Unhurried strides brought him nearer to the incoming mob. As he kept to a casual meander, Fenrir swiveled his head on his neck and rolled his shoulders, keeping his muscles loose for the slaughter they were closing in on. He could hear Rosemary following at a distance, keeping him in her sights as she tried to move as soundlessly through the wood as she could in those heels.
The nearer he strode toward the throng of armed muggles the more their collective fear spiced the midnight air. It was as though he’d walked into a dense fog of it, colorless, bodiless, completely unperceptible aside from the likes of him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. There was a sharp sting on the underside of his tongue as his mouth watered in a rush of anticipation. Instinct reacted with a primordial excitement of the bloodshed to come, and Fenrir grinned a feral grin.
This was going to be fun.
Even if he hadn’t had a witch at his back, ready to let loose a flurry of spells to incite chaos among the trembling sheep marching their way, Fenrir wouldn’t have been intimidated by their numbers. Once bodies started dropping they’d scatter. Pathetic and terrified, they’d trample a quarter of their own people in their desperate bit for escape. All their numbers accomplished was to make the miasma of their fear so thick in the air that he could taste it in his throat.
It didn’t take long to meet the muggles between the trees. He stepped out from the canopy’s pitch darkness and into the moonlight. Silver glowed down on him, washing overhead like the muted shine of a floodlight. Hash shadows were cast over his features, the deep furrow of his brow blackening his eyes completely. Within the shadow was the golden luminescence of his wolf. Irises penetrated the black with patient ferocity.
The beam of several torches lit him up like a team of trembling spotlights. Gasps cut through the night, along with nervous fidgeting and fearful murmurs throughout the mob. They fixed their grip on their weapons but kept glancing back and forth between their numbers as they began to circle around him. The stench of their fear washed over Fenrir in waves, radiating outward from the mass of muggles in pulsing, terror-filled energy that made his mouth water.
As his glowing gaze side eyed the bodies flanking him, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. A chuckle rumbled out from within his rib cage. He could imagine what he looked like to them, with his burning irises and elongated canines, beard and face stained with blood; along with the rest of him. To them, he must look like something out of a nightmare. Another chuckle. He was. Their worst nightmare given flesh, and the last thing they’d ever see.
The man leading the charge, equipped with a bow and arrow, lifted took aim only to drop dead after a shout and flash of green light. He flopped to the ground with a comical thump and the mob gasped as one. Their half second of confusion would be followed by another half second of panic. Rosemary was already loosing her magic on the crowd before fight or flight instincts could even set in.
Clang! His dragon-bone dagger met the handle of an axe, parrying the attack before sidestepping out of the way, grabbing hold of his collar, and twisting behind the muggle. The man turned shield blocked a blow meant for Fenrir’s back. Another axe slashed through flesh and bone until it was firmly lodged in his meat-shield’s sternum. His attacker stared down at his compatriot in wide eyed horror, hands still wrapped around the axe’s handle as he tried to process what he’d done.
Fenrir stared over his shield’s shoulder with a grin. His dagger slid between ribs with ease before he dropped the body a few heartbeats away from being a corpse. The muggle lifted his focus from his shaking hands to Fenrir’s imposing height. Just as he was about to turn tail and flee, Fenrir caught him by the hair and yanked him back. A quick drag of blade to flesh had a well of crimson pouring down his front. With how many people were scrambling for an escape, there was no time for ceremony or artistry. All Fenrir had the mind for was vicious, brutal massacre.
He moved and his every step was death. They’d come with their pitch forks and torches, hoping to kill the beast that had filled the forest with blood curdling screams. Instead the found themselves at his mercy. The lambs had marched themselves to the slaughter only to discover that the best mercy he could spare them was death. Bloody, savage, brutal death.
The night was filled with their screams and his laughter.
There was always something very pleasurable in using a knife and her own hands to kill someone and that was why she often chose to do it that way. Magic was definitely her area of expertise though. She’d taken to it like a duck to water, especially the dark arts. It was such a shame one had to tread carefully when using it. When this ‘situation’ was over, the raven-haired witch would have to do a little more magic to cover her tracks so others wouldn’t be able to trace it. It sounded simple but actually, it had to be very meticulous.
Now so far she had done extremely well in her heels. She’d trudged through ground full of soil and leaves, ran at some panicking muggle and not even twisted her ankle once. However, the damn things were causing some havoc and so she flung one foot forward, her shoe flying through the air and hitting the nearest tree. Immediately afterward the second shoe followed. Now she was barefoot and yes, there was the possibility she would tread on something that would hurt, but it felt so much better than her feet being restricted.
The group of men might have shown support to one another when they’d entered the woods but now it was a case of ‘save your own neck and scarper.’ Rosemary couldn’t help but find cowardice in their actions, because she knew herself well enough to know that if she was ever found to be in an up shit creek without a paddle situation, then she’d fight to the bitter end if it was someone she cared about.
The stench of fresh blood filled the air and the raven-haired witch could smell it so hell knows how strong it must’ve been for Fenrir. It wasn’t particularly a nice aroma to her, but it was part and parcel of the situation they were in. It was worth it too, because there was something sick and twisted about watching with a morbid fascination as blood spurted and sometimes trickled from wounds they had both caused.
Rosemary picked out one male running to the left of her, his focus was definitely on the slaughter of one of his friends by Fenrir and he didn’t notice her in close proximity to him. She quickly used her wand to render him still but upright. She smirked at the sight of how he looked like he was literally frozen in fear. There was no toying and dragging out his death though. It wasn’t like they were dealing with just one victim. So she muttered a few words and the edge of her wand acted like a knife as she swiped it across his throat. At first, his brain did not register the murderous thing she had done, but it soon became apparent. Blood suddenly cascaded from the wound, gushing down his chest and before it had pooled at his feet, his lifeless body fell to the floor, hands hopelessly clutching his neck.
Her chest rose and fell, lungs sucking in every bit of oxygen as they filled to full capacity before exhaling again. Her visual was on any imminent threat but it seemed as she cast a look around, all that remained were limbs and torsos everywhere, accompanied by the odd few fully intact bodies.
Rosemary was inhaling deeply, slightly out of breath, because it had taken a lot of energy for her and yet she would do it all again given the chance. She was pretty sure once she got home to bed she would sleep solid and soundly--something she never tended to do without consuming alcohol. This once she had managed to burn up the endless energy she usually couldn’t get rid of.
A blob of blood--not hers, slid over her brow and into her eye. Her expression was one of disgust. Quite ironic when she was covered in the stuff, but mouth and eyes had always been a big no-no for her. So she wiped it away as quickly as possible before looking around for anybody else to slaughter.
--nobody was left apart from Rosemary and Fenrir.
--and at that point, she grinned widely.
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