Descending Night

1) The Battle of Degory

Hopeless.

After hours of fighting, Philip finally accepts that the kingdom of Degory has fallen.  It feels like for each beast the vampire general kills, five more replace it.  Now half of his army is cornered behind the castle walls, no longer fighting for their kingdom, but for their lives.  Screams are heard resonating over the mayhem as the werewolves take liberties on the villagers trapped outside the courtyard.

Philip swallows a hard knot in his throat, his grip tightening on his silver-lined rapier.  With the eastern battlement crippled, the werewolves are pouring into the bailey by the dozens.  They must maintain the western battlement; they must keep the courtyard secure; they must protect the royal family.  It’s all for the sake of the vampire race.

Philip’s radio blares. A beta has infiltrated the western battlement!  Repeat! A beta has breached the western battlement!

“Perfect,” Philip grumbles sarcastically his displeasured face mostly hidden beneath his hood.  He glances at the starlit sky through the strands of his silvery-white hair.  The full moon is out tonight, but thankfully, it’s hidden behind the clouds.  The general turns his gaze to the western battlement and catches a glimpse of the offending werewolf.  Before the younger soldiers can subdue the beast on the battlement, it jumps down into the bailey.

Philip doesn’t flinch as the wolf lands on the scaffolding below.  The wooden structure explodes into thousands of splinters upon impact.  The dusts settles, and the general’s crimson eyes meets the beast’s glowing, amber eyes.

Calmly, Philip brings the radio to his mouth. “Stay at your posts, men.  I’ll take care of the beta.”

The wolf’s ear twitches, and a toothy grin forms beneath its snout.  At seven feet tall on its hind legs, it wouldn’t be surprising if the beast is actually an alpha-level wolf.  It lets out a deep, rumbling snarl as it cautiously approaches, its obsidian-like fur standing on end.

“Damn vampire,” the werewolf growls.  “We don’t have time for your meddling.”

Philip’s frown grows even deeper, the lines on his pale face portraying an aged but seasoned warrior.  Until now, the general thought that the werewolves were here to kill them off.  For centuries, werewolves and vampires despised one another.  Now that the vampire population has greatly diminished, the war has turned into a genocide.  The werewolves are even killing humans on sight, since they are the vampire’s only food source.  In this case however, it seems that the vampires are actually impeding a different goal.  What is it?

Then it hits Philip like a ton of bricks.

“Shit,” the general curses.  So engrossed in thought, he barely evades the canine’s deadly claw swipe.  Philip rolls out of the way, his superior speed causing him to skid across the dirt.  Now a safe distance from his adversary, the general gets into his battle stance.  He keeps his blade between himself and the werewolf.  The wind picks up, blowing the hood of his black cloak from his head.  The ponytail of his long, white hair, a vampire’s most notable trait, dances in the breeze.

Phillip unexpectedly relaxes, and grabs his radio for the second time.  “This is General Sterling.  The beta with me is Rafael Montgomery.  He’s an informant.  Do not attack the werewolf with me.  I repeat: do not attack the werewolf with General Sterling.”

The werewolf called Rafael looks about nervously.  He watches several vampire soldiers run by without giving him a second glance.  Letting out a sigh of relief, Rafael returns his attention to Philip and approaches the general.  As he closes the distance, his body begins to morph.  Thick, black fur recedes, exposing bronzed skin and a muscular build.  Claws and paws slowly become hands and feet, while his pointed muzzle forms into a hairless, human face.  Although Rafael’s body shrinks, at 6’2”, he is still a half of head taller than Philip.