"Werewolves, huh?" Yulgar asked. "Well, as far as I know, they don't much care for the cold and can't abide extreme heat. Other than that, they are nearly perfect warriors."

Dave nodded sadly. "Have you any weapons in mind if you were challenged to fight one?"

"Well," Yulgar started as he so often did, "I'd use Pzycho's Super Sabre. When he realized that his powers had by far shadowed his blade's, he forged a new one. Super Pzycho Sabre, he called it."

"Have you any idea where it could be obtained?"

"You're in luck, as I have it in my possession. I'll sell it to you, for the low low cost of only 6500 gold coins."

Dave gasped in shock, but regained his composure quickly. Turning and taking stock of his savings, he found that he had 6499 gold. Cursing his luck, he turned to Yulgar and asked, "What if I'm short?"

"Well, I won't discriminate against you, being short and all. Heck, when I was younger-" Yulgar began.

"I meant short of the total price," Dave said over Yulgar's voice.

"Oh. Well, how short?" he asked.

"One gold coin," Dave said. Yulgar nodded curtly and held out his hand. Dave put the weighty sum in Yulgar's outstretched hand and then held out his own. Within moments, he felt the weight of the blade he asked for in his hand.

"Nice," Dave murmured smugly. He turned and headed out of the inn. He was on his way to fight a war.

He had only walked just beyond town limits when he huge shadow overtook the sun. Dave looked up and into the face of one he didn't believe he'd ever seen again; Wolfwing.

"Oh… shit!" Dave cried as he started running. Wolfwing easily apprehended him and flew straight up, high as he could go. Dave felt like his brains were going into his feet, they were moving so fast. They stopped finally, almost two miles up. Dave felt frozen and light headed.

"You. You're a vampyre now. So I can turn you." Wolfwing had to shout for Dave to hear him.

"Why! Why me!" Dave screamed. "Why am I so fucking important!"

"Because I know there is more strength in you than an entire legion of werewolves! Because I know there is more power in you than a legion of vampyres! Because I know that there is more wisdom in you than all the mages in Lore! There is more cunning, more charisma, more luck than any other creature! Your destiny is far greater than mine or Safiria's or even the King of Werewolves! You are destined for greatness! And the only way for you to achieve this is for you to have my gift and curse!" And with those happy words, Wolfwing sunk his teeth into Dave's exposed neck. Dave shrieked crazily. His body began writhing and seizing.

Wolfwing let him go and sped to the ground faster than a bullet, straight to his home perch.

Dave's body began undergoing changes like none other. Huge black wings torn through his back, flapping and twisting like an out of control Tickle-Me Elmo. He felt his skull expanded to the size of a basketball, though it took on the shape of a football. His nose changed into a snout, his eyes losing his circular shape and becoming almond shaped. Like a receding hairline, his ears backed up to rest on the top of his head, pointed like a dog's and black as pitch. His mouth elongated to fit his snout, his fangs growing into kitchen knives, his feet bursting into huge paws, his fists becoming claws the size of tennis rackets. Dave felt the power begin to surge through him, like static electricity. His final change, a tail sprouting our of his butt, signaled to his mind that it was time to fly.

Dave beat his massive wings, stopping his fall in mid air. Dave's new nightmarish features creased into a grin. This was absolute power! Following Wolfwing's example, he sped to the ground like a bullet, landing lightly. Drawing his Super Pzycho Sabre, he rocketed headlong at Darkovia, where the battling had already begun.

Dave sped along as quickly as his wing and legs would carry him. He felt the saber meld into his hands as if by magic. And indeed, it was magic. When he reached the battlefield, the fight had already been joined. He saw the vampyric forces being slaughtered and pushed back into the Queen's keep. They barred the doors, leaving no vampyre outside. The werewolves howled their victory, or so they thought. Dave was among them like a death tornado, whirling and slashing with his tremendous claws at the lesser wolf clan warriors. He torn werewolves to pieces by the dozens, slaying them like an exterminator would kill insects. He annihilated all that stood before him. Then he noticed the commander. It was an Alpha Male, a huge beast, nearly as big as Dave. Dave slaughtered his way toward this monolithic adversary.

Roaring a challenge to all, he assaulted an assembled platoon, felling five with the first stroke and seven with the second. "Bring him down! He is one! We are many! Attack!" roared the Alpha as he leaped into the mêlée. Dave locked claws with this aggressor, snarling with absolute brutish savagery. The blood wrath was upon him, and he would not stop until every single werewolf in this legion was destroyed. Werewolves leapt at him from all sides, stabbing at him with their tiny daggers and short swords, not even managing to puncture the flesh. Dave roared again and wrestled the Alpha to the ground. Straddling him, Dave bent low and grasped his enemy's neck in his awesome jaws. The Alpha never stood a chance. Werewolves piled onto Dave, covering him completely, more than three score laying on him.

Dave burst out of the dog pile, clutching the throat of the Alpha in his snarling jaws. Werewolves flew in all directions, yelping and crying from injury. Dave spat the torn throat out and continued to eliminate the enemy forces. It was no longer a battle it was simply a hunt. Not a very good hunt, as the prey believed that, with the strength of numbers, they could and would bring down Dave.

Dave's laugh echoed throughout the field and into the fortress that Safiria had taken refuge in. The vampyres were completely unaware of what was going on, but when they heard the werewolves screaming in injury, they let out a mighty cheer.

"Let us go out and meet the enemy!" Bledder begged his queen.

"No," Safiria said quietly. "What ever is out there is likely to kill anything it sees. I think it is best if we allow it to finish its work. Why risk more vampyre's lives than necessary?"

Bledder nodded, though he had his doubts. He was going to go out and ride to glory. Slipping past the gate, he ran out into the battle scene, only to find carnage that would turn the stomach of a sick, dark, sadistic monster. In the middle, still dancing his tango of death, Dave continued to thin the foes' ranks. When Dave's eyes found Bledder, he charged right to him, running down eight werewolves in the process. He lifted Bledder into the air and howled. Bledder, showing no aggression, had gone rigid with terror. Dave, not finding the treat he had hoped for, discarded Bledder, who dashed with all speed back into the castle the same way he got out.

Dave rampaged on. There was nothing that could stop him. He was the perish song to all who listened. He was the keen of the razor, the death tornado, the whirlwind of fate. He felt the power coursing through him. But then he realized with a sudden clarity that he was not the only ultra-power on the field. Another was there.

Dave spun on the dime and looked. In a dark corner, a young woman stood, unmoving, dressed entirely in black. Who was this woman? Why wasn't she afraid of him? Why was she standing there? Why was she smiling!

Dave roared a challenge to her. She nodded, then, quick as lightning, she darted in front of him. Though he was a mighty Werepyre, he still knew that in a match of speed, he would be hard pressed to keep up with this woman.

"You are the one they call Dave?" she asked. Dave nodded dumbly, some of the blood luster gone. "Then we've no quarrel. Please, return to yourself and speak with me civilly."

Dave, not knowing how he knew, began to change back. His wings shrank into his back, his muzzle and fangs sucked right back into his face. The Super Pzycho Sabre he wielded was stabbed into the ground at his feet. Dave, now fully restored, looked at the woman he was speaking with.

She had silver hair, almost white. She wore black entirely, black armor, black boots, black gauntlets, even as far as a black sword. He armor was light and thin, but very strong. It was made from dragon hide and some sort or metal, a material unknown to him. Her skin was tan, not white or black, but Latina looking. Dave couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was. God, if anyone was a lady's man, it sure wasn't Dave.

"What can I do you for?" he asked her with a fake Texan accent.

"I heard from someone that you're newly arrived to Lore. That being said, where are you from?" she asked him.

"You wouldn't know where I would be talking about," Dave muttered. "But I'm from Florida." At this, the woman's eyes widened a little and she raised her eyebrows.

"Really?" she said in a disbelieving tone. "Truly? Could it be possible?" Dave started to take a step back, thought for a moment, then decided to hold his ground.

"Listen, I don't know what you're so amazed about. Florida isn't so special. From what I can recall, it has a populace of about… what was it, 18 million?"

"Twenty," she said. Dave stared for a moment. He cocked his head to the side a little and squinted.

"Elise?" he asked. "Elise? Oh my god, Elise?" She nodded. This girl was his ex-girlfriend from Florida.