SHE FOLLOWS THE MOON

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 63 (v.1) - Death Angel’s Shadow

Submitted: June 13, 2019

Reads: 46

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Submitted: June 13, 2019

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King Lycan arrived on the outskirts of the encampment with fifty of the lackey vampires turned recently from nearby towns and oasis. Five high priestesses also added in the raid upon the soldiers in order to assess the enemy’s abilities and tactics. Carrying the moon-blade, Christos came along to observe and report directly to the queen upon their return. Lycan ordered him to keep his distance if Arcas or Maahes recognized the alien metal his plan would be foiled before it even started.

From downwind, Lycan considered the soldier camp in the warm desert night. He would send the entire battalion of the undead when everything was in place. All but Christos and two priestesses, who would be spared to carry him back to Hepthelios. His nostrils flared on the familiar scent of the ratnoid virus prevalent in the camp. Its infection and presence were trouble for his side in this, and the world at large, if these men were half of what he thought they might be capable of in battle. These men were highly trained, and he had no doubt it was infantry among the camp who were infected. It was possible the wererat might be superior to the werewolf in many ways. The time had come to test them, and he grunted orders to a priestess in an ancient language. “Kill as many soldiers as you can.”

The two guards posted at the entrance of the camp should have been dead before they knew what hit them, that is if they’d been ordinary men and not rat men.

Rats are one of the world’s most accomplished creatures on earth, second to humans for the most part, though arguments could be made for others. Intelligent, focused, and adaptable, there is no place on earth where they have not gone. If men have been there, there’s a good chance the rat has as well. Rats have an uncanny sense of smell and these men infected with the virus of rat-infected lycanthropy were no different. And since the undead stink, like rotten flesh, they were easily detected, and the laser weapons of the soldiers suddenly fired silent projectiles of green light at the invading horde.

The staggered undead screamed and writhed in agony as they burned like flaming blue candles.

The two guards shouted a warning to their fellows, but even before the general alarm went up, a roar erupted from the big tent and his grandson charged from the tent. The mighty roar of the bear was followed by howls of alarm and a high-pitched whistle. Officers barked orders, and for the most part, took cover, to let the Rangers do the fighting.

Lycan was not afraid of death, and if he were to die, “Let be by his own bloodline’s hand,” he looked to the northern stars where their battle was written in a story as old as eternity. His grandson mighty paw slapped a head from its body and slammed his giant blue werebear body into a mass of the recently turned villagers at full charge. He watched from the top of the hill as the soldiers used the lasers to burn the vampires to crisp. Maahes and the wolves of Heptet joined the battle with their swords. In the stress of the event, the soldiers turned fully into wererats while using the laser weapons with deadly accuracy, and their tails with devastating dexterity.

Suddenly, from the desert, on the road to the camp, music blared, growing louder. As the sound neared, the music became an Elvis song. “A little less talk, a little more action…”

A pair of bright lights emerged between the two hills as a convertible nineteen seventies, pink Cadillac, sped into the camp bursting through wooden crossbars at the makeshift guard station with a loud crash.

A woman rode the American car from the top of the seat like a surfer, sword in hand, a wooden crate under her other arm.

“Payna.” Lycan shook his head. “Fuck!”

 Leaping from the speeding vehicle and transforming to werewolf mid-air, the woman pirouetted, tossing the crate aside as she did, and landing in the perfect spot to cut down one of the priestesses with her sword.

 “Little bitch.” Lycan took an admiring breath and then drew one in concern. He knew that General Bradha’s daughter could turn any battle.

The car exploded in a ball flame that shot into the sky briefly alighting the small desert enclave with a flash of light.

He'd seen enough and knew enough to have a plan for escape.

 


© Copyright 2019 Tim ArnZen. All rights reserved.

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