Children of The Underground

Chapter 3: The Wolves in The Woods

Drazhek's eyes darted around the forest's edge, trying in vain to count the glowing orbs of light that blazed out from them. But he knew it was all for naught. One fist tightened over the axe handle, while another reached for the pistol strapped to his thigh, the same one he brought with him to his meeting with Misha. He thought it'd bring him good luck on their trip to The Vyrai Gate.

From the corner of his eye, Drazhek saw Misha thumbing the hammer of her blunderbuss with an audible click. That was good. If she covered him, then he could reach his blunderbuss in time, before the owners of those glowing, hateful eyes decided to pounce.

Just as Drazhek reached his blunderbuss, the creatures walked out of the woods.

"Veles pobyeri," he swore in terror. "They're vulkolaks."

"Vulkolak" was the common name for a mutant wolf. The original word meant "werewolf" in mednagoran, but the magic of the zones had created something far worse. These wolves were larger, closer in size to young bear. They had bald patches on their skin, revealing smooth, diseased looking skin. They were barrel-chested and humpbacked. Spines and bony growths jutted from their vertebrae, from their shoulders and forearms too.

Eight, nine, perhaps even ten of these creatures emerged from the woods in an arrow-shaped pack. The vulkolak at the tip of the arrowhead was larger and more muscular than the rest and was probably the pack's leader. It approached the vedmaks, growling like a dog, but deeper and more resonant.   

Drazhek felt his stomach tying up into a knot. But he felt more revulsion than fear. The creatures were...grotesque. They were frightening, and very dangerous. But his fear was made potent by his revulsion. Some rational part of his mind gibbered that things like the vulkolak shouldn't be alive, and if they were alive, then they lived damned, excruciating, brutish lives with neither pity nor joy.

Drazhek made no move to pick up his blunderbuss. A single shot could easily slay one vulkolak, two if they were close enough together. But then, he'd have to reload and the rest would be upon him. Misha could cover him while this went on, but even if she got lucky and also managed to kill two wolves with one shot, that would leave two more vulkolaks each ready to tear their throats.

The final option was to simply bail. But that would mean certain death. If he would die anyway, then at least he wanted to die fighting.

"Hey Drazhek," called out Misha. "I think I know how to save us."

"Great, what do we do?" Drazhek asked. This banter might have been pointless, but to Drazhek it was good. Banter calmed him. It kept his mind off of his impending demise.

"Well, first, I need you to take out that pistol of yours and shoot one of the bastards,"

"Yeb tvojun mat!" Drazhek shouted, uttering a pungent mednagoran curse, whose politest translation meant "I have intimate knowledge of your mother!" Even Misha was taken aback. "You're the one with the gods-damned blunderbuss!" But nevertheless, he took his pistol off of his thigh and fired at the nearest vulkolak.

The gunshot roared like a thunderclap. Drazhek could feel the gun's recoil kick from his wrist up to his elbow. The muzzle flash was as hot and as bright as the tongue of an open flame. Drazhek could see the vulkolak crumple to the ground, like a dishrag, a messy red hole in its forehead. There was a second crashing bang as Misha fired her blunderbuss. Drazhek had time to see two more vulkolaks go down, twisted into mangled, bloody heaps by the spray of shot pellets.

Drazhek was stunned by the gunshot. His ears rang from the blast, and he could only hear the high, sharp tone of tinnitus, stabbing into his brain like bayonets.

His vision, though, was unaffected and he could see Misha pull what looked like a matchstick the size of a billy club out of her rucksack, its tip was ruby red with a lacquered layer of burning fuzz. It was an autotorch. If rubbed against a surface with enough friction, the heads would combust, burning brighter and longer than any normal torch.

Misha struck the autotorch against the dry grass, its head igniting with the brightness of a thousand suns. She then slung her blunderbuss over her shoulder, and drew her sword with the same motion.

The remaining vulkolaks recoiled from the heat and light, but didn't back away. The lead vulkolak was still alive, fixing Misha with its vile, silver-white eyes. Misha didn't break eye contact. But while she and the vulkolak leader were staring each other down, the two other vulkolaks began to strafe her, creeping in a narrow arc towards her flanks.

Drazhek didn't wait for what happened next. He picked up his blunderbuss and jammed a cartridge into the muzzle. There wasn't any time to force the ammo down with a ramrod, so he held the gun by its barrel and swung it butt first into the ground. He crouched on one knee, the gun butt nestled against his shoulder, pulled the hammer, and took aim.

I took him only fifteen or twenty seconds to load the gun. But the vulkolaks had already flanked Misha. If they pounced now, then Drazhek couldn't save her.

Drazhek swore, and was about to take the shot...When a black shadow, as big as a house swooped down and picked up one vulkolak. The creature yipped and whined as the shadow covered it. There was a loud, wet crunching and ripping. The vulkolak went silent.

Their flying savior was a simargul. The creatures were mutated, carnivorous bats Or at least, that's what they looked like. Drazhek caught sight of membranous wings and a black, furry body. But its head was conical, and foxlike. With astounding speed, and shocking ruthlessness, Misha slashed twice across the creatures membranous wings with her sword.

The simargul shrieked with almost human pain and surprise, and the remaining wolves pounced upon it. With its wings cut like that, the creature could no more fly than could a stone. And the vulkolaks had enough of the measly, troublesome bipeds, wielding fire and those strange, thunderous death-throwers. The vulkolaks were hungry, and a large, wounded simargul had far more meat upon it.

So that's what your plan was? Drazhek was horrified by the cold-blooded pragmatism. Try to lure in some other hungry beast and let them duke it out? Holy shit, Misha. But he was taken out of this reverie by the sound of more beating, leathery wings. More simarguls had come to the frenzied vulkolaks, feasting on a grisly smorgasbord made from their fallen brethren.

"C'mon!" Misha cried out. She sheathed her sword and took Drazhek by the hand, running westward towards the setting sun. "We can't stay here, but I think I know a place where we can go! Just a little further beyond—"

And then, Misha cut off, vanishing into thin air. Before Drazhek could react, he also vanished. In their haste to escape the feeding mutants, they ran straight into an anomaly. A teleport, by the looks of it.

Because when Drazhek and Misha reappeared, the sky had already turned black. The stars and moon twinkled in the sky like jewels in a dark, silk gown. They were in free fall for only a moment, but as they hurtled to the earth, screaming mindlessly, they were unharmed because they landed on something soft and squishy.

They had landed on a hill of corpses.