Prologue

There was a cry in the nighttime air, distinct amongst the night-pipers and the croaking of a toad. Mournful in resonance yet unnerving to the ear. Distant, solitary, at first. But soon joined by several others similar.

Yet this was not what Rayner Hoffman trained his senses to probe, rather he listened for the sound of pursuing hoof beats or the mechanical rhythm of a kyranite engine other than his own. For whatever eerie nocturnal vibration conjured, it could not hope to match, for him, the terror of a mortal made clamor at the present time and in the present context.

He was a gambler, Rayner, as well as a cheat, a womanizer and a rogue. The middle son of five children sired by Odran Hoffman, Esquire. A wealthy magnate who had been elevated into the gentry through careful networking and discreet investments into those with the means to enable such a rise.

How unfortunate it was that a pedigree of good business sense and acumen did not pass on. For Rayner wasted his allowances and brought his family low with debts incurred and scandalous excesses in the realms of carnality and indulgence. In time his father could take no more and banished him. Striking him from the family name in the hopes of wiping out the shame.

And so it was he found himself here, now. Riding a steam-chaise down a lonely forested road, barely illuminated by a waxing crescent above and the front lamp of his automotive vehicle. In spite of the danger inherent in traveling at such an hour he continued, determined to reach the next town where his name was not yet known. For the one he had fled but a moment before was well familiar and he had no doubt there would be many an angry soul searching for him before long. Debts, victims of confidence and the swollen belly of a deflowered maid now ruined to the world by his impulsive desires.

No, he could not go back nor could he remain idle. Especially since the forlorn cries he had ignored earlier seemed to be drawing ever near.

Gripping the driving-reigns he pushed the throttle, gaining speed as the exhaust spewed acrid smoke in a great cloud behind him. In the darkness he could not tell exactly where the sounds were coming from, for they seemed to be all around. Even among the steady clinking of his steam-chaise’s engine he could hear them snarling, clearly lupine in origin as they stalked him from the shadows barking sharply and emitting howls that were higher pitched than before. They crashed through the foliage on either side no longer making any further attempt to conceal their presence from him.

Reaching down towards his belt in which was tucked a revolving pistol, Rayner made certain it was loaded, releasing the cylinder to be comforted by the sight of all six chambers charged with cartridges. He closed the cylinder back into place and held the pistol at the ready, with his other hand continuing to maintain the driving-reigns as he pressed onwards into night, for the next town was still fifteen-miles away.

The road had opened and was now amidst a verdant field. Rayner quickly glanced to his larboard flank and at once saw glowing eyes following alongside. He darted his gaze to port and saw much the same.

“Saints preserve me!” he shouted, pushing the throttle to it’s limit and urging his vehicle ahead through desperate will as he groaned in panicked agitation.

The steam-chaise surged forward, it’s mechanical heart hammering as if it too could sense the danger present. Rayner’s widened eyes continued to cast to either side, his terror growing as the luminous spheres continued to keep pace. The road soon enclosed within yet another forested cavern and with that the eyes were gone, but he knew the threat was still very much there.

Up ahead there was a great groaning, followed by what could only be the snapping sound of timbered sinews sundering. Rayner scarcely had but moments to react as a great oak fell across the path, crashing thunderously and barring his way. He pulled back on the brake lever, his muscles straining as the wheels screeched and wailed in protest to the sudden application of friction. But it was too late, the vehicle crashed into the mass of the felled tree, sending Rayner hurtling abaft with such force the world was soon immersed in darkness when his cranium struck the wood with a dulled thud.

Coming to it felt as if he had slumbered for many years but it was only mere moments. The world, as it was, looked as if a painting had run its colors until finally Rayner regained his bearings and the picture presented clear while his head pounded in such a way that it fouled his stomach.

The steam-chaise was destroyed, dashed against the oak. A misshapen contraption of metal and mayhem. His pistol lay but a short distance away and he snatched it up with haste, as a chorus of howls, barks and growls cacophonous in cadence, surrounded him. What emerged from the shadows into the burning light of the wreck revealed creatures that inflicted a great dread upon hapless Rayner.

They were neither fully man, nor fully beast but a foul hybrid of both. An unholy union forged by demonic energies, enacted by a pact with the infernal legions. These were the creatures that stood before Rayner. These, are what stood betwixt the shadow and the flame. Sons of the most profane Cynthia: Werewolves.

Rayner screamed, raising his pistol and giving fire. The flash from the muzzle blinded him momentarily, denying him the means to evaluate the shots. Yet it did not matter in the end for within the same instance he was clambering over the oak and running fast as his legs could carry him down the darkened pitch lane.

They gave chase, of course. Half-man they may be the instincts of the other held much more sway. This was a hunt and they would not be denied their prey. They ran alongside, behind, above. Leaping from what branches could hold their weight as they moved to surround him once more. He fired wildly, bullets striking nothing but air as he continued to run, his chest heaving with exertion but goaded on never the less. For if he should stop…

As if to further that point he could feel them gaining ground behind him. Close enough to feel their wretched, evil breath, hot and laden with moisture, as if they were salivating over the prospect of his flesh. The air from his lungs wheezed from his mouth as his throat burned, surged and tensed. He could not carry on much longer but he did not want to die. Not like this. He had hoped his last breath would have come at the end of a bottle. Or at least a morbid jig beneath the gallows. Not this, Monad above, just not this!

A shadow emerged in front of him, just as he fired the last round from his pistol and looked down to begin the process of reloading. He bid to move around it but in a great arc it sliced through the air with it’s massive claws and Rayner stumbled back, his pistol falling to the dirt. Heat, a white hot heat seared into the flesh on his chest as he looked down and realized he had been wounded, blood seeping out from the gashes three caused by the monster’s claws.

Clutching at the ragged tears he felt himself back into what felt like a solid wall but turned round only to realize he had come face to face with yet another of the fiends. Rayner could barely utter a word when it gripped his head and shoulder like a vice and clamped down on his exposed neck with a deafening sickly sound.

Rayner flailed, his strength leaving him with every passing moment as he desperately tried to fend off this assault. But as the flesh of his crook was torn from him he felt his legs buckle and he collapsed.

The pain following the confusion was intense. The worst he had ever felt. He reached in vain towards the wound but his arm, his hand, his fingers, none of which responded with promptness and every movement felt a chore done lazily. His breath quickened as the world narrowed and the air grew quiet. He felt a tug, a numb, vague awareness that something was pulling at his torso and legs. He looked down only to see that the creatures had descended on him and had begun to feed, for his flesh, his entrails were hanging from their eager maws.

But he no longer cared. As he felt a strange calmness fall over him when he rested his head back down. He then peered up at the starry sky until he saw no more.

Over his body the pack fed, gorging themselves in diabolical delight. As one, they threw their heads back in victory and sung in unison. Their dolorous cries carried far and away by the wind. Another victim, another kill. And as will soon take place, one of many more to come…