Chapter 216: Hold Out Until the Moon Rises
A werewolf could pass between human form and wolf form at will. In infancy that control was weak—some cubs ran wild, and some could not govern the change at all—but by the time they were old enough for elementary school, most could shape it to their own will.
Na Wangrang was the exception.
He had become a wolf only once. It was a night of the full moon, and his father had brought him to a mountain empty of people, meaning to teach his son control. Trusting Dad, Na Wangrang let go of the nature he had been crushing down. And then…….
He had sworn he would never transform into a wolf again.
Grrrrrrrr.
A wolf's howl. Three hundred heard it.
A chill. Another chill. Skin prickled, and legs shook. Pores gaped and spilled their heat; fangs slid back into the gums; tails vanished between thighs, and a wet sheen rose in every eye. Loyalty and love for the king were gone. Fear sat where they had been—instinctive fear, fear carved into blood and into the species itself. Defiance meant nothing. Resistance was worthless. The only posture left was absolute submission. Not one of them dared hold a frail neck stiff.
Only then did the werewolves understand why they had no choice but to follow the king. Their blood had known all along what the king was, and what that wolf was to them. He was the prime current. Far, far back—long before the age of myth an outsider had brought to an end—the first wolf ever born upon the Earth. A wolf that still possessed that essence. And so he was king.
The ideal they would have to chase for the whole of their lives stood there. The hope they might pursue for a lifetime and never reach stood there. Mere copies, lesser offshoots, they could only look up to the original and serve it.
Thump. Thump. One by one, slowly, they cast off human shape, became wolves, and went to their knees. Upright muzzles drove into the dirt. Eyes squeezed shut in worship. Those still standing were the king and the traitors. The space had become a noble Sanctuary, fit to receive a god.
This is impossible.
Thunder's reason screamed. Kneel, this instant! How dare you look the king in the eye!
The reason he had thought devoured—swallowed whole by his savage nature—crawled back out, heedless of its own flesh tearing. And the savage nature warned him in turn. Like this, they would annihilate each other. A fight would break open inside him with the great enemy already before his eyes, and he would have to do battle as neither one thing nor the other. Then he would die without a chance.
Thunder crushed down the guilt and loyalty surging up in him and thrust a hand into his robes.
Th-this was the one thing I meant not to use, if I could help it!
The ominous syringe that had sent Last Day's Sunlight into a fury. The very pinnacle of ruin, handed over with a beaming smile by that mad Scientist.
"You'll die for certain if you use it, you know? And if you don't die, you'll become a monster that has transcended death. Well—if you want to snuff out the will sleeping in your people's blood, you have to go at least that far, don't you?"
Heh heh. A laugh that did not belong on that genteel face flickered through his mind.
What that man said was not wrong. Yes. This ordeal has to surpass even death.
To overcome the king, he would have to abandon his own kind. A werewolf clumsily remade would be of no use at all.
"Hup!"
Pshk. Thunder drove the needle in toward his own heart. Glug, glug. The sticky black liquid seeped into his blood as if it were a fish that had found water.
"Hhk—!"
Thunder's fur shuddered. The coat that had seemed to hold lightning dyed black from the roots. Thud! His heart beat slow—slowly, like an old man meeting his end. The blood lost speed, and the black liquid fed on it and swelled.
Th-this is taboo! This is rebellion against Heaven!
Because he was a beast that lived, Thunder understood what it was. Death. Death taking form. Not some halfway dross one might call death-qi. Truly the death a single life comes to meet.
"That…… damned…… bastard…… what did he…… do to me……?"
Overcome this? Impossible. How was anyone meant to overcome death? This was not the sort of thing the grit and effort out of a story could conquer.
Thud!
"Khek!"
His heart beat for the last time. The instant death seized his whole body, it drove out the life that was no longer needed. Life leaked from every hole there was. Thunder gaped and vomited up his own life, and the sight was profoundly grotesque—as if a devil were wrenching his soul out of him.
"Hhk—!"
Thunder's eyes flew open. He groped at himself. The lightning-bright fur he had been so proud of was dyed black, and the eyes madness had reddened were stained black as well. His proud teeth were gone; only a gloomy fog spilled out, and the keenness of his five senses had gone dim.
The heart isn't beating…….
Not only the heart. Lungs, ears, innards—all of them had stopped. A living corpse. Thunder had become no different from a zombie.
"Heh heh heh."
He let out an empty laugh, unable to believe it. Thunder was dead. What stood here on two legs was only the residual consciousness left in the flesh, and that consciousness, too, was going out.
"Last Day……."
"Thunder……."
He called his one and only friend. The friend's face was full of grief.
"See to what comes after. Today, it seems, is my end."
"……."
"I beg you—our wol—"
Snap. Thunder's head dropped. In that moment every trace of Thunder's Footsteps was extinguished. What remained was—
————.
Nothing but a corpse eaten by death. That corpse creaked its neck around and looked at Na Wangrang.
"……."
Na Wangrang mourned the impious vassal's death in silence and raised his claws. Taking that for a signal, the dead one charged.
Claws came flying along an ominous arc, aimed at his throat. Na Wangrang met claw with claw and knocked them aside. Krak-kak-kak! The sound of claw on claw was grotesque, like the noise of the boundary that divides the living from the dead. He bent his legs. Black fog passed over his head like a breath.
"Everyone, get far back!"
He shouted it as he shoved the dead one off with his shoulder.
"What are you lot doing! This is a sacred battle! Fall back and give them room!"
Elder Wildflower, his face gone hard, took command of the werewolves. Those who had prostrated themselves drew well away. The fog pouring off the dead tried to slip out of the dueling ground and stopped as if it had struck an invisible membrane—the barrier Hong Yumin had set. That barrier spat discord and crackled. Watching from the guest room, Hong Yumin clicked her tongue and reinforced it with a Word-command. When the barrier steadied, Na Wangrang let himself breathe.
The dead did not miss the opening. It split his chest in a straight line.
"Kgh."
He wrenched his body back and just avoided a fatal wound, but what poured from the cut was not blood. It was black smoke. His blood raced. The sacred blood of the king moved to drive the intruder out.
Drag this out, and I die.
Death was filling the space around him. The fog choked his breath, and the dead thing meant to make the living the same as itself. A vicious malice. Na Wangrang was sick with disgust. Better to have simply killed the man than to insult a corpse and handle it like this.
It's far worse than what I heard.
The Scientist behind the traitors. Whatever else he was, he seemed a demon wearing a human shape.
Whap! A supple tail cracked like a whip across the belly. It was like striking rock. Nothing came of it. The dead one's hands danced in a blur—wild, almost careless swings, and yet each one moved like a shaft of light and overflowed with beast-fury. Was it because the thing had taken the fastest body in the clan? It used that flesh as freely as if it had always been its own. For Na Wangrang, whose experience was thin, there was nothing to choose but defense.
Both arms tattered like rags. The intruders forcing their way into his body multiplied without end. Ignoring the churn in his gut, Na Wangrang raked the dead one's head with his claws. A king's claws—the strongest claws a werewolf possessed—and they left only a dent. The corpse seized both his shoulders. Its jaw opened. Fog shaped like teeth hungered for firm flesh.
"Hup!"
Bang! He drove the jaw aside with his head. The dead one's skull rocked, and the grip on his shoulders loosened a fraction. He twisted and shook free. Both arms flung wide, laying bare an unguarded front, and Na Wangrang tore into that opening in the same indiscriminate frenzy the dead had used on him.
A numbing jolt. The edges of his claws gave out. An edge that could split rock like tofu could not part a dead man's hide.
I can't win like this.
Na Wangrang understood. He had meant to end it while the sun was still up. In this state he could attack for a hundred days and never leave a scratch. Had Thunder still been alive, the matchup would have favored him; against the dead, brandishing the station of king did not take in the slightest. Lamenting how far short he fell, he reached for the last resort.
Hold out like this until the moon rises.
A shame it would not be the full moon. If only the moon rose, he could win. The problem—
is whether I can last that long!
A crude kick hooked his leg. Black energy clamped his ankle like a shackle.
"————!!!"
He roared as if to seize hold of himself and opened the distance. Fog shot after him to close it. His vision blurred. The fog had all but cut off every side. The sun had passed its height and lay across the mountain ridge.
The fight had only just begun.