Curse of Ferreus

8 - Rivals & Strays

I send my throwing blades hissing through the air for the hoard of werewolves rushing at me. With a gratifying hiss and a wet thud, they connect solidly exactly where I intended— in the necks of the two closest men.

They stagger backwards, grasping at their throats as blood seeps down their shirts. They're gasping and coughing as they collapse to their knees— abruptly no longer a threat and counting down the seconds to a painful end.

The others don't seem to care. They shove their comrades aside and rush for me with war cries.

I meet their challenge, dodging and weaving between their brutal swings, using their force against them. Blade after blade I send hissing through the air. Blade after blade nestles in their skin.

My mind is quiet and my muscles tingle with instinctive reflexes that have me jabbing and feigning and slashing. I'm one with the icy air swirling around our chaos; a force you never see coming until it is upon you.

That is until I reach for my belt and find my blades are all used up, deposited neatly in the necks of several slump forms on the ground.

Fuck, how I miss having a full set.

No matter. I adapt, as I always will. I tear the knife from my ankle and send it slashing. It rips across a werewolf's chest and he falls back with a grunt of pain.

I fall back, too, and tear out a throwing blade from the closest neck.

"Stop fucking around and kill him," a voice I vaguely recognise as Seb's hisses as he grabs for me.

As you wish.

I dodge and roll and shove my knife right up to the hilt into his side. His yell of agony is a melody in my ears. Blood splatters across my face as I twist and tear it free.

He grunts in pain and shoves me back before stumbling to the ground. He'll bleed out before he can heal— the silver will ensure it. An instant later, hands grab for me and haul me up.

I'm shoved hard against the alley wall, the impact jarring.

A few of them have knives. Not silver ones, but sharp ones. Intended, I presume, for some carving once I'm dead. And some maiming whilst I'm still alive.

They get a few good slashes in before one grows impatient and sends his fist flying for my face.

The next moment, I'm crumpled on the ground as agony explodes across my jaw. Fucking shit.

I fight and struggle my way to my knees, slashing at their arms as they reach for me.

Fuck, what I wouldn't give for a gas canister right about now.

In their eager rush to get at me, they stumble over one another. I aim my knife and send it flying for the burly one with the broad shoulders. He appears to be leading the fight, and if I get him on the ground, the others will panic.

My aim lands true— the knife burrows into his chest. He falls back with a grimace, clutches the hilt, and rips it free. Damning himself.

"You bastard," he groans, tossing it to the ground.

It clatters uselessly out of reach. I can only hope the adrenaline wears off and he bleeds out before he can reach me.

But by that time, in their distraction, I've wrestled my way to my feet.

Watch your footing, Esme's voice whispers through my head.

I set my weight and meet their chaotic advance with my fists flying and blood coating my mouth. I'm weaponless, but not yet defenceless.