. Lei's mangled corpse flashed into being in his brain, and Tom let out a yell of ferocity that soon changed and became a roar of animalistic rage. Without even realising, the sound of tearing cloth and breaking bone resonated and echoed around the sort of conference room. His attire shredded from around his frame, and even as he brought down his hand for the next punch, it flexed open into a huge paw, and latched around Woods throat.
It did not choke though, simply pinned viciously, black talons breaking the skin on the back of the neck, and Woods gave a whimper, pitifully, and looked up with horrified wide eyes at the visage of what he had tried to harness as a weapon. The looming, terrifying black werewolf that was Tom Sawyer bellowed right in Sebastian Woods' face, sending a wave of hot lupine breath over him, making him grimace with fear. The silver eyes blazed with determination and intention, and Woods seemed to realise he was staring into the face of his own personal Grim Reaper.
In the recesses of his mind, there was a flicker of doubt about murdering Woods… before the man had the lack of sense to say, "If you kill me, you kill the country, boy… think about it."
Then so long, America.
With that, his mind made up firmly, rigid and unwavering, Tom reached back his head with another roar of silencing – at least in Woods' case – ferocity. His maw opened wide and stayed that way, even as he brought his jaws downward, towards Woods.
"No!" Woods pleaded, futilely, and started to scream in terror… even as Tom's lycanthropic jaws closed around the man's face…
… And crushed.