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Wolves at the Gate

The early September night grew long as Wright stood watch at his post outside the asylum, as he had every night for the past two weeks. His routine variated slightly from night to night, the time, spacing and length of his patrols around the asylum grounds changing constantly, and at this time he had just returned from walking the perimiter of the asylum.

The wolf stood there, watching as the twilight purple finally drained from the breaking rain clouds and what few stars could be seen finally shimmering through. He took time to scan the surrounding buildings for signs of movement as the gaslamps flared to life illuminated the light mist that rose from the wet cobblestones.

Wright was about to head to the cafe across the road for a warm cup of coffee when he heard something from the gate. Two voices, coming towards the asylum, one seemed to be skittish and frenzied, the other calm.

The wolf quickly unholstered his rifle, the brass plating of the trusty old henry glinting in the lamplight and quite proudly displaying U.S. Cavalry badging as the wolf aimed it down towards the gate and waited.

It wasn’t long before two figures entered view, one was dark furred, the other a multide of greys. The dark one walked calmly, while the other bounced around like an excited animal. Wright knew they had to be the weres. He focused his aim at the gate as the two figures managed to scale it and hop down into the yard.

John stepped forward, gun at the ready and raised his voice at the two creatures which seemed to be arguing. “Alright, that’s far enough. There’s only two ways outta here, either ya leave of your own accord, or you leave in a box, you ain’t getting another warning.” he said in that angry, western drawl of his.

Neither of the wolves seemed to pay attention to him until he fired a round at the feet of the nearest one. Both looked up at wright angrily, the crazed one turned to his brother, expectantly looking for permission to attack, and with a nod the other wolf conferred his blessing. Wright pumped the lever on his rifle, the spent shell of his bullet ejecting from the chamber and clattering onto the steps as another round moved into firing position.

The two wolves infront of him exchanged some back and forth about their plan of attack, the calm one called Lucas, dismissing Wright as a simple pure breed, and the wild one, Percival circling around to flank the lone guard. Wright kept his aim on percival, aware that he was the greater threat to his safety, and it wasn’t long before he made his move.

The crazed wolf charged an wright pulled the trigger. The round he fired burst forth from the barrel of the rifle in a cloud of blue smoke, the same smoke seemed to come not from the gunpowder, but from the bullet itself. The projectile impacted with the charging were’s chest and burst into an intense flame. Wright smiled wickedly as Percival collapsed to the ground, clutching at the golfball sized hole and screaming in pain.

“Fire…He shoots fire.” the crazed creature cried out in a mixture of terror and confusion. The other wolf didn’t rush to his brother’s aid, even as he writhed on the ground in pain, instead insisting that he almost had what they needed. Percival slowly rose to his feet, wright shook his head in disbelief, the creature before him should have been down longer, or he was fighting the considerable pain to stand.

Percival charged again slashing at wright with claws, this time wright flipped the gun around, he held the octagonal barrel like an american baseball player held a bat and swung hard, the mahogany stock of the rifle connecting with the side of percival’s head, the large cavalry badge on the side no doubt leaving an impression underneath the were’s fur in it’s image. Percival staggerd slightly and withdrew to a safe distance.

It was then that Wright saw Lucas reaching for something on his belt. He quickly flipped the rifle over and aimed for Lucas’ hand. He fired the next shot, and watched as Percival dove into the bullet’s path, the Phosphorus core igniting within the wolf’s heart. As the were’s form hit the ground and the light of life left his eyes wright could hear lucas howl in rage.

Wright dashed forward towards the body, but Lucas tossed a small glass bottle onto the ground. John jumped back as thick acrid smoke burst from the glass confines as whatever was in the bottle was exposed to the air. when the smoke had cleared both Lucas, and Percival’s body were gone.

The wolf ran for the gate and yelled out into the night “You run back to you damned coward bear, you tell him that Black Jack is waiting for him!” unsure if he was heard or not. He stood there for several moments as the adrenaline from the fight wore off, until he became alerted to the faint sound of dripping and the smell of blood.

Wright looked down, three deep gashes ran across his right arm, and blood had begun pooling at his feet. He looked back to see the trail of blood went all the way back to the bottom of the asylum’s front steps and the wolf immediately tore part of his sleeve off to tie around the wounds.

As he applied pressure he became aware of a burning sensation, the touch of silver. His eyes went wide and he nearly howled from the pain, but he gritted his teeth and pushed his way out of the main gate, his wounded arm clutched tightly against his chest and his rifle dragging across the cobbles as he trudged towards the hospital. The effects of silver poisoning already beginning to slow him down.

He cursed loudly with each arduous step…

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