Descendants of Nephilim. Chapter 13

The beginning

Abigail stopped and listened hard to the growls and gunfire. She slashed at the metal fencing with her hand and marveled at how powerful being a vampire was. Her hand held no mark as to what unbelievable feat it had just achieved. Squeezing through the gap, she brushed at the trees as she pasted them at an incredible speed, another remarkable attribute of the vampire bloodline. Minutes later she cleared the woods and beheld the destruction of the Regency.
A window at the top burst in a shower of glass and she saw the Regent struggling in the grasp of a white-haired Human.
“Drognoski’s” she chocked.
 Abigail hissed and clamped a hand over her mouth. 
“Oh, How un-ladylike.” 
Another series of gunshots shook her from her disgust; Two Regent man fired at a large number of lumbering werewolves. The beast growled and shuddered as the bullets tore through their flesh. A brown- white werewolf sprang around the corner behind the Regent man, and they both fell to its flashing teeth and claws. Abigail propelled herself toward the Regency as the Regent broke through the window. Terrence sailed through the air, and Abigail pumped the ground trying to make the catch. But she was too late as Terrence’s head cracked off the hard ground. Abigail swept him up into her weak looking arms and stroked at the old man’s faces. 
“Terrence, Terrence.” 
Growls echoed all around as she looked down at the lines of his familiar face. Tears of blood raced down her face to the corners of her mouth as she looked upon the only man she had ever loved, her dementia tried to take control at that moment, but her grief forced it back down into its cage and closed the lid. The Regent’s eyes fluttered open and blurry stars ringed an even blurrier face. Although he couldn’t see her face and the darkness was closing in on him fast, he knew her voice, a voice he could never forget.
 “Abby, what are you doing here?”
Abigail chuckled a little and wiped away a tear. A werewolf sprang for her, and she jumped up and punched through its leathery chest. The beast fell to the grass as more of its clan rounded the corner. Abigail ran to the fallen men and took up their guns and sped back to Terrence. 
She aimed the gun and took out the approaching beasts.
“I’m here dear; I’m here.”
“You understand why I did it?”
Abigail nodded and sobbed, “Yes I do, and I forgive you, darling.”
Terrence smiled weakly as the darkness closed in, Abigail patted his cheek frantically. 
“Terrence no, please.” but her pleads whipped away with the wind as more growls announced another onslaught of threats. 
Abigail lifted the gun toward the sprinting reddish werewolf, she glanced loving at her husband’s face, and the barrel of the gun lowered. Abigal closed her eyes and remembered the day she had first seen him across the laboratory floor. 
— His crisp tanned uniform dazzled the laboratory’s white tiled walls. The young officer was in a deep conversation with the head of the London order; a stern blued haired women whose reputation far exceeded her reach. Abigail watched them over her microscope as he pointed to various pieces of equipment that littered the benches. The lady said something to him, and he nodded and followed her finger as she pointed over to Abigail. Abigail quickly looked away and placed the slide on the tray. 
She heard his approaching footfall but didn’t dare look up as she flushed with embarrassment. His masculine colon overpowered the clinical smells with a fragrant of alpine trees and sawdust. 
“Hello,” she looked up into a set of sparkling blue eyes and spluttered a response. — 
The impact threw her to the grass and the werewolf pounced on her. The monster ripped at the old lady, shredding flesh to the bone. Abigail continued the memory until she became apart of it for all eternity.
Garret stamped on the vampires head until a bloody pulp squelched under his foot. As he turned to leave, he noticed the Regent on the grass and the shower of glass surrounding him. Distaste is a hard expression for a werewolf to wear and it resulted in Garret’s lip pulling back to show blood soaked teeth. 
A small glint of gold around the Regent’s neck caught the light, 
and he ambled over to him and shifted. Garret plucked at the small hammer at his throat and pulled it free with his fingers. He tossed it into the air and playfully caught it again. Grinning to the moonlight, he placed the hammer around his neck and strode off naked in the night. 
As garret rounded the corner of the Regency, a powerful hand grasped his throat, and a sudden hot sensation spread through his stomach. Garret tried to look down as the burning speared, but the vampire holding didn’t allow it. Tyr bared his teeth as the werewolf tried to shift, the racking shook his body, but the silver-tip of Tyr’s spear didn’t let the transformation happen. Tyr face clouded to puzzlement when he saw the hammer at the abominations throat. Anger pushed the spear tip through the other side, thick rivulets of blood streamed to the floor as Tyr pulled the spear free and jabbed it through the beasts head. He snatched at the hammer as the werewolf fell. 
The vampires had been betrayed by one of their own and that one had also broken his heart. 

Marcus barreled through the Iron gate; his jubilance battled against the cold wind pushing at his back. The shift racked his body as did the others in his company. This night had been a good one, all their plans had fallen into place and had been executed well. The agreement had been ripped apart, no more cowering like dogs, no more toeing the lines for humanities sake, no more rules. Now it was the packs time to rise to glory and once more sit in their rightful place as top of the food chain. 
The colossal flagstone floor welcomed them like always; large sections collected the rainwater in deep gorges rent by the shift, the uncontrollable racking of the werwolves sharp claws now echoed through the cavern as Ivor looked upon his son. 
Marcus undisturbed by his nakedness almost skipped to his father, in his hand an object pulsed with a faint white light. For one who seldom smiled the change on his feature resembled a demonic possession. 
“Father, look, look what I have brought you.”
Marcus took the dais steps in giant strides and forced the fruit into his father face. 
“Have you seen such a wonderful thing. look how it pulses, and …” — Marcus pushed the fruit into his father’s expectant hand. “…wait till you feel it.”
Marcus stepped back as Ivor clutched the fruit, his gaunt chin dropped an inch and his eyes closed as the pulse aligned with his heartbeat. Heat defused from the fruit in warm waved that course up his arm and spread across his chest like spider legs. 
A loud bang echoed through the chamber, but Ivor didn’t notice his daughter passing through the iron gate. Her thin white hair whipped about her muzzle as the wind sort dominances over the stagnant chamber. Ivor still didn’t notice as his daughter ascend the dais even with her sharp claws clicking on the flagstone floor. Cassandra snarled beside Marcus as he claimed her spoils for his own. 
Marcus grinned, this would secure his place as rightful heir to the lycanthropy throne. No one in the pack would challenge him now not even his sister could maneuver them into siding with her. Once his father ate the fruit and became like God, there would be no one who could stop the Drognovski pack from taking over, The regency had all been destroyed, and the other packs scattered around the world would come to heel before his father, the king of the werewolves. And when his time came, well, he would take up that mantle for his own. 
Ivor shrugged off the bearskin cape from its permeant spot upon his shoulders and stood. The pack below had gathered around the dais to watch history being made. Dirty, bloody faces turned keen eyes to the alphas as Ivor lifted the fruit for all to see. 
“Look, look my pack, my family, my loves….This is what will make us great again; this will right all the wrongs that have been done to us throughout the years. You have righted one wrong tonight destroying the regency, but there are others, many others. Soon they all will pay.”
The pack shouted and cheered at the fall of the Regency, they jumped and slapped at each other in celebration. 
“For some time now, as you may know, I have been weakened by some unknown ailment,” — he narrowed his eyes and glanced around the crowd — “Not weak enough that any of you could defeat me.”
Ivor glower around at the faces and each, in turn, looked to the floor, Marcus followed suit when Ivor laid his red stare upon him. However,  Cassandra held his stare, and a brief flicker of fear flashed in his eyes. He turned back to his assembly. 
“But. This fruit, the fruit of Adam, will make me strong once again and then my faithful family, we will go out and take the world for our own.” 
Ivor torn into the fruit and the milky juices dripped down his beard onto his chest, as he closed his eyes and chewed an expression of rapture spread on his old features. The scar that lined his cheek slow sunk into the skin as his hair changed from speckles of grey to the luscious brown of his youth. Ivor let his head roll back on his shoulders as the contortions racked his body.
The fruit’s power flowed through his body washing his skin clean of battle marks and scars, realigning his torn knee muscle and restoring what had been lost to time. When Ivor opened his eyes and saw the world anew, they shone a faint white until they cleared. Marcus gasped, his father’s blood red iris had changed back to the piercing blue from his birth. 
“Arrrhh.” Ivor stretched his bulging muscles and puffed out his chest. Finally, he beat clenched fisted against his pecks like a gorilla and bellowed a war cry. 
A savage snarl turned his lip up as a viciousness he hadn’t felt in years returned to his mind, he looked down at the pack hoping for one to do something worthy of a beating. Cassandra snorted next to them and Ivor and Marcus both turned to notice her for the first time. One of the pack snort too and Ivor whipped around to pin him with a psychotic gaze. In three giant strides, he grabbed at the offender’s chin and forced his face up to meet him. 
“You think my Godhood is funny Darrel, do you?”
The young man tried in vain to look for help amongst his pack mates but all that he saw was expectant smiles, a beating was coming, and they all knew it. Darrel mumbled something intelligible and closed his eyes as Ivor pulled back his hand. The punch echoed through the chamber, Darrel tentatively opened one eye, he had felt the blow, but it wasn’t as strong as he remembered from the last beating years before. Had his memory played tricks on him, had his fear created the painful memory of that time. Ivor pulled back his hand and let it fall to his side, a droplet of blood splashed to the floor from a cut on his knuckled. 
How can this be?
Cassandra didn’t need to see the blood to smell it with her canine senses, Marcus hadn’t noticed, as hadn’t the pack, except Darrel who’s face was a twisted puzzle. She knew what had happened and at that moment she pounced. Cassandra hit Marcus from the side toppling him quickly, the jubilance smile mixed with shock as he hit the flagstones hard. A large gash ran the length of his arms from Cassandra’s sharp claws, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it as another slash was fast approaching his face. Marcus eyes filled with terror as the nail torn flesh from his throat and Cassandras muzzle sank into his jaw, with a strong pull Cassandras white furred face came away soaking with her brother’s bloody jawbone. 
A small clap bounced off the stone wall, and her bare-chested regenerated father ascended the stairs as the pack stood frozen by Cassandra brutality. 
“Ah my daughter, I knew you had it in you. Your brothers vanity was his weakness, he didn’t see the slavery in your eyes, but I did, my faithful child.”
Cassandra shifted, and her naked body glistened with blood and sweat. Her regal stride measured the distance to her father and placed a loving hand on his chest. 
“No he didn’t, and his stupidity was also his undoing, just like yours.”
Ivor’s proud smile fade as he tried to push Cassandra’s touch away. It was Cassandra’s turn to smile as the reality of the situation dawned on him. 
She grabbed him and twirled him to face the pack. Cassandra straddled his back and clamped an arm around his chest as Ivor struggle within her grasp. She grabbed a handful of hair and pulled his head back to speak in his ear. 
“What my departed brother neglected to find out was what would become of you when you ate that fruit. I had an idea, but I didn’t know if it would. Let’s just say the source of information wasn’t quite believable.”
Ivor growled and lashed out at his daughter; his feeble attempt was like an ant trying to remove the spyglass from the child’s hands. 
“Take your hands off me now. Jacob, Jacob I command you to remove her at once.”
Jacob glanced at his packmates and then back up at the dais. He set his shoulder back as a blank look clouded his face. 
“No father, you know when Alpha’s fight they can’t get involved. what Marcus should have told you was that the fruit would make you as God intended us to be, in his image.”
Ivors face dropped as she whispered in his ears so no one else would hear. 
The reality hit Ivor harder than anything in his long life; the fruit had made him human again, it had taken his soul and the curse of lycanthropy and turned him pure. 
Cassandra twisted her fathers head shapely and let his body fall at her feet, as she turned she picked up the fallen bearskin and wrapped it around her shoulder. The stone throne was cold on her bare bottom but the burning feeling rolling within made up for the chill. The pack each dropped to a knee and she looked at them, her yellow eyes slowly turned red as the pack accepted her as their alpha. The Drognoski line would reign on in her name. 


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