Hidden in the crowd, five sets of eyes ignored the spectacle of fire, instead, they followed the group’s retreat. They all wore red robes with the off-kilter compass present. A woman stood apart from the rest, her eyes looking to the fallen man Ian had shot then back to their retreating targets. Without looking back she pointed upward. Two of the men broke away and pounced onto the side of the nearest building.

Ordinary hands twisted into long razor-tipped claws as they leapt. They drove their claws with unbridled power into the stone which gave with ease, anchoring them to the wall. Their boots ripped open to reveal clawed feet and the pair climbed. Their bodies continued to change as they scaled the side of the building popping and expanding. The remains of their clothing fluttered to the street as the duo disappeared over the lip of the roof. The woman and the other two men moved away from the crowd and after their prey.

Ban took them down a narrow street packed with buildings butt-up against one another. The only break in the line of stone was a small alley halfway up the street. It was not an ideal road to travel but it was the swiftest route the minotaur knew to get to the clinic. He set a brisk pace towards the T intersection at the far end.

Ban picked up on the presence of the mercenaries before anyone else. He glanced backward to check on the progress of the group and spotted them. They had spread out to block the street behind them.

“We’ve got trackers. Three of them. Fight or run?” Ban asked, keeping himself relaxed. He didn’t want the trackers to know he’d spotted them.

A brick tumbled down from the roof of a house ahead, shattering upon impact with the pavement. Instinctively Ian jerked his head to find the source of the sound. He saw the shadow’s of two figures, leaping across a gap between the buildings. Ian spat out a curse at their misfortune.

“Above us too,” Ian said as he shifted his gaze to the figures at the end of the street, “I think we’re going to have to fight.”

Vale didn’t spare them a glance. She was helping Mal along, trying to get him away from the rapidly escalating danger. With one hand she drew a dagger while the other guided her faithful companion to the stoop of a house. She held the ornate curved blade with the pommel facing up and the blade resting against her forearm. Over her many years of practice, she’d found this the best combination of both offense and defense with the short-range weapon.

“They’re herding us. We need to beat them to the cross street,” Ban muttered as he picked up the pace.

Ian felt that familiar tingle on the back of his neck. He’d never had so many of these tingles before coming to Paragore. He might have had a dozen of them, ever, on Earth but now they were becoming a common occurrence. And one he was learning to embrace, in the interest of continuing his life. He spared a quick look up and saw the two shadows jumping across to a slanted roof a few buildings ahead of them. Damn, they are fast, Ian thought.

“I don’t think that’s an option anymore,” Ian said as he drew his pistol.

A heavy thud echoed down the empty street. The rooftop runners landed in the middle of the intersection, cutting off their forward escape. Behind them, the rear pursuit had come to a stop near the alley entrance and drew their swords. Their leader was wielding a katana that shone with a faint purple glow. Her lackeys held curved blades reminiscent of scimitars. The trap was sprung and they’d boxed in their prey.

“Kannak!” Ban’s deep voice barked out.

“Hassdoro!” Vale hissed out at the same time.

“What!?” Ian yelled in response, he wasn’t sure if the words were a warning or a curse. He glanced at his companions and then followed their gazes to the end of the street. His glance changed into a slack-jawed stare.

As a kid, Ian had seen a movie. One of those movies where a parent’s permission was required before they’d let you in the theater. The kind that was full of blood, gore, and jump scares galore. The monster had been a werewolf. And from what Ian could see the movie had gotten it right.

Thick fur covered their immense bodies. The larger werewolf was coated in a deep auburn color with tufts of white on his chest and elbows. The smaller werewolf was solid midnight black. Each beast’s face was contorted into an elongated broad snout lined with glistening fangs. Lengthy red tongues lolled from the sides as the pair let out frenzied pants, dripping ropes of saliva onto the pavement. Their arms were easily as thick as Ban’s and as long as Vale was tall, ending in curled clawed fingers. As though rehearsed, they leaned back on their legs tilted their heads back to drawing in a huge lungful of air. They caught the scent of their prey they let out a bone-chilling howl. Fervent for blood.

“How bad?” Ian dared to ask.

“Very,” Ban and Vale chorused.

Werewolves, Ban knew, had several major advantages over other species. First, they could regenerate from almost anything. Second, their strength was equal to that of a full-grown minotaur. Then there were the feral bonuses; wolf instincts, sense of smell, and rage. Bundled all together and they were some of the most dangerous killing machines to ever reside on Paragore. Once unleashed, werewolves did not stop, did not rest, they let nothing come between them and their prey. And right now, they were the prey.

“Awesome. Then let's not fight Red-y and Black-y. Let’s clear the way behind,” Ian said dropping into a shooter’s crouch, and aiming at the swordsman with the glowing katana. They were closer and (he hoped) were human. He was lacking in silver bullets. Each one moved a step back and raised their swords in a defensive posture. Whether or not they knew what a gun was, they recognized the unmistakably aggressive intent of Ian’s stance.

“Drop your weapons and walk away! You have to the count of five!” Ian shouted.

He counted down. They held firm. Ian hesitated, these people were defenseless, ignorant of the threat his gun posed. The woman with the katana stepped forward and Ian let go of his guilt, he couldn’t afford it. Ian fired off a quick three-round burst aimed at Glow-y’s center mass. He had neither time nor ammo for warning shots.

The sword fell and the purple glow on the blade faded, her empty hand clutching at her chest. The other two grabbed their crumpling leader inches above the pavement, clearly in shock at the display of force. Without a moment’s thought, they retreated into the nearby alleyway, out of Ian’s line of fire.

“This way!” Ian shouted as the echo of his shots died away.

Ban pulled his hammer free and never taking his eyes off the werewolves as he jogged backward. Vale kept close to Mal, dagger in hand. The wolf hobbled along but kept pace, as they made their way back down the street towards the safety of the crowd at the hotel.

They’d almost made it to the alley when a black fog billowed out from the opening. It filled the street in seconds and obscured everything beyond. Even if the fog itself wasn’t harmful, they could not allow themselves to get swallowed up by the inky wall. They would be easy prey for the werewolves inside the fog.

It left them with little choice. They had to stop, and they had to fight.

Another furious howl tore into the night as the wolves made the first move, jetting off to either side. Without their commander’s influence, they became little more than feral beasts, angered by the fact that their meal was escaping. Their speed was alarming for all the bulky muscle on their bodies, but Ban wasn’t cowed. He brought up his hammer, let out a roar of his own and rushed left to meet the werewolf Ian had dubbed “Red-y”, head on.

The two forces collided in a blur of fury. Ban aimed for the beast’s head and brought his hammer down. Red-y dodged the blow, but it cost him his footing. He could only give an off-balanced swipe in retaliation. It wasn’t enough; halfway through the swing Ban nimbly changed the path of the strike, driving the top of his hammer into his opponent’s chest. He used the momentum and shoved hard, pinning the beast against the closest building. Ban’s hammer kept the snapping maw and raking claws of his foe at bay - barely.

“Could use some help here!” he called out over his shoulder. The strain of holding the beast at bay was already showing as his hammer shaft bowed and splintered.

The auburn werewolf let out a snarl as his murderous eyes locked on Ban. He flexed his muscles, slapping his claws up against the building and pushing forward. The minotaur dug in, but the smooth pavement, and the three-hundred-pound disparity, gradually forced him back. Red-y’s long muzzle turned into a mockery of a grin as he saw Ban losing the contest of strength. The hammer which pinned him bowed even more under the strain, and he could sense his prey’s panic. With a final surge of strength, he shoved, and the hammer slid aside.

The sudden shift caused Ban to lean into the beast, but by sheer luck, Ban’s horns deflected its jaws. At this new angle, he could see that Vale and Ian were busy with Black-y. And with Mal still injured he was unable to do more than watch their backs for new threats. This left Ban out of allies to answer his call for help. The weight of the situation hit home, and the minotaur realized he was in a fight for his life.

Claws raked against his armor and shredded his cloak while dagger-like fangs sought any vital point they could reach. Ban needed to gain some space. The pair exchanged a flurry of blows as the minotaur sought to get away.

The werewolf gave Ban no quarter. Lunging for his prey’s throat at every opportunity. The monsters wanted nothing more than to rip it out and taste the sweet, coppery victory he’d enjoyed hundreds of times before. The mere thought made the monster ravenous.

Ban brought up his forearm to intercept the fangs aimed at his throat. A roar of pain erupted when he felt those elongated, clustered teeth sink in deep enough to scrape bone. He brought his hammer up and jabbed it into Red-y’s throat. The werewolf let out a whining cough and let go, his hands came up to his throat as he gagged. Ban staggered back from the sudden release, thick droplets of blood fell from his punctured arm. He needed a better plan, fast.

Down the street, Black-y was circling Vale. His pointed ears swiveled forward to listen to the intoxicating sound of his victim’s rising heartbeat. He could practically taste her fear on his tongue. Which drove his predatory instincts wild with delight. His claws extended forwards as the elf drew a second blade, but no matter the weapon he saw no threat in her.

Ian was tracking the black werewolf his gun moving in quick jerks to keep up with his erratic movements. He’d heard Ban’s cry for help, but he couldn’t walk away and leave Vale with an opponent four times her size. Ian let out a steady breath while waiting for his chance. It wasn’t a long wait.

Black-y feinted to the right and then leaped into the air with a snarl of triumph.

“Vale, down!” Ian shouted.

The ranger dropped without hesitation, as the werewolf pounced. The roar of Ian’s gun filled the empty street. Black-y let out a yelp of pain and surprise, falling into an uncontrolled tumble and sailing directly over Vale. Ian’s look of triumph quickly turned to panic as the stricken werewolf bowled right into him.

They landed in a heap near the curb. Ian let out a groan, feeling like he’d just been hit by a bus. He sat up and glanced around to orient himself. The werewolf lay a few feet away, already starting to rise. The bullet hole in Black-y’s shoulder had a steady flow of blood pumping out, but it was not enough to keep him down. Ian’s eyes darted from side to side. Ban was fighting Red-y, but they were too close for him to be of help. Vale was picking herself up. He couldn’t find Mal. He needed options. Then he saw their salvation.

The black smoke poured out from the mouth of the alley, swirling and shifting it maintained an impassable wall. On the fringe of that smoke, Ian saw a shop. Above the shop hung a sign, written in a blocky language that Ian didn’t know, but the gemstone symbol below it was unmistakable. He scrambled up as Black-y stumbled to his feet. Ian shot the beast in the heart from point-blank range. The werewolf tumbled back to the ground as the slide on his gun locked back with a disheartening click. Rather than wasting time reloading Ian bolted for the door of the shop, catching Vale’s questioning stare as he ran past.

“Don’t worry! I know exactly what I’m doing!” Ian shouted.