The Ignition of Rage

­[this will be my final story post, for i will be starting on the main story from now on, and so will no longer post it here.

On another note, though, this blog will still continue, except without the story portions.]

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After two days of continuous running, the avenger finally spotted several flames littered along the meandering stream in a distance. Several campfires had been set up there, and Sam started out to investigate further.

Sam leapt swiftly through the trees, using the Forse of Sound to eliminate any sounds from the leaves and branches. At the beginning of nightfall, he crouched on a tree branch, observing the campsite. He saw shadows and silhouettes of human figures, but it didn’t seem right. He had caught the scents of wolves and humans, but he neither heard nor saw any wolves among the camps. The only possible answer was – werewolves.

In his previous battles with werewolves, they had fought beside the demons, vile and savage races bounded together by their common insatiable thirst for mortal blood. Allies of the demons meant enemies of the avenger, and therefore, they would be crushed.

Werewolves were a combination of wolves and another race, humans being the most common of them. Werewolves were spawned when the lycanthropy virus seeped into the bloodstream of the host, usually injected from the bite of a werewolf. The virus would then fuse with the blood cells of the host, evolving the genes. Lycanthropy had many different stages, each having its own characteristics. A ‘new-born’ werewolf would be categorized into the lowest stage, with simple gifts in the form of enhanced speed, strength and flexibility. However, it would only be able to transform during a full moon, and the transformation process would not be without pain. As the werewolf continued to live and hunt, it would naturally grow stronger, and more in control of its more savage alter egos.

The werewolves in Rivoliath had a god, Rak, and it was indeed the most powerful of them all. He could control his savage instincts at will, being able to utilize the traits of his lycan form despite being in elven form. Indeed, Rak was an elf, and he had willingly accepted the bite from a werewolf nearly two centuries ago. Rak could transform at any time, day or night, and for any duration. However, tales have mentioned that he has stayed in his wolf form for more than fifty years, preferring to hunt and kill in his lycan form. Rak’s fur ranged from white, like the bitter winter snow, to a black as dark as the night itself. In his wolf form, Rak stood taller than any human, and could run faster than the fastest steed in the lands.
Sam looked up at the night sky and found the reason why so many werewolves had gathered here this night. There were three moons in the sky, marking the birthday of their great werewolf god. Glancing back at the campfires, he then noticed that the fires formed an indistinct outline of a wolf’s head. Werewolves were creatures of stealth, powerful hunters that fought with the shadows as their cloaks. However, the glorious celebration for the wolf god called for no such secrecy this night, and the werewolves would surely drink and celebrate till dawn.

The birthday of the wolf god marked the height of his power; but also the weakest in his army. The period for transformation was ten days later, which meant –

The people who sat around those campfires were trapped in their humanoid forms.

Sam made a mental calculation and estimated the number of werewolves to be near seventy. “Their blood shall flow at the first light of dawn,” Sam decided, as he rose to make his necessary preparations for the upcoming battle.

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The first rays of the sun came slowly over the horizon. While the sunlight began to warm up the campsites, their occupants still remained in deep sleep, knocked out from the many jugs of ale that many had gulped down the night before. Only a handful of them remained wide-awake, guarding the tents from any possible intruders. However, they were sleepy, shackled by fatigue from the lack of sleep. So tired they were, such that they failed to spot the approaching company.

A lone warrior armed with a shiny glass dagger and a cold, killing gaze.

When the guards finally sensed an intruder around, they were greeted by the bright gleam of the glass dagger, and a huge gash across their throats. As blood spewed out from their gurgling throats, the avenger walked on, towards the first tent.

With the only conscious guards dead behind him, the avenger had nothing but time. Holding his glass dagger above the tent, intercepting the sunrays, he watched as the sunrays passed through the dagger, and converged into a tiny speck on the tent’s canvas. The intensity from the morning sun wasn’t strong enough, but the properties of the dagger amplified the rays, and several moments later, the speck turned a bright orange, and tiny wisps of smoke began to rise from the burning spot. Flames began to dance a moment later. Picking up a short branch from the ground, Sam ignited the branch and walked past the tents, lighting them up, tent by tent.

It took several moments before the werewolves awoke from their drunken stupor, aroused by the burning smell of their tents. Panicking, the werewolves rushed out of their tent, only to see that every tent in their vicinity was aflame, and the arsonist standing a distance away. Some were not so unfortunate as to escape, and ended up in coffins made from burning tent canvases.
Ironically, the members of the pack who managed to escape from their flaming tents were not that fortunate either. The avenger sprinted towards the humans (unable to transform into their lycan forms), cutting down the first two as he hopped right past them. Several of them went to assist the others who were still trapped in their tents, while a few others charged to engage their unwanted visitor, weapons drawn and mouths salivating in hunger. Despite being trapped in their humanoid forms, this group of human werewolves viewed their adversary as a walking piece of meat, and they sprang towards the avenger with frenzied speeds fuelled by their insatiable hunger.

If they had thought this warrior to be a harmless piece of food, they were badly mistaken.
Their frenzied charge came to a halt as they saw what ensued. One of them had come charging, his greatsword steady over his head. Just as he brought it down forcefully upon the avenger, the blade was greeted with a left fist. A loud smash boomed from the impact, and the rest of the group stared in terrified awe as the greatsword shattered into pieces.

The clash did not affect the fist one bit, and the avenger jerked it forth, driving it straight into the shocked face of the man.

Several warriors of the group backed away as they saw the result of that punch, with the head of the man lolling grotesquely at the side of his neck.

They obviously outnumbered the lone avenger, but he had made sure that everything else tilted in his favor. Werewolves were not fond of fire, and the flames that had nearly reduced them to cinders traumatized many of them. Moreover, the smoke from the flames stung their eyes, and the sun’s heat escalated their discomfort to new heights.

“Rak!” came a cry from one of the warriors. Slowly, the others began chanting their god’s name, drawing strength and courage from the chants. The chants grew louder, and within moments, the cries had become screams of maddened rage, the warriors possessed by the mere call of their all mighty god. With renewed strength and ferocity imbued by their lycan god, they charged towards the avenger.

And then, they halted suddenly.

A burst of white light exploded from the glass dagger, the sheer intensity of it blinding every single one around it. The two warriors at the front had saw the avenger raise his dagger towards them, but failed to shield their eyes in time. They screamed in pain as the light robbed them of their vision forever. The rest were fortunate enough to have not looked at the dagger straight in the eye, and were only momentarily blinded. They staggered, dizzied by the intense rays, and clutched their heads, struggling to reorient themselves.

The glass dagger was a weapon crafted by the angels, enchanted with the ability to absorb, store and then release the rays from the sun. The dagger had absorbed a fair amount of energy from the morning sun minutes ago, but the bright flames from the tents had supplied it with overflowing power. Of course, the avenger had taken that into consideration before taking action.
Shifting his other hand out of his view, the avenger saw that the plan had worked, and made no hesitation to lose the clear advantage that he had gained. With his left fist tightly clenched, and his right wielding the glass dagger, Sam leapt onto the first human, his left fist smashing into the blinded warrior’s face. Thrown back by the immense force, the human crashed into a tree behind, his life ending even before he hit the ground. Turning to face the dizzied humans beside him, Sam charged past the second human, his glass dagger making a deep gash at his throat.

The time taken to kill the two blind warriors took less than a minute, but even that was sufficient for the rest of the pack to regain their combat status. Readying their weapons to attack the lone avenger, they charged in unison, twenty to one. Completely surrounded, the avenger stood undeterred by the sheer disadvantage of numbers.

An instant later, time itself seemed to stop as the avenger’s left punch connected to the ground.
The land shook violently as the full force of that hit transferred from the fist to the ground. The ground buckled under everyone’s feet, knocking the whole twenty of them off balance. Wasting no time, the avenger leapt into a counter offense. He knew that by this time, the other packs would have been alerted, and would soon come charging this way.

This pack had to be finished soon.

Lifting his feet off the ground, Sam hurled his glass dagger at a warrior, and swung his right hand outwards, guiding the dagger, which was attached to a chain around his forearm. Like a whip with a wicked tip, the dagger lashed at its target, slicing off a fair amount of flesh from his shoulder. The rest of the pack realized that apart from their weapons, they had nothing that they could use as a shield from that wicked dagger, or its wielder. The avenger had calculated that by throwing them into a panic early in the day, they would fail to be well armored and ready for battle. However, knowing that reinforcements were on their way, they pack began to fight with renewed strength and ferocity, determined to stall their assailant till help arrived. The avenger knew that too.

The dagger whipped back and forth, keeping most of the pack at bay, occasionally scoring a hit. The dagger only served as deterrence to buy time, while the avenger formulated an attack strategy. The pack saw through that, and three of them leapt from behind.
Instinctively, Sam tugged forcefully at the chain, steering the dagger straight at his face. Dropping low immediately, he heard a cry of pain as the dagger drove into the lung of the man behind him. While still crouching low, Sam leapt backwards, attempting to trip the other two men. Like nimble elves, the two men jumped up, clearing out of the avenger’s attack. But, these werewolf men were instinctive, not overly intelligent creatures, and failed to notice the avenger’s ploy. The moment they were in mid-air, they twisted around to face the avenger, raising their blades, poised to strike.

They were fast, but Sam had already sprung upwards the moment his feint had worked. Both the men’s chins cracked under the impact of the avenger’s swift knuckles, and they tumbled backwards, their blood trailing after them. Sam pressed the attack frantically, his punches and dagger thrusts leading the way, and eventually broke out of the human enclosure. Turning around, he began attacking with more composure, each measured attack strike hitting with deadly accuracy. Using his left fist as a shield, and occasionally as a bashing war hammer, while using the dagger as the main wound maker, Sam felled the men one by one, with increasing speed and consistency. Right from the start, the men had been cautious as to openly engage this avenger, and now, with all the tricks and ploys that he had deployed, they were even more doubtful of their chances of victory. Despite hearing news of the incoming reinforcements, that information brought only a little measure of comfort to the men.

Sam knew his advantage would not hold out when he saw the silhouettes of the reinforcements flowing over the horizons. Something out of the ordinary caught his particular attention.

A tall, huge humanoid figure with a wolf’s head was amongst the reinforcements.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed the werewolf, and instant the rage and enthusiasm that were once replaced by fear reappeared in the men before Sam. Instantly, they charged towards him unanimously, determined to pin him down so that the werewolf could tear him apart. They were hungry.

Sam took one step forward, before leaping into the air, launching him in a back flip. Two men fell as his knees smashed into their lower jaws. Landing, he leapt forwards, again using his knees to smash into another man’s chest. Rib cracked under the force of that leap, and the avenger went on, using the man as leverage to propel himself further into the pack. Alas, the last of the pack went down, but Sam barely had a chance to rest. Light footsteps approached fast, and Sam whirled around to face the new group of adversaries.

Just in time to see a huge claw smashing into his face.

The blow nearly lopped Sam’s head off his shoulders, sending him into the air, smashing against a hard boulder a distance away. Yelps and cheers erupted from the others as they saw Sam’s body go limp.

The werewolf looked at its own claws for a moment, believing that a single blow could defeat this seemingly invincible foe, and then walked cautiously to the unmoving body of Sam. Sam grimaced at the pain in his head, forcing the pain out of his mind. In countless battles before, Sam’s iron will had produced many miracles, enduring seemingly impossible amounts of pain, standing to fight over and over again. Storytellers everywhere retold these stories countless times, though each story deviated further from the original truth. These werewolves had heard of this formidable warrior, terming him simply as ‘the avenger’. The name alone struck fear and awe in the hearts of many, not because of the tales of his iron will and unbending determination, but of his special left hand.

Sam’s left forearm was invulnerable, the skin impregnable not only by any blade or arrow, but even spells of flame and lightning. His punches were as forceful and hard as a stone-forged warhammer, evenly matched in strength and hardness but much faster and agile than it.

However, the gift was not without any setbacks. Every punch drained Sam’s energy, sapping his very ability to battle. Over the years, fortunately, the toll on him has reduced as his strength, stamina and endurance are now near perfection. Moreover, the mastering of his Forses, which are a person’s personal energy aura, has enabled him to resist the strain for extended periods of time. His left hand was not the only extraordinary gift he had. His legs were faster and more powerful than a human, and had the ability to transcend into the twilight plane when he reached a certain speed, rendering him invisible on the material plane.

‘If the rumors about this man were true, surely he wouldn’t be felled with just one blow?’ the werewolf thought to himself. And he was right.

The sudden movement before him broke its chain of thoughts, and he glanced to see Sam slowly shifting to balance on all fours. His head hung low from his shoulders, and blood dripped slowly to the floor, the green grass beneath stained and changing to a reddish hue. Slowly, the werewolf took one softer step towards him.

Then, the avenger looked up and eyed the werewolf, his deathly gaze locked on the bestial warrior. In that moment, the werewolf felt so small, so weak, and so fearful. Sam slowly got to his feet, his cold, hard gaze never leaving the werewolf for even a moment. The rest of the reinforcements fell into a terrified hush, not knowing what to expect. The force of a werewolf’s slash could easily kill a full-grown giant, but this avenger still lived. Not only that, he looked like he was ready for more! The werewolf looked as Sam sheathed his glass dagger.

Then it saw in disbelief as the avenger simply vanished.

Everyone did not have time to question where he had went, for he appeared a moment later, his knees knocking the wind out of the werewolf’s powerfully muscled chest. The knee attack was merely the distraction, as the avenger’s following punches met with no resistance. Three deadly planted blows, the first blinding the werewolf’s left eye, the second breaking three ribs, and the third blow to its left temple. The werewolf reeled and howled loudly in pain, staggering back from the impact of the blows and trying to get away from its terrifying foe. Leaving no chance for retaliation, the avenger came again, and drove both fists into the bared chest of the werewolf.

The werewolf jerked backwards slightly, averting a little of the impact, but the remaining power proved too strong for it to handle. Three more ribs crunched under the knuckles and the werewolf fell to the floor. If a wolf’s face could show an expression of fear, it was all revealed in the dead werewolf’s contorted visage.

The werewolves were instinctive and savage beasts, but they were now in their human form, and possessed a little more logic and intelligence. That prevented them from charging blindly to fight the avenger. But in this situation, the choice to attack or retreat did not lie in their hands.

The frightening gaze of the approaching avenger was a clear answer to their fate.