Valethalassa took a step to follow Ian, but from across the street Ban’Koliath’s cry of pain demanded her attention. She turned to see that the minotaur was losing his battle. And behind her, she could hear the other werewolf stirring. She made her choice. She took Ian at his word and left him to enact his plan; she would help Ban’Koliath.

In an instant, she sheathed her daggers and replaced it with a petite throwing blade. Drawn from a hidden slit inside her belt. Centuries of practice culminated in a barely noticeable flick of the wrist, which sent the knife flying faster than any eye could follow. It struck Red-y in the neck, providing a much-needed reprieve for the minotaur.

Ban’Koliath knew it would take more than a dagger to stop the werewolf. He brought his hammer to bear on the Red-y’s left side. He was rewarded with a bubbling wet howl and the sound of cracking ribs as the werewolf doubled over.

It was a short-lived victory, werewolves were notorious for their regenerative capabilities. It was the prime attraction to submitting to the agony of becoming one. And Red-y was an old werewolf. Ribs cracked and popped back into place. The pain fed into its rage and its bloodshot eyes narrowed to slits of pure hatred. All of which was directed at Ban’Koliath. Faster than any blow before Red-y swiped out and knocked his hammer from his grip.

The heavy crack of his weapon against the pavement brought about a moment of clarity for Ban’Koliath, he let out a long slow breath and time slowed with it. He felt fear, anger, and fury ebb away. A sense of peace settling over him. He watched as the werewolf’s muscles knotted, its claws extended, and he knew the blow would end him. Ban’Koliath faced his death with the serenity he had spent a lifetime mastering.

Then Valethalassa joined the melee.

Elegant fury. It was the only way to describe the onslaught that Valethalassa unleashed upon the auburn werewolf. While Ban’Koliath considered himself a formidable opponent, Valethalassa was in a class of her own. Not once did the werewolf even come close to hitting her. Each time Red-y slashed with his claws she was long gone, delivering another deep slash to the fur-covered beast’s vitals. And she never missed.

Each strike drove Red-y to further heights of bloodlust. And, like all creatures who succumbed to that lust, he forgot all logic to mindlessly attack his target. More throwing daggers appeared in vital spots and soon he was bleeding from dozens of wounds. Red-y’s steps became sluggish as his blood continued to pour out onto the cold pavement. Ban’Koliath blindly felt for his hammer and watched in awe as Valethalassa tore the werewolf apart.

An amber eye snapped open as the heart pumped blood once more. The fervor of bloodlust had ceased, for now. Black-y got back to his feet and prepared his next move in this rare moment of clarity. Its glance settled onto the jewelry shop. The scent of the one who had injured him directing him that way.

Mal wasn’t going to let him get that far. Forgotten in the heat of battle, the shadow wolf had watched Black-y, patiently waiting. Now he decided was the time to strike. Using the many shadows cast by street lamps overhead Mal lived up to his namesake. He faded in and out of sight, always using the shadows to appear where least expected. Mal bit, clawed, and tore into Black-y. The werewolf took little in the way of damage, but he also failed to land a single strike on Mal. The smaller wolf waged a war of attrition, making the monster battle for every step it took.

When Ian emerged from the store, he beheld an awesome sight. Across the street, Vale was single-handedly battling an opponent that Yesterday-Ian had believed too terrifying to exist. And she was winning. Easily. Her moves were hypnotic to watch as she danced around Red-y delivering strike after strike. But Ian had his own fight to win as a harsh growl from Black-y drew Ian back to the task at hand. Off to one side, Ian spotted Mal panting heavily a fair amount of, what Ian hoped was, the werewolf’s blood dripped from his muzzle.

For the first time since arriving in this world, Ian felt in control. He would save the day and his new friends. As a bonus, his many years of role-playing and fantasy knowledge were finally about to pay off. With his hands triumphantly placed on his hips, his head cocked to the side and looking up, Ian’s confidence surged. And even a casual glance revealed the reason for his newfound confidence.

Coating his hands, silver rings glinted in the street lights. His neck, and one fist was heavy with an assortment of silver chains, and his pockets bulged with all the silver he could find. He’d even slipped a sparkling silver tiara on top of his head. Purely to ensure that his vital points were protected from werewolf-related attacks.

As he rushed back into the fray Ian was certain that despite his heroic actions, he must look the same way a disco ball felt. His body glittered and clinked as he closed the distance between himself and Black-y, who was still off-balance from one of Mal’s snaps. Ian put his full momentum into one fist and slammed it into the side of Black-y’s indignant, furry face.

“HA!” He shouted in triumph as the blow connected.

The werewolf let out a snarl of annoyance and turned to face him. There was no burning flesh. No yelp of pain. No sign at all that the punch had any effect. The monster drew up to its full height and flexed its claws menacingly as its hot, vile breath displaced a few errant strands of Ian’s shaggy blonde hair.

Ian’s eyes went wide with shock. He slumped and let the length of the thick silver chain around his hand fall loose. Aiming for the werewolf's eyes he whipped it around in a last-ditch attempt to blind the creature. But his opponent snapped a claw up and caught the chain, giving it a hard yank that pulled Ian forward along with it.

“SHI-!”

Ian was left gasping like a fish out of water as his stomach was abruptly introduced to his hairy new friend’s foot. The tiara went flying from his head in one direction and his body took off in the other, leaving a trail of scattered silver behind. For an instant, he could see a flash of the woman’s corpse from his first crime scene in the ostentatious trinkets, but impacting with the pavement jarred the memory from his mind. He rolled across the cobblestones and lay in a heap when he came to a stop. The werewolf dropped down onto all fours and charged after him, the bullet hole in his shoulder forgotten in his renewed frenzy.

Mal realized that whatever plan the strange-smelling one had was not coming to fruition any time soon. In his bloodlust, Black-y had made a fatal error and had forgotten about the patient wolf and his atypical attack methods. With a barking snarl, Mal leapt onto the werewolf’s back, sank his fangs into the back of his neck and refused to yield.

Ian’s head was spinning as he struggled to sit up. Some of his genius idea was still draped over his neck and across his fingers. He watched as Mal was shaken like a rag doll as Black-y danced to dislodge Vale’s companion. With a tremendous ripping sound, Mal flew free. The shadow wolf landed on his good paws, spitting out a hunk of bloody werewolf flesh. The wolves ignored Ian entirely and circled one another.

Ban rejoined the fight with Vale and the pair devastated Red-y. When it slashed at Vale the minotaur brought his hammer down with his good arm, crushing an ankle. And when that drew the beast’s attention Vale was there to slice open more veins and more tendons, literally bleeding her opponent dry. Ban smacked his hammer into the side of its head and sent it directly into Vale’s waiting blade. The silvery metal penetrated the monster’s skull. Vale gave her blade a swift upward twist and Red-y went limp.

A few yards away one of the swordsmen that had fled into the alleyway came slinking back out of the fog. Ian, still winded from the blow to his stomach, let out a squawk of warning. Which caused lights to dance in his eyes and the firm belief that he’d cracked a rib. Ban made a sharp cut towards the edge of the fog to intercept, cursing under his breath for forgetting the foes hidden in the unnatural smoke. Metal rang against metal as hammerhead and sword edge collided. The two became a flurry of movement as they sought openings to strike one another.

Ban used his hammer as both shield and weapon, blocking with the haft and then jabbing and hooking at the sword. He had questions and this man had answers and he needed him alive to ask them. Which made fighting with one good arm all the more challenging.

Mal was still going toe to toe with Black-y. The werewolf might as well have been trying to fight the wind. Each time Black-y closed the gap Mal disappeared. Fading into the shadows beneath his feet in an instant and reappearing behind the werewolf to gnash at its exposed hindquarters. Anywhere the shadows lay the wolf might emerge, drifting in and out of them with ease. Mal hamstrung the werewolf on another pass which sent Black-y crashing to his knees. Which provided Ian with a chance at redemption.

As Mal sank into the shadows Ian took his shot. He’d reloaded while gearing up in the jewelers. He fired only once, hitting the werewolf where skull met spine. The werewolf went down with a heavy thud. From out of nowhere, Vale dove on its back, using the momentum to drive her long blade deep down to its heart. Another flash and the werewolf moved no more.

Ian felt a prickle on the back of his neck and jerked his head around towards the black smoke. Four darts of light zipped out from within the cloud, leaving trails of smoke curling in their wake. Ian dove to one side and as the darts flew by. He spun around in time to see the darts arc through the air and come back around. They struck his side and legs sinking in a deep. Pain erupted from the entry points instantly, not unlike the pain he’d felt the time he’d been struck by a taser. Gritting his teeth, he ignored the pain and aimed in the direction the darts had originated. He fired three quick shots.

As the shots barked out from the pistol the swordsmen flinched at the thunderous noise, only a hair, but it was enough for Ban. In a flash, he got inside the man’s guard and dealt him a crippling blow with his massive, meaty fist. It hurt like the Abyss the man doubled over, falling to his knees. Ban seized him with his bloodied hand and brought the hammer to bear up against the side of his skull with a dull thud.

The solid wall of smoke behind them dissipated into a dense, translucent mist as the swordsmen slumped to the ground. Through it, Vale spotted the last of their assailants. He was running away. Vale’ gave chase. Her slender legs carried her from beside Ian to the mouth of the alleyway where she let loose her last throwing dagger. The blade spiraled through the air with a whistle.

From the end of the alley, there was only the sound of a shoe catching and scraping a few inches across the pavement. The cloaked figure had come to a swift halt, his arms reaching back behind him. Vale had already turned her attention back to Mal when the last swordfighter fell limp with a thud.

Ian’s lower lip protruded, and his head bobbed up and down quickly as he made several ‘Mhm’ing sounds in acknowledgment of Valethalassa’s tremendous skill. Yep, one-shotted a moving target with a tiny dagger through limited visibility at fifty yards, no biggie, I could have done that if I wanted. He consoled himself with these thoughts and made him both glad and a little concerned (not afraid) of his new friend.

Ban dropped his hammer and hefted up the crumpled mass at his feet. He pressed his ear to the man’s chest. Seconds later he let out a frustrated sigh and lowered him back to the ground.

“Well, I guess we won’t be asking him any questions after all. I apologize for my lack of control.” Ban said while retrieving his hammer.

“No, you did good Ban. We all did. Well… you all did. Thank you.” Ian said, brushing himself off. He would be sore tomorrow, but he would also be alive.

“There may be more agents,” Ban stated as he walked over to join his allies. “And besides, we don’t want to deal with the High Cavaliers. I am sure someone has called them by now. We should continue with our initial plan - get to the healer, and then get the Abyss out of here.” Hearing no protest, he led the group down the street.

Ian eyed the rooftops while Vale helped Mal along. His injury had reopened during the struggle with the werewolf, but he seemed insistent on walking. If only in an attempt to alleviate Vale’s continued concern. Ian picked up his pace to catch up to the rest. He kept close to Mal, ready to pick up his four-legged savior if they didn’t reach their destination soon.

“So, who was that?” Ian asked. He had a good guess but wanted the minotaur to confirm it for him.

“Members of the Court. They wore the mark on their robes,” Ban confirmed. “And for some reason, it seems they want to capture rather than kill you. Let’s go.”

As they rounded the corner, in the distance, Ian saw a shop sign with a symbol that he recognized. It was a red and blue heart with a plus sign at the center. Mal was limping badly and he rushed over picked the wolf up, careful of the lupines wounded leg.

“We’re almost there.” He grunted as he lifted the massive wolf. “I know you don’t need me to carry you but consider it as thanks for saving me back there. We’ll get you all fixed up and then we’ll get the hell out of here, yeah?”

Mal huffed, but didn’t protest Ian’s support.

“Yeah,” Ian said with a smile.

Vale ran her fingers over her faithful companion’s fur and then onto Ian’s arm. Her hand lingered there briefly giving it a gentle squeeze before she devoted her attention back to the street. She had been caught off guard twice tonight, it would not happen a third.