Twenty-Four:
Out of the Fire
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"Start by pulling him out of the fire and
hoping that he will forget the smell.
He was supposed to be an angel but they took him
from that light and turned him into something hungry,
something that forgets what his hands are for when they
aren't shaking.
He will lose so much, and you will watch it all happen
because you had him first, and you would let the world
break its own neck if it means keeping him.
Start by wiping the blood off of his chin and
pretending to understand.
Repeat to yourself
"I won't leave you, I won't leave you"
until you fall asleep and dream of the place
where nothing is red.
When is a monster not a monster?
Oh, when you love it.
Oh, when you used to sing it to sleep.
Here are your upturned hands.
Give them to him and watch how he prays
like he is learning his first words.
Start by pulling him out of another fire,
and putting him back together with the pieces
you find on the floor.
There is so much to forgive, but you do not
know how to forget.
When is a monster not a monster?
Oh, when you are the reason it has become so mangled.
Here is your humble offering,
obliterated and broken in the mouth
of this abandoned church.
He has come back to stop the world
from turning itself inside out, and you love him, you do,
so you won't let him.
Tell him that you will never know any better."
-Caitlyn Siehl
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Two years.
That's what peace felt like, or at least, what he thought peace felt like. There were little to no signs or interaction with the Solarii or the Oni. Thankfully and also sadly, no other shipwreck survivors crashed onto Yamatai's shores. But that also meant no victims were being subjected to the Solarii's cruelness or numbers added to their ranks. Most importantly, however, there were no signs of Himiko arising, either.
Two whole years. It still felt strange to consider.
The seas were mostly calm today. Allen could see that much from mountaintop at the moment. The water, from this distance, was nearly glassy smooth and shimmering from the heat of the summer season. There was a burning white hot coin in the shape of the sun etching its visage into the sea as it began to descend. There were no clouds in the sky, just the wide open blue expanse stretching out above him. It was a rare, clear day and he hated it. Allen wiped at his brow and turned at the sound of his name being called. Ash was crouching in a tree that hung low over a cliff, its trunk bent in a strange U-shape like the sagging neck of a beast.
"It's so hot," he complained. He had forgotten the small flask of homemade sunscreen Ash had made for him back home. He was going to start turning pink soon enough if no cloud cover made its way across the sky. Then he'd get burnt and be in pain for days and only after all that he'd start peeling. Then he'd be back at square one again.
"Well, learn how to tan like me."
"That is physically impossible." He sniffed pointedly before wiping at his sweaty brow. She could sit in the sun for days and not suffer the way he did after only a few hours out. Admittedly, he was only a little jealous.
"Sucks to be you, then."
He threw a half-hearted scowl at Ash's backside as he came closer, standing as close to the edge of the cliff as he dared. She never burned. Fire couldn't harm her and the sun only turned her skin into a crisp bronzed colour—and that was nearly everywhere. Allen found out rather recently that she could indeed cast aside quite a bit of shame for small indulges where beauty was concerned. On more than one occasion, he's found her lying on rocks, sunning herself.
Naked.
He supposed, in hindsight, that was a strange perk of being on a mostly-abandoned island with few inhabitants. Not very many people would be able to stumble upon her. Not like Allen had, at least.
Ash went back to viewing the valley below them. Somewhere, Allen could hear the faint thunder of a waterfall and there was a touch of fresh watered moisture in the air. He just couldn't see it and for all he knew, it could be right around the corner.
She was frowning, her brow creased with worry while her ears swiveled back and forth atop her head. She could hear and see and smell so much better than he ever could. She was doing all of that at once, filtering through the information at a speed he probably wouldn't ever be able to process or keep up with if he had even half her ability. She was viewing the valley with all of these senses to pick up something but what it was, she wouldn't say.
All she would say was that something was wrong with Yamatai, something so off even for the island that it concerned her. She was more in tune her animal senses than he was, and sometimes, she was sharper than the raptors and the rexes both. There were times she had picked up on oncoming storms long before they were even a smudge of darkness on the horizon, even days before it hit them.
And if something concerned her this badly, Allen was beginning to feel it itch at the back of his head, whatever it may be, as well.
"It's not Himiko," she had told him as they packed their bags and grabbed their bows and belted on quivers filled with arrows. She took extra measures, slinging a rifle and an old trench shotgun, as well as a pistol into their respective holsters as she buckled them onto her. Her pack carried supplies, including extra ammunition. That was on top of her bracers with the thin, hidden blades—he was sometimes reminded of Link when she wore them, although the blades were thinner than his, and not serrated at the edges—and the other various knives she carried on her. Some were hidden, others were more visible.
In fact, he didn't know how many she actually carried on her nor did he ever figure out how she managed to have so many hidden on her without injuring herself. Seven years and it's still a mystery to him.
But one thought crossed his mind the entire time they were prepping up to leave: she looked ready to go to war. His worry gnawed at his gut every time he looked at her.
"Then what is it? Or who, if it's a person? Do you know at all?"
Ash had been tight-lipped at the time. She couldn't even tell him.
"I…don't know," she had finally answered him as they left. "But I don't like it."
He didn't like how troubled she looked. How suddenly reticent she had become. Any attempts at weaseling out an answer were met with stony silences. Something was wrong and it wasn't just Yamatai that was off-kilter. He's grown used to her opening up and actually talking to him, and now, suddenly having her clam up again like this…it troubled him more than he liked to admit.
Ash hopped out of the tree and back onto the trail beside him.
"Anything?"
She shook her head, and craned her neck to glance back toward where the palace grounds were. They were getting closer. They could just make out the rooftops, peeking over the tops of the mountains. If they followed the trail they were on, they'd eventually reach Shantytown and the old palace. Slowly, they'd been making their way around, although if he didn't know any better, he'd say that Ash had been trying to avoid going there as long as possible. Perhaps she was hoping whatever bad vibe she was feeling or whatever it was she was sensing hadn't been emanating from the Solarii stronghold.
She'd venture in there alone, if she had to, but she hated bringing him there. He knew all that. But she's never done this before, even if they both knew that too many Solarii still hung around the place, and they had a lot of formidable weapons stockpiled the deeper one went in. She could take them all on and keep asking for more, even if he tagged along.
But her utter avoidance struck him as odd, and now it looked like the last place they'd need to scour out is the very place they hadn't gone to. He had almost been hoping to avoid a confrontation himself.
So much for wishful thinking, he thought. Ash motioned him to follow.
The trail they picked along on led them deeper into the mountains, across giant pillars that must have once been connected, either by the mountain or by manmade bridges once upon a time. Now they were crumbling stone stacks standing alone like sentinels with pieces of old shrines still remaining against the ravages of time, but just barely. A giant statue of Himiko rose up in the distance, nestled snuggly against the face of the mountain. She looked serene and almost holy, the way she had been depicted in the carving of the stone.
They were too close to the monastery, though. There were still Oni around and they would be close by.
He and Ash hopscotched their way across and made it to the next leg of the trail. This eventually led them to a tight little canyon with more carvings apparent in the face of the vertical walls—these depicting a pilgrimage. Perhaps they were to show Himiko's once-loyal people, traversing to the old monastery where the Oni now resided—or where they used to, alongside the Sun Queen's body.
The canyon trail eventually turned into an inner mountain passageway that required them to crouch and inch their way along a thin precipice of walkway. It was dark in the cave, but Ash had a small glove of fire hovering around them to light their way. On one side, they pressed up against a cave wall. On their other side was a sheer sudden drop into the darkness. He could hear the steady rush of water somewhere deep in the bowels of the cave.
A few pieces of stone abruptly flaked clean off the path where Ash stepped and for a hair-raising moment, the ground beneath them shook. A hairline crack appeared between them and Ash's half sank an inch. Ash shot him a quick look over her shoulder.
"Go."
She skittered forward two steps and he started to follow but stopped short when the ground suddenly gave way beneath her and the earth swallowed her up into the gloom. The path beneath him buckled and Allen scuttled backwards as the ground where he stood moments before broke apart as well, sinking into the pitch black below. His heart thundered away against his ribcage as everything settled, including the dust that shook from the ceiling and he was left alone.
Hurriedly, he unclipped the walkie-talkie at his side.
Yelling blindly into the dark would just set off another rockslide in this place.
"Ash," he said, trying to sound calm, but his heart was tap-dancing away in his chest. She's survived these things before. This wasn't the first time she's gone under like this. This wasn't her first rockslide she's had to pull herself up from underneath. That's what he kept telling himself, anyway. There was always going to be that worry tainting his forced calm. The static on the other end was palpable, hissing away without a hint of life.
"Ash," he tried again, more insistent. "Ash, pick up. Pick up!"
"Keep it down. Jesus Christ, what've I told you about places like this," her voice finally chirped on the other end.
A well of relief flooded him at the sound of her voice. He began to depress the talk button, but stopped short when she started up again.
"I'm fine, I just…ow. Jesus fuck. Got carried to another part of the cave system. Just—find a way through, I'll figure something out."
"Where are you? I'll come down and find you, just stay put."
"Negative. You keep going, if the exit's still there. If not, find a way around. Start heading towards the palace grounds, I'll meet you there."
He frowned as he listened to her speak.
"What's wrong?" He finally asked.
"That rockslide sealed up the way down here, you couldn't get to where I am, even if you wanted. Not without triggering another rockslide, or worse, a cave-in. I think I see a way out of here for me, though. Stop wasting time worrying about me, just get going. I'll meet you at the palace. Okay?"
There was something else; he could hear it in the strain in her voice. Sitting here and arguing with her over the radio, however, really was going to be a waste of time. He'd just have to ask her when they were both safely out of this mountain.
"All right," he said, even if he felt anything but about the plan. "I'll…I'll meet you there."
"Hey. Good luck. See you soon."
With a last chirp from the walkie-talkie, it went quiet. He stared at it for a long minute before clipping it back to his belt a little more forcefully than he'd meant. Stubborn woman. Stubborn and prideful. Dammit. Something was wrong and she wasn't going to let him help. Or admit she needed it, for that matter. Allen sighed, unclenching his fist. He hated it when she pulled stunts like these.
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As it turned out, the exit was still intact, if a little tighter to squeeze past than it used to be. A slab of rock had made its home right where he needed to leave, but he just barely managed to slip out past the crack that still existed. The palace grounds and the Solarii's shantytown were laid out before him. Farther out, he could see the pine forest where Báthory and Carmilla usually resided, when they weren't terrorizing the local island population. Up in the peaks above the forest was where home was for him and Ash.
Down below, he could see the old lift machinery left behind, reminders of an older war. They were still and quiet, some of the platforms swaying in the wind that was gusting past.
Allen eventually picked his way across the mountains, coming to the outskirts of the palace. In the distance, he could make out the great bridge that connected between the palace grounds proper and the mountain peak across the way. Most of the old bridge had fallen to disrepair over the years. Without the Solarii cobbling it together with pieces of salvage, especially after the storms, it quickly began to crumble. Only Ash dared going over it, but that was to appease her inner adrenaline junkie. Or so he liked to think. He never voiced it aloud and frankly, thought it better not to. Ash didn't seem to share the same idea of what he thought she was. He also thought she was in denial about it.
The thought of her brought a fresh wave of concern. She wasn't here yet. He scanned the area, could pick out tiny, ant-like figures moving around on the ground. Fleeing, really. They were high-tailing it for somewhere else, and he could just barely hear them shouting at one another. Had the Solarii found something worth salvaging or were they excited over something else? There was no sign of interfering radio chatter, so he wouldn't know.
The Solarii were so few in number here. They had been picked off fairly quickly by the island's predatory inhabitants. Only the most clever and quick could survive and there were few of them left alive. And what few that were left were wary when it came to tangling with Ash. If it was a boat they saw, he hoped them the best in getting away.
He didn't quite share in their enthusiasm if that were the case. He still had a promise to fulfill.
Allen didn't see Ash and the longer he waited, the more he worried he became. She could take care of herself, he knew this. She wasn't a child, but there were times when she threw her own health and wellbeing completely to the wind, or she'd refuse help even when offered. She was so stubborn. It was admirable in the right moments, downright stupid in most others. He's called her out on it, but she would hand wave it away, like there was nothing to worry about. Then she'd chide him for not having any trust in her pulling through and getting a job done.
It's not that I don't trust you; it's just that you've had one too many close calls and you don't ever seem to take that caution into consideration for future endeavors…
He unclipped the radio at his hip, depressing the button.
"Ash, are you there?"
The static hissed on the other end when he released the button. The seconds ticked by with no response. He tapped his finger against the side of the button a few times impatiently, then hit the button again.
"Ash."
"Well, well, well…we were wondering when you'd start squawking. Me and the boys had a bet going on and it looks like I lost. I figured you'd be a lot sooner, calling for your little wolf girl."
Allen nearly dropped the radio at the unfamiliar voice. Distinctively male, older. One of the Solarii?
No. They couldn't get the drop on Ash for long and get away with it. There was no way in hell they'd ever be able to capture her, let alone keep her that way. He doubted they even knew about her weakness to silver. But her radio…
If she had lost it and the Solarii were in the same caves as her and somehow found it…
"I'm sure you have plenty of questions, don't you?" The voice queried knowingly on the other end. There was a booming laughter in his voice, one that set Allen on edge.
"Where's Ash?"
"Oh, is that what she's going by these days? Our dossier shows a different name…well, no matter. We have her. And the only way you're getting her back is by going through us."
"Are you a part of the Solarii?"
'Those pathetic snacks-to-go on legs?"
Laughter erupted on the other line and Allen could hear other voices joining in the cacophony in the background, tinny and loud.
"Boy, you got a lot of nerve comparing us to those meatbags. We're nothing like the pathetic humans you've been living beside. Hell, we're in a league all our own, compared to your little wolf guardian. Oh, speaking of which…looks like someone's awake."
There was a garble of unintelligible voices speaking, too far away to tell what was being said by the walkie-talkie but he could hear the context well enough. Whoever else was there was in the background, speaking with someone else. There was another sound, like something being hit.
A shout rose above the din of the white noise, sharp and abrupt.
"Moth—r—kcers!"
Static burst through between the syllables of the single word that was spat out, but he recognized who it was all the same and felt his entire body go ice cold the moment he heard it. Another round of laughter drowned out the new voice. Anger sprang up in place of the numbness quickly, white hot and bright.
"Bastards! Where are you?!"
"Why, we're in the palace! A little drafty and decrepit for my tastes, but for now, it suits our needs just fine until we leave the island."
"Allen, don't do it, don't you dare come here! TAKE THE RAFT AND RUN, ALLEN—!"
He bristled at the sound of Ash crying out in pain and someone telling her to shut up.
The first voice came back, sounding mildly disappointed. "Such a rude little thing, isn't she? I don't know how you put up with her. I don't even understand why Xerxes wants her." The voice sighed, but it was mocking and fake and borderline bored. "But I don't get paid to ask questions. I get paid to do as I'm told and while I shudder at the idea of being ordered around…I and my team, at the very least, get to do as we please to get the results he desires. It's a bit of give and take, I'm sure you understand."
"What do you plan to do with Ash?"
"Ah, ah, ah! I can't spoil that and frankly, it's above my paygrade to be giving out that kind of sensitive information so freely. Do you think I'm stupid, boy?"
Another bristle settled between his shoulders at being addressed as 'boy'. It reminded him too much of Tyki Mikk. He almost sounded like the Noah, too, although the voice was a few shades too deep. A couple octaves higher, though, and the man probably would have been a spot on imitation.
"I think you are," Allen growled back. "You have no idea who you've taken into your custody. And you're going to pay dearly by her hand if I don't get there soon enough to do it myself."
The voice laughed, unfazed by the threat. "And you have no idea what we are, do you? You're probably thinking to yourself, 'oh they're only some ragamuffin group of humans', but no, no. I'm sorry to say we're more than that. Much more. We're like your little friend here, but much stronger, faster, smarter. We hunt in packs, whereas she hunts alone. There's strength in numbers and she has none. Not here. And neither do you."
Allen paled and the implications and the pieces began to settle into place as he mulled over those words. It clicked seconds later.
Werewolves.
Other werewolves, here on Yamatai.
He and Ash didn't have any silver on this island. None on hand, none readily available, none for a rainy day situation like this. The last time he'd laid his eyes on anything silver had been the knife Ash had been stabbed by in the sea caves. He had gone and tossed that into the sea. It was long gone by now, carried away by the tide and buried in the cold waters and sands.
"Tell you what, boy, let's play a little game. I'll give you a one hour's head start and you have two choices: take your little wolf guardian's advice and flee, run as fast and as far as you can, or swim, I don't care which. Who knows, you might live! Or, you could foolishly storm the palace, try to stage a daring and noble coup and die by our claws. If you choose neither, however…we'll hunt you down and tear you to pieces."
He could hear Ash yelling in the background and urging him to run, the others shouting at her to shut up, and the voice sighed in another mock-dramatic fashion.
"Such a pain, this little wolf is. Tick tock, boy. You're on the clock, and when we started speaking, you had an hour's worth of a head start. Now, it's less. Ta-ta."
With a final chirp, the walkie-talkie fell silent. No Ash. No mysterious voice. Nothing but the wind in his ears and the heat beating down on him. His grip tightened on the device until it began to creak in protest. He gruffly clipped it back on his belt and glared across the way toward the bridge and the palace. He could see a thick wisp of grey smoke curling up between the tiered rooftops.
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He kept asking himself if she had known about the other werewolves. He kept asking himself if she had purposefully been avoiding the palace, moving them from place to place over the last few days. He kept asking himself if that was why she was so grim, so tight-lipped, so…so secretive and edgy all of a sudden.
Every time he found himself asking those questions, he had to stamp them out. He'd ask her when this was over, when they were safe. Yet he still had to wonder how the werewolves made it onto Yamatai without triggering a reset with Himiko and the rest of the island.
There were several hidden entryways into the palace, most of them he remembered how to get to, thanks to Ash. When the numbers of the Solarii began to really thin, they'd sometimes raid the palace for supplies and raw materials they needed. Nearly all the consumables from the boat a few years back had been used up already. Allen found two of the hidden entries completely gone, the entrances caved in. He began to wonder if the werewolves had found them and blocked them off on purpose when he came to a third one in the same condition. He felt a little hopeful when he came upon a fourth entrance, this one still intact, although he wasn't overly fond of trudging through it. It was very nearly flooded.
He hated it even more when he realized he'd have to traverse past the cavern that quite literally had pools of blood and bits of gore bobbing about in it below the path he took. He made a point to not look down below, but the stench was overwhelming when combined with the sulfurous stink in the air. Occasionally, he'd hear gusts of it exploding out of cracked vents and catch brief clouds of yellow gas rising up, fading just as quickly against the blood-stained rocks.
The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly rose and a shiver rolled down his spine. He felt like he was being watched. Allen paused, casting a cursory glance over his shoulders and scanning the trail at his backside. There was nothing but grey rock face, stalactites and stalagmites looking like jagged, uneven teeth as they rose up to or reached down from the cave ceiling. Below, the stagnant pools of blood remained smooth as glass, looking more red than black. The heat inside the caves kept it all from coagulating. When he turned back, his heart leapt to his throat as a wolfish face was suddenly in front of him, connected to a heavy, muscled furred body. Before he could react, a giant pawed hand wrapped around his neck, lifting him bodily into the air.
"Told you he'd come this way." The wolf said, baring yellowed teeth lined by black lips in Allen's face into a grin. Golden eyes watched him with a cat-got-the-canary kind of glee. Allen grabbed at the pawed hand holding him, trying to pry it loose but it wouldn't budge. It was like trying to pull apart stone with his bare hands. The other pawed hand came up and jerked the bow on his back, ripping the bowstring with ease beneath a talon. The string lashed out and snapped against Allen's cheek, and he flinched when the wolf laughed and tossed the bow away. He heard it hit something and clatter away, the sound fading quickly. Dismay filled him. It was the bow that Ash had made for him with all the carvings along the wood, the one she had made especially for him to accommodate his mismatched reach.
The gift she'd given him over three years ago.
"Shut up already, I'll pay you when we get back," another voice said, somewhere behind the beast that held Allen. The wolf turned its head and Allen caught a glimpse of skinny man clad in a plain black shirt and jeans and sneakers, his long dark umber hair pulled back into a ponytail. He had a sneer on his thin, sallow face, pale green eyes glinting with annoyance when he caught Allen staring at him.
"Hundred bucks." The wolf rumbled back with elation.
"I already know! Fuck, man. Just snap his fucking neck and let's go already. It stinks in here."
"Aw, but I was hoping to chew on him for a little. Boss won't care much." The wolf turned its head back to Allen and humid, rancid breath poured over his face, wolfish grin still in place. "I like 'em a little skinny like this. Extra chewy with a little crunch."
"Boss wants the little shit dead, so do it already. We got the bitch like Xerxes wanted and is paying us to get. Only reason we're still here is because he's playing this stupid game with this kid. We won, he lost, let's go home and get paid already."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah…fuck, already, fine."
The werewolf turned his head back just as Allen flung a well-aimed kick in his face. It barely registered to the beast, and it ended up hurting him more than anything. It was as though he kicked a metal pillar! He missed his boots. The sneakers he wore had no worth or merit in combat whatsoever. The wolf peeled his black lips back into another twisted wolfish grin.
"We're a lot tougher than a human, kid. You'd break your bones long before you broke ours. What're you, stupid?"
The vice around his throat tightened and it made it all the harder for air to squeeze past his windpipe. His vision blurred and darkened momentarily, the ache in his foot a distant concern.
"Hurry the fuck up."
"Hear that? Guess your time's up!"
The other giant pawed hand reached for him, curved talons closing in but they suddenly stopped a hair's breadth away when the other barked at him.
"Hold up, getting somethin' from the boss."
The claws stilled and the vice grip on his throat slackened. Allen sucked in a breath, the spots in his vision clearing. Now's the time—while they're distracted!
Before he could react, the other werewolf whistled sharply.
"New orders: bring the little shit, boss wants to see him."
"Aw, what? Whaddya mean by that?"
"I mean, the boss wants to fucking see him, what do you think that fucking means? Guess he changed his mind about offing him right away if he shoved his nose around here."
The werewolf holding him whined piteously as he glanced over his shoulder to his companion, but it quickly turned into a disappointed growl as he turned back to look at Allen.
"Just a little bite? Not like he'll live long enough to change or miss a limb or two."
"No! No bites, no mangling, just—fucking give 'im to me, I don't trust you to keep him intact. You might maim him between here and the throne room."
Allen was surrendered to the sallow-looking man, and a part of him played with the idea of making a break for it. But then that would mean being chased and werewolves, as he learned from Ash, were notoriously persistent hunters. Ash spent the better part of three days hunting down an individual Compy that had made off with one of her shiny trinkets. She had tracked it so meticulously, that her sheer tenacity and skill alone had stunned Allen, never mind that she had actually succeeded.
They'll sniff me out if I tried to hide and run me down. I wouldn't even get a chance to get tired.
He swallowed back that strong urge as the thinner werewolf grabbed Allen's upper arm and squeezed tight until it felt like his arm was going to break from the sheer pressure. The werewolf gripping him sneered, his pale green eyes flashing malevolently.
"Try and run. I fucking dare you."
Allen glowered back, tipping his chin back and saying nothing. The werewolf scoffed and started dragging him down the way Allen had originally been heading, silent as the grave. The fully shifted werewolf followed in their wake, growling and rumbling his discontent about never getting to have any fun all the while.
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The throne room was perhaps one of the more intact rooms left in the palace, but not by much. The room itself was open and airy, with giant pillars of wood supporting the ceiling. They must have once been painted an opulent and pleasing shade of red, but the lacquer that once protected it was gone, leaving it to flake away as the years had ticked by. A good majority of the paint still remained, however, and it didn't completely deflect from its grandeur appearance. It was still an impressive piece of architecture to behold.
There was no throne itself, merely a raised dais against a far wall, and a few handmade chairs made from salvage were scattered around it. Several other men were lounging in that general area, Allen noted immediately. Except for one.
"Ash!"
He lurched forward at the crumpled figure at the bottom of the dais, flanked by two men—more werewolves, he corrected himself—but the one holding him jerked him back. Stars danced across his eyes as splinters of pain broke out across his nose like shards of glass. He was tossed to the hardwood ground without further ceremony and before he could raise himself up, something heavy slammed into his back between his shoulder blades, pinning him to the ground.
"Well, well, well! I almost figured you to be a smart one and run away, but I suppose I judged you entirely wrong!" Allen lifted his head just enough to see one of the figures on the dais strolling down toward him. He recognized the voice immediately. It was the one who had Ash's radio and spoke with him.
"And you lost a bet, so you'd better pay up, Dev!"
The other werewolves cackled. The figure behind the werewolf striding toward him stirred. He caught sight of Ash's face and paled.
It was a bloodied mess. One of her eyes was very nearly swollen shut, her bottom lip split open, and gash marks lined her brow, her hair sticky and wet with blood.
Blood?
It clicked a second later as he saw other wounds adorning Ash's figure, the ones he could see.
She's not healing.
Something was wrong. She was stripped of her weapons, her arms bound behind her back.
The werewolf he'd spoken with earlier stopped short of him and crouched, hand darting out to grip Allen's chin and force him to look up. His hands were rough and calloused and tipped with claws. Their points dug painfully into Allen's skin.
"Allen!"
Allen heard Ash growl, but it was cut off just as suddenly as it started when the unmistakable sound of someone hitting someone else sounded off.
"Sonuvabitch, I'm gonna fucking kill you!"
"Shut up, you goddamned cunt. Fucking human-lover."
"Yeah, don't you know you're supposed to eat humans, not fuck them?" Another voice piped up, disgust apparent in his tone.
Another hit. Anger bloomed white hot and fast in his chest. He tried jerking away, but the werewolf held tight until he felt his cheek slice and blood run down it in a thin ribbon. The werewolf holding his face ignored his struggles and the one going on behind him, a slow smirk pulling the corner of his lips.
"I guess I do owe them money. A bet's a bet. I was almost hoping you'd be gone by now. Or at least we could have hunted you, have a little more fun while we were here. Having you come to us is like shooting fish in a barrel. Easier to kill, but not quite as much fun. We'll just have to make do, though; we are on a bit of a tight schedule, I'm sure you understand how it is."
The werewolf staring down at him had bright amber eyes, wide and intense and they roved over Allen's face methodically. He was smiling at Allen, too; all perfect white teeth and the former Exorcist could make out the all-too-huge canines, just poking out the corners of his lips. Just as quickly, the werewolf let Allen's face go and straightened up to his full height with a mocking sigh on his lips, a shrug lifting his shoulders.
"No matter. Xerxes wants you gone and requires…well, now I'm not sure what she's called. London, Lupin, Ash—it doesn't matter anymore. She'll be a test subject with an assigned number once she's back at Chimera Dynamics. Names have no meaning there, except for profiles and dossiers."
Ash stirred and the movement drew Allen's eye.
"What the hell does that mean? Who the fuck is Xerxes?"
Answers he'd like to know as well. Was Xerxes the one who knew they were here, had sent them that boat filled with supplies?
"All in good time, little wolf. All in good time."
"Boss. Can we wrap this up? Warren and I got plans that don't include gloating to food or babysitting a fucking kin-killer and a curltail."
A few eyes drifted toward Allen, the rest toward Ash. The way they looked at him made him sick. They didn't even think of him as a person. They thought of him as a walking snack. But a kin-killer? Curltail? Judging by Ash's snarl, they weren't good terms for werewolves to be called.
These were the kind of werewolves, he came to realize, that Ash hated with a passion—more so than humans like the Solarii. He could certainly see why she hated them.
"Patience. We'll be gone in a few minutes. Just humour me. In fact, why don't you three go on ahead, give the report to Xerxes and we'll be along right behind you?"
"But boss—" One of them piped up, only to be smacked in the arm by another.
"He's a human without silver or wolfsbane. What's he going to do, bleed on them?" Another snapped, first gesturing towards Allen before sneering down at Ash. "She's doped up and can't do shit. Bitch's roughed up enough as it is, she knows her place now. Let's get going already. This fucking place stinks."
Snickers filled the air and the three told to leave lifted their arms up and poked at their forearms. Allen could now make out something was on their arm—a band of some kind and they were glowing. A few pokes at the object encircling their arms and suddenly, they were glowing bodily, a bright white light and then—gone.
They were gone.
Allen stared at the spots where the three werewolves had been standing.
And then there were four.
The object pinning him to the ground lifted away, giving him more room to breathe again. He was gruffly picked up and forced to his feet. The shove forward nearly sent him sprawling but he caught his footing quickly.
The werewolf at his backside rumbled, "Move."
Allen glanced over his shoulder to glare. The werewolf, fully formed in his fur, was nearly three meters tall with shaggy russet fur and his eyes very nearly seemed to glow in the low lighting. The werewolf bared his fangs at Allen, a strip of gleaming striking white against the dark of his fur coat.
A pawed hand reached over and thumped him forward. It was barely a shove, but it struck his backside just right and knocked the wind out of him. It nearly sent him bowling over again.
"Come now, we don't have all day. I'll let you say you're last goodbyes before we kill you. That sounds rather generous, doesn't it!"
He turned his glare on the werewolf leader. He sounded so jovial and accommodating, but his tone was dripping with toxically sweet promises, a veneer of good fortune before the bad luck struck home. He twirled his hand toward Ash with emphasized flair, smiling all the while at Allen.
The one eye Ash had that wasn't swollen was glowering sullenly between the werewolf leader and Allen. He took a step forward. Then another. His eyes darted around, trying to map out an escape, a plan of attack, anything at all to turn the tide in his and Ash's favour. He went over everything he could see so far.
Ash wasn't healing. She was therefore more vulnerable than usual to injury. She was bound and unable to fight. How, though? He couldn't see. And he could see the flicker of fire from candles that littered the room, mostly in the corners or around the pillars. If she wanted, she could have summoned fire at any time, but if she hasn't done so now, then that too was wrong. They were up against four other werewolves. Humans were one thing. Inhuman monsters were quite another.
Everything just felt wrong.
Ash—his Ash—wasn't fighting back, or perhaps she wasn't able to.
They needed silver. They needed fire.
They had neither.
A passage from Ash's book hit him in that moment.
'Wolfsbane is poisonous to humans, but even more so to werewolves. If ingested or injected or inhaled, wolfsbane locks a werewolf in the form they are currently in, and keeps them from shifting. Their healing factor will also suffer, leaving them more vulnerable to injury and even death. Even a small amount can weaken a werewolf. A large enough dose can kill them outright. Only older werewolves racking up a few hundred or even thousands of years in age have built up a form of resistance, however marginal, against it. The older the werewolf, the larger the dose will be needed.'
Allen didn't know how old Ash really was or how much wolfsbane it had taken to weaken her. It was the only explanation he could think of. She was poisoned. That must be why she wasn't able to fight back as effectively and why she was so injured and still suffering from her wounds.
All that's left is my Crown Clown. My hand might work for a time, but not the sword, that works against Noah and Akuma only.
Ash tipped her head to look at him as he approached, a mixture of pain and disappointment etched on her face. I know, I know, he wanted to say. I'm an idiot, for coming here like they expected me to. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
She barked something at him and he stopped dead in his tracks, barely a meter away from reaching her. He stared, stiff-shouldered and surprised as he tried to process whether it had been an order or just a noise. She barked it again, and this time he understood. She had said 'silver cuffs' in Russian. The guttural syllables rattled over one another like growling thunder.
Now that he was more focused, he could smell something familiar: burning flesh. He glanced over his shoulder, shooting a glare at the four werewolves. The sallow-faced one that had escorted him was scowling right back at him. The fully shifted one was prowling on all fours behind the other three, golden eyes locked on him, a wolfish grin plastered on his snout and a rumbling whine in his chest. The leader looked unconcerned, examining the claws on one of his hands with more interest. The fourth was leaning against one of the pillars, appearing just as bored.
Apparently, they haven't heard what she said or maybe they just didn't understand Russian. Allen hoped it was both. He turned back and strode forward, knelt in front of her and carefully gathering her up in his arms. When he did, he peered over her shoulder and down. She lifted her arms as much as she could and he stared at the cuffs at her wrists. Already, the scarred flesh was burnt and irritated, the wounds weeping clear liquid and blood. She hissed quietly when they shifted and he could hear the silver actually sizzle when it touched her. Just hearing it made the cold ball of ice in his chest grow bigger with dread.
But wait…he could see something, a kind of band on her forearm. Thin and tight, with a little shiny screen on her underarm. It clicked moments later and Allen realized that it was the same kind of armband the werewolves who had disappeared had on. Some kind of teleportation device, he deduced.
"You're an idiot," she said softly, but there was no malice in her tone. He sighed.
"I know."
"I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything less," she continued in Russian, her voice strained and tight. Ash was shaking from the pain. "Get them off, please."
He didn't need any further prompting. He squeezed her a little tighter and muttered an apology when she grunted in discomfort. She replied it was fine and repeated at him to get the cuffs off. He shifted a little to hide his arm from sight as it transformed. His bladed hand flicked and he sliced through the cuffs without effort. He snatched up the pieces before they could hit the hardwood floor and tucked them into his sleeves.
Ash flexed her hands. They were trembling. She kept them behind her back for the time being.
"Where's your weapons?" He asked her softly.
"Bow's gone. Rifle and shotgun too. Pack leader has my knives. Skinny fuck who brought you in has my pistol. Lull them. Get me the white knife back. Now follow my lead."
"What—"
She shouldered him in the chest before he could finish—not hard, but just enough to send him stumbling.
"You fucking idiot! I told you to run! I told you to take the fucking raft and get out of here! Himiko is gone, you could have saved yourself!" She snapped at him in English, her face drawn and pinched into a snarl.
He stared at her, baffled for only a moment, but he only allowed a beat to pass before he knew what she was getting at. Her eyes were still mismatched. There was malice in her voice, but it was all an act. He knew what she wanted now: Distract them.
Allen scowled back, donning his own mask for the charade.
"What did you expect me to do, leave you here with these monsters? There's no way I'd do that! You should know that by now!"
"Have you forgotten I'm not human? I can handle a beating better than you; now they're going to kill you, and frankly, maybe they should. You've been a pain in my ass since day one!"
He shot her a warning look and he saw the tiniest shrug from her shoulders and a quirk of her lips. A quick and quiet apology. Her eyes flicked away from him only a moment, looking behind him, and it was all the warning he needed.
"Oh my. It seems our little wolf has had a change of heart about you. How fickle of her, isn't it? Well, I suppose that's that, I'm afraid. You're time's up—"
A hand barely touched his shoulder before Allen spun around, quick as a wink, his clawed hand striking home. It was the skinny werewolf who had escorted him to the throne room he hit. Something went flying and there was blood and screaming and all manner of curses and promises of making him die slowly thrown at him as the lanky werewolf backpedaled away. The other three weren't idle long and they sprung forward: the big shifted werewolf, the leader, and the bored quiet one. The skinny werewolf flung himself onto the ground clutching at his bloody stump of a limb, already scrambling for the other half while leaving a messy trail on the floor.
Ash set off another rumble of growls just behind Allen.
"I thought they said he was just a stinkin' human?"
"Well, he's obviously more than that; I knew something didn't smell right about him!"
The big werewolf charged forward ahead of the other two, bearing down on Allen. Ash came barreling around with a hard kick in his gut. Despite her current condition, Allen knew she wasn't a slouch when push came to shove. The big werewolf went tumbling back a few good meters, looking bewildered between where Ash had been and where she was now. A flash of surprise crossed the others' faces, before it melted into utter rage and indignation. Even the leader of their little troupe was no longer smiling. The skinny werewolf that had escorted Allen finally reached his severed limb and was shakily pressing its stump to the rest of his arm.
"Grant. Is your arm reattaching?"
"Fuck. It's getting there, Dev. I can't—I-I need to bandage it for it to actually attach right, though. Fucking hell."
The skinny werewolf, Grant, shot a murderous look over his shoulder towards Allen. It was all he needed to get his point across. Words weren't needed at all.
"So…you're not a normal human. It seems either our benefactor underestimated you, did a poor reconnaissance on you, or they decided to withhold information from us on purpose. Given who we're contracted with, I wouldn't put it past them to combine all three on purpose just to see what would happen." The leader, Dev, spoke quietly. There were no hidden depths of sickly sweet joy or elation marking his words like there had been earlier. It was all business, hard and sharp like the edge of a blade. His perpetual smile still hadn't returned and the glint of mocking in his eyes had dispersed completely. Allen felt his shoulders and back tensing, bracing for what was to come.
"Didn't anyone teach you not to underestimate humans, asshole?" Ash spat, lips peeling back to show off her fangs. The others mimicked her. Even from here, Allen could see they all had sharp canines, much too long to be of any use in a human's mouth.
"You'd choose humans over your own kind?" The skinny werewolf, Grant, spat between clenched teeth. "You'd rather screw them than eat them but I guess we shouldn't have expected much from a fucking human lover."
Allen bristled at the remark, words lining up on his lips, but Ash beat him to it.
"I'd rather side with the goddamned Solarii over you fuckers, and that's saying something."
Allen glanced at her from the corner of his eye in surprise. She was glowering with all the heated loathing she could muster, her eyes glittering a bright hot yellow-gold.
Wait…
She had had a black eye moments ago, swollen shut and purple-blue all over. Now it was going away with a sickly yellow-green colour left behind, and he could actually see her eye. All the cuts and abrasions and the split open lip she had been sporting was beginning to slowly but surely knit themselves back together as well. The other werewolves noticed this just as quickly and their demeanor changed instantly.
"Something's wrong. Why's the wolfsbane wearing off so quickly, Dev? File said she's only five hundred years and some change! We gave her enough to keep her on her ass for a week! She shouldn't be healing!" Grant piped up, his voice climbing an octave higher with apprehension.
The quietest werewolf of the group, the one who had yet to speak at all, ghosted forward at Grant's worried tone, his face pinched into a quiet snarl. Ash leapt forward, meeting him blow for blow. Between the two of them, Allen could only see a tangle of limbs—first human, then wolf, then both, fur and flesh changing seamlessly between the two of them. Ash's tail whipped back and forth as they tumbled and clashed, standing on end the whole time as she kicked, scratched, punched, and twisted about. When the two finally separated, the quiet one was standing in his fur, his human façade melting away in lieu of his wolfish identity. Bits of his clothes were littered about around them, his boots cast aside for his paws. His dark fur was smattered with blood here and there, although evidence of any injuries had already healed.
Ash was a little rougher-looking, her wounds slow to close and blood oozing from the latest ones, but they were healing all the same. The big werewolf whined impatiently from across the throne room, eyes darting between Dev, Ash, the quiet werewolf, and Allen.
"Can I? Can I? I'm hungry, Dev. Can I eat him?"
Dev waved a hand impatiently, his glowing eyes still glued on Ash, his jaw pinched tight. She flipped him the middle finger, but Allen barely noticed, his attention diverted to the big werewolf.
"Go. Eat. Try not to make too much of a mess this time, Mercer. And I must stress that we can't kill her, we need her alive! Xerxes will have all of our pelts hanging in his office if she dies!"
The big wolf, Mercer, turned his massive skull toward Allen and smiled with all his teeth showing. Even Grant, sitting further back and clutching his severed arm to his stump, cast a wickedly dark smirk Allen's way. Mercer began advancing, his heavy footsteps causing the wooden floorboards beneath him to shudder and groan in protest.
"Ooh, boy. I love exotic new things to crunch my fangs into."
Allen's stomach twisted with anticipation at the hungry wolfish smile on Mercer's face and braced himself.
OoOoOoOoOoO
