Moving assuredly, Zahn weaved through the steady crowd of people disembarking from the busy docking ring, his heavy steps echoing along the dark metal floor. The distant stars beyond the transparent glass viewports that ran along the station’s wall to his right, painted a brilliant cosmic panorama. But each shining star only drew out memories of his beloved Seraphina. Her pleading face haunted the broken edges of his very soul, his eyes searching for her hopelessly amidst the endless throng of passing faces.
Fool.
Only a fool would think that this wasn’t a trap, only a fool would have come so far just to be disappointed. If for whatever reason it turned out not to be a set-up, he’d start believing in miracles again.
But he just couldn't resist the call to come, Seraphina’s message had been too real, too heartfelt to ignore. He’d thought her dead for so long that…he’d do anything to disprove it to himself, to hope it’d been a terrible mistake. Holograms could be convincingly faked, he damn well knew that, but they often lacked the ability to convey the nuances of human emotion like she had. And she knew things about him and about the past. Even some things that his closest confidants, his friends, his own brothers even, would be hard-pressed to know or recall. But even with those assurances, his doubts nearly overwhelmed him with every step taken forward.
It would’ve been smart to have at least brought a squad with him, ready to turn the place into a bloody warzone if anything even looked remotely out of place. Maybe, he just didn’t want to appear the fool in front of his men if he’d been wrong, or more likely, some part of him just wanted to be alone, for once. To actually hear his own thoughts, to follow his own path again. Zahn sighed, the words felt as hollow as he did. Regardless of the why, he had stupidly ignored his head and followed his heart, and that was usually his first mistake.
Someone bumped into him, and pulled him from his thoughts. And his hand fell instinctively to the WES-J9 auto-pistol holstered at his left side for comfort. He ran his fingers along the familiar grooves and texture of its worn grip. A personal and ancient ritual of his that drew glances from concerned passersby. But their gawking eyes meant nothing to him. And if any of them felt strongly enough about it, he’d happily gouge them out to relieve them of the burden.
Not one man or all the men here were a threat to him, but that didn’t mean there weren't some lurking in the shadows. If this was a trap, he’d already exhausted the list of potential suspects who could have set it. Probably a thousand times by now and none of them had come any closer to making sense. The usual suspects had long since scattered to the winds and none of the pasty bastards would have known the things this possible imposter knew. And any human enemies he’d had, had long since been corpses, rotted out and decayed; either by his own hand or that of Father Time himself.
Storage Rooms 4A-4L.
A small sign above him read, and he needed to get to 4G.
Turning out of the hall that had been bustling with noisy children and the chatter of inattentive adults, he thankfully found himself in one that was relatively silent. The only sounds were distant and barely intelligible…which he supposed, should probably worry him more. Pausing at the huge door as he arrived, the rhythmic pulse of a single heartbeat called out to him from inside. It was steady, undeterred and unafraid, but depth of the thick metals surrounding the room made its gender unclear. He didn’t smell anything either, it could be anybody waiting in there.
Reaching for the handle, the smarter, wizened part of him tried one last time to convince himself. To get him to return to Azrhar, to be the wise mentor and fearless leader he had been for so long. After how hard he’d fought to bring them this far, why would he risk it all on a whim? A whim that could not even remotely be true, no matter how hard he tried to make it so. His mind tried to present several grand, romantic and ideal reasons, but ultimately settled on the one he knew to be true.
Because he was…bored.
Boredom was an immortal’s greatest enemy, and he, chief among them, was greatly afflicted. And he harbored no doubt that it would one day, maybe even today, prove terminal.
Tightening his grip on his pistol, he slowly opened the door, leaning in to listen closely. The steady thump of the heartbeat was clear now and…unsurprisingly, it wasn't his wife's, but instead that of a man. But foreknowledge of the deceit did little to alleviate his rising anger, rage surged through him like a tsunami, gripping on his senses like a seething viper. With one mighty pull, he ripped the massive metal door off its track with a loud, screeching metal groan. Sparks from the hydraulics system sprayed into the air in a puff of black smoke.
Who had fucking dared?
Some insolent human with some sort of a score to settle or just one with a death wish even? He would tear him in half for his troubles...no, into fourths, for daring to use her against him! Like a thundering rain cloud, he stormed into the enormous and shadow enshrouded room. All was dark inside, save for one beam of light at its center. The blinding fixture was so impossibly bright that he had to squint to even see the silhouette standing underneath it.
“Speak, tell me your name, so they’ll know what to put on the headstone! Not that much will be left to be buried!” He roared maliciously.
The light flared and he grunted in pain as he shielded his eyes. Then the light suddenly dimmed, lower than before. But it had already filled his eyes with enough black spots to darken the greater part of his vision.
The silhouette laughed, almost casually. “They didn’t believe you’d come, I barely believed you would. We argued about it for weeks and weeks and even went as far as to put some money on it. Five fissens said you wouldn’t be able to resist,” The silhouette paused. “I’m five bucks richer.”
“And who are you?” Zahn asked as he unholstered his weapon and primed himself to unload the entire mag into the man’s chest at the slightest whiff of further treachery.
The light dimmed again and after his eyes slowly adjusted, he could see the vaguely familiar features of the man clearly. A face from so far back into the past that it was almost completely foreign. So much so, that he didn’t even remember what the mystery man’s name was, but he did know what he was.
The gun would be of less use now.
“I…what’s with all the goddamn operatics?” Zahn said as he holstered.
“I know, I know, you probably don’t remember me that well, but being dead has done little to dampen my incessant flair for the dramatic,” The man chuckled. “It’s like fucking coke, I swear.”
“I do not recall your name.”
The man casually inspected his fingernails. “You’ll know it well soon enough, when I capture you in a few minutes.”
Zahn’s eyes darkened and he just barely restrained himself from pouncing on him, his curiosity had been piqued. “You sure about that?”
“Pretty sure, or you could walk out with me on your own two feet. Maybe go out with some dignity? That’s what Seraphina would’ve wanted, right?”
A sudden shift in the air caught his attention and certain details about the room became clearer as his eyes continued to readjust. The shadows around him were dark…unnaturally dark, even his formidable eyesight could not hope to pierce them. Then, from all around him, from out of the opaque void materialized a dozen hooded figures. Each carrying a colorful variety of bristling, automatic weapons aimed at his head. The soft, barely perceptible pitter patter of their inhumanly quiet footsteps surrounded him, as they swiftly blocked off his only exit. No breath came from their lungs and no heartbeat from their chests. He could barely even see their faces, but he could clearly see their yellow, ungodly eyes aglow in the dark.
“A coward and a traitor then? Well your math is still a little off, I am walking out of here, alone.” Zahn continued, sniffing at the air inquisitively, confused as to why all of his senses had betrayed him.
“Ten gallons of industrial grade deodorizer,” The man offered. “Wouldn’t be able to smell your own piss if you drank it. Plus, I made sure they showered first…I did us all a favor.”
But Zahn ignored the fool, he was done with banter, done with words. His murderous eyes sized up the walking corpses around him more intently, ready to shred them all into pieces. His claws slowly and instinctively extended at the thought and a monstrous growl built at the base of his throat. But as his killing instincts were about to run over…even more came out of the dark, three times the number that had been there before. He hadn’t felt real fear since probably before the compass had been invented, and he still wouldn't. But he knew that his chances of getting out of there in one piece had just dramatically diminished.
Stepping back, he held his head low, allowing himself to take in all that was around him, then…abruptly, a deafening roar erupted from deep within his chest, shaking the very ground beneath his feet as he unleashed a ferocious declaration of impending violence. Several of his would-be killers ducked down in pain, grabbing at their ears as their aims faltered. Zahn happily took advantage of it…and in that moment, he was no longer himself, he was a blur. Fueled by thousands of years of killing instinct, driven by a thirst for blood and vengeance. With lightning speed, he tore through his enemies with razor-sharp claws and teeth. They were fast, but too slow; with relative ease he sank into their flesh and devoured it hungrily. Bathing gleefully in their purplish blood in a crescendo of death and destruction, that Ares himself would be disgusted with. But the warm fluid did not sate him, it only fueled the fire within him. Further igniting the uncontrollable urge to consume every single last one of them, until only he remained.
They’d fucked with the wrong werewolf.
Intermittent gunfire cracked the air as a horde of bullets riddled the length of his body, tearing through his durtanium armor and flesh like paper. It was slowing him down, but it wasn’t going to stop him. Their cries of agony rang out like a chorus and in each of their terrified faces before they died, he saw realization. A realization that traps didn’t always favor the hunter.
He felt the change start to beckon to him, a blazing inferno building within his very soul that demanded to be released. Taking advantage of a brief pause in the fighting, Zahn allowed his body to start the transformation, his snout and feet elongated and fur—.
A loud string of gunshots rang out among the chorus of moans and anguish. And a series of sharp pains began to build in his gut. The pain became so agonizing that he heeled forward to inspect his wounds.
It can’t be…
Zahn reverted fully and his limbs started to go numb.
The surviving vampir grabbed a hold of him and one cracked the butt of his rifle against his skull. Normally, it would’ve tickled, but the silver burrowed into his flesh made him feel more man than monster suddenly. His vision blurred as the man…the wolf he’d spoken to walked triumphantly up to him.
“Impossible..” Zahn croaked as he tried and failed to stand.
The wolf dumped empty shells from some sort of over-sized revolver as he stood over him, replacing one of the rounds and spinning the cylinder dramatically. He put the hot barrel to Zahn’s forehead, smiled and asked…
“How’s my math now?”
And Zahn fell back into the familiar void of death, yet again.
