Chapter 37.3- Doom Days

It stopped moving a few seconds later, and she stood, bloodied but alive, as the collection of stones that made up the lion collapsed to the floor. The werewolves hammered on the lion, raining down claws, fists, fangs, everything they ha while the creature lurched this way and that to escape their grasp.

The Grand Abott sighed at the situation before firing another salvo of spells in the Japanese Prince’s direction. Once again, the woman moved to stand between his spells and his target. Stupid and predictable, he sighed before with a twirl of his wand the ground beneath her opened to swallow her up to her waist. He said a silent prayer for her soul before he brought the ground back together again, crushing her lower body in one swoop.

“Well, it was too much to ask that she manage to last a few minutes against one such as you. Especially with a useful but cheap trick like that one” Matsuhito said.

“You somehow managed to isolate the magical inertness of some dark creature— a British Dementor, maybe. And passed it on to that poor soul. She couldn’t use any magic of her own could she? But then she had the ability to nullify all magic that made contact with her. She is how you managed to make it within these wards so easily, is she not?” He surmised.

“Analytical as always. Is that the third Rudra I hear in your voice?” Matsuhito asked with a scoff that Rudra did not allow to get to him. This was an old tactic. Even as early as his second life, people had been making the comparisons. They thought there was pride to be exploited there. He scoffed at the thought. None of them, so attached to their individuality would ever understand what it meant to be part of a greater whole— a greater existence.

“What I do now, I do not enjoy. Goodbye Matsuhiito” Rudra said, and he slashed his wand, but as he did so he felt something shift behind him. Where there had been nothing there was now a werewolf. He tried to turn to defend himself but the creature was too quick, his old bones too weary. It pounced on him, tossing him to the floor and the werewolf yielded to its most basic instinct. It bit down on to his shoulder. The wrong shoulder.

Rudra’s wand hand had been his left for three lives straight now. He turned his wand behind him and turned the normally magically resistant creature to mist with a spell that forced its own blood to explode. He pushed himself to his feet even as he bit back moans and grunts of pain. The pain was good. The pain had power, it meant it was alive. It meant he could focus and feel the werewolf venom as it seeped into his bloodstream trying to infect him, to curse him.

He swallowed a curse and waved a wand at the wound. “I am sorry” He whispered to his men who remained in the room. The venom followed the movement of his wand and shot out of his body, leaving hid bloodstream before flowing from his wound in a mass of black tar. From the corner of his eye he could see the other creatures bounding at him. Too late. He brought his magic to bear and forced them to yield— to stop in place.

And then he waved his wand. The venom gathered above him in a single ball. It was that ball that he fed his hatred, his rage, and most importantly his pain.