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The village lay in ruins. Flames licked the roofs of peasant hovels. Smoke rose from the charred remains of shops and wagons. Prodigious amounts of blood had been splashed upon the snow-covered streets and market square. The wasted blood glistened beneath the light of a full moon, turning the once-white snow into a gory slush. The tantalizing smells of blood made the vampires mouth water, despite the dire matters weighing on his mind.
'Oh, my brother,' Marcus Corvinus thought mournfully. 'What have you done?'
Bodies were strewn everywhere. Men, women, children…….their throats ripped out by a savage beast. Entrails spilled from corpses that had been sliced open by powerful claws. Many of the villagers were still in their nightclothes, death having come for them while they slept. Their lifeless faces were frozen in expressions of utter shock and horror. Despite abundant evidence of an animal attack, too much flesh remained on the bones of the townspeople to have been killed for food. Instead they had been slaughtered for sport.
The isolated village was located in a shallow valley surrounded by dense woodlands. Snowcapped pines and firs bore mute witness to the grisly scene, while an eerie silence reigned over the valley. There were no whimpers of pain, no desperate cries for help. No sobbing kinsmen mourned their dead. Marcus heard only the crackling of the flames and the crash of collapsing timbers.
The funereal silence spoke volumes. No survivors.
'We are too late,' Marcus thought.
"Yet again," Viktor said, "we arrive to witness his aftermath. But the onslaught ends tonight."
"We must move quickly," Amelia reminded him, "Or we will be overwhelmed."
The three elders surveyed the slaughtered village from atop a slope overlooking a valley. They sat atop there armored warhorses, faces of disgust behind the plated helmets. Like their steeds, they were clad in fearsome black plate armor. Intricate symbols adorned the finely made armor, which gleamed like polished ebony in the moonlight.
A company of armored Death Dealers accompanied the Elders. Their weapons drawn, the vampire warriors awaited the Elders' commands. Azure eyes glowed beneath the flickering light of upraised torches. The pungent smell of blood had all of the solders on edge. They bared their fangs. They licked their lips.
The vampires had not yet fed tonight. This massacre was not their doing.
Viktor turned to Marcus. "Is he still here?"
Marcus nodded reluctantly. His youthful appearance, evident even through his Corinthian style helmet, belied his true age and immortality. His reddish brown hair, and neatly trimmed mustache and beard, held not a trace of gray. Indeed, he looked several decades younger than Viktor, even though he was actually the older of the two.
"Viktor, he must not be harmed."
"I gave you my word, did I not?" Viktor turned his horse around to address their troops. He raised his voice. "Burn the bodies. Search the buildings."
The Death Dealers rode forward, spreading out into the ruined village. Their torches added to the glow of the burning carts and buildings. Marcus spurred his horse forward, anxious to join the search.
"Marcus!" Viktor called out sharply.
'What is it?' Marcus wondered. He pulled back on the reins. Steam blasted from the nostrils of him impatient steed. He looked back at Viktor.
"Stay with me." Viktor instructed.
For a moment, Marcus considered disregarding Viktors request. They were equals, after all, even though he and Amelia tended to defer to Viktor on military matters. The other Elder had been an experienced general and warlord even before he became immortal. Marcus gazed intently at the burning village before reluctantly turning around his horse and rejoining Viktor and Amelia. He had no wish to provoke Viktor unless it was absolutely necessary.
The rustic hamlet reminded Istvan of a small Wallachian village in which he had grown up, before he had been granted the boon of immortality and recruited to the survive of the elders. He seldom thought of his mortal days anymore, but the familiar setting stirred long dormant memories. A cold rage flared within him. These butchered villagers could have been his family or his neighbors, a couple of mortal lifetimes ago. Lowly and short-lived as they were, they had deserved better than this.
With his fellow Death Dealers, he dismounted from his horse and stalked the narrow streets. Bloodstained snow muffled the tread of their heavy iron boots. Flaming torches set fire through out the streets and square. The nauseating aroma of burning flesh joined the smoky smell of doomed buildings.
It was not enough to merely torch the bodies lying outdoors. Istvan knew they could not afford to leave a single ravaged coupes unburned. They had to search the shops and homes as well-or suffer the consequences.
We don't need another disaster like last time. We've lost to many men already……
A peasant cottage caught his eye, and he gestured to one of his comrades, a Death Dealer named Radu. Istvan had lost his own torch in their break neck ride to the village, but Radu still had a serviceable one. A wooden door creaked on its hinges as Istvan kicked it open. Leading with their swords, the two men entered the hovel through a haze of smoke and shadow. Vampiric eyes penetrated the murk, seeing the humble furnishings one would expect to find in a lowly domicile: wooden stools, a wooden table, a few straw pallets for sleeping, and in the center of the hut, safely away from the crude wattle and daub walls. Dying coals glowed within the hearth.
A mauled corpse lay sprawled upon the packed earth floor. The body belonged to a full-grown man clad in the torn remains of a linen nightshirt. His face and torso had been shredded by gargantuan claws. Exposed ribs jutted from his open chest. Gobbets of bloody meat still clung to the splintered bones, which were scored by deep claw marks. The man's heart and guts were missing, no doubt vanished down the beast's gullet. Istvan wondered briefly what had become of the man's wife and children. Were their bodies among the corpses burning in the streets?
He turned to Radu. "Give me the torch."
The sooner this disgusting chore was concluded, the better. Then they could move on to the more important task of tracking down the loathsome animal responsible for the carnage. Radu handed him the torch, and Istvan turned back toward the corpse.
Before he could ignite the lifeless carcass, however, a bestial roar erupted from the dead mans throat. The "corpse" sprang to its feet, already in the throes of grotesque transformation. Glassy mortal eyes turned into feral cobalt orbs. A canine snort protruded from the scarred face, which appeared to be healing itself with supernatural speed. Jagged fangs flashed within the creatures open jaws. A new heart began to form within the sundered chest cavity. Fresh entrails, withering like overgrown worms, blossomed beneath the heart, which was beating with unnatural life. A hairy hide swiftly spread over the creature's torso, hiding the pulsating organs from view. Human nails sharpened into vicious looking talons. Thick, black bristles sprouted from his face and skin.
'Fuck,' Istvan cursed silently. He backed away, almost bumping into Radu. 'We are too late!'
Still wearing the remains of his shredded nightshirt, the newborn lycanthrope snarled like a rabid dog. His savage gaze swept the cramped interior of the cottage, searching for a way out. The two Death Dealers stood between him and the front door, so his crazed eyes turned rapidly toward the rear of the chamber. Before the startled vampires could recover from their shock, the man-beast slammed into the back door, knocking it off its hinges with a single lunge. The door hit the ground with a tremendous crash, and the lycan scrambled out of the murky cottage into the moonlight.
'Blast it!' Istvan thought as the creature escaped. Still holding his now useless torch, he knew he had to warn the others. He shouted at the top of his lungs, "They're turning!"