The lumberjack 2

Dimitre fell to all fours and lunged at Marcus with full speed. Although not as fast as in his human form due to his colossal size, he was still impressively agile.

Marcus knew that despite the loss of speed, Dimitre had at least tripled his physical strength. He wanted to fight at a distance, but the pistols he carried would be useless against the thick hide of that monster.

Adjusting his stance, Marcus raised his sword. When Dimitre was less than a meter away, Marcus swung the blade with extreme violence. The strike hit Dimitre's shoulder, making him shriek in pain. But unlike last time, he wasn't thrown backward. He kept advancing, attacking Marcus with his powerful claws. Marcus leapt to the right, using the movement to propel a sword strike toward Dimitre.

This time, Dimitre managed to dodge, shifting his body to the right. Marcus' sword missed by mere millimeters, the wind of its passage ruffling Dimitre's fur.

The distance between them was small. Marcus had learned in recent days that his sword was powerful enough to end most fights in a single blow. But when the enemy was too close and he missed the attack, recovering the weapon's momentum was difficult.

Dimitre jumped again. This time, Marcus knew he couldn't dodge, and counterattacking would be ineffective. He released the sword's hilt and opened his coat. From the shadows of the fabric, ten large vampire bats emerged, flying toward Dimitre's face.

Dimitre swung his arms, shredding the bats with his sharp claws. He quickly turned back to Marcus and unleashed a brutal attack. His claws tore through the ground, creating a one-meter-long fissure. He growled in rage when he saw Marcus five meters away, standing with corrected posture and holding the great sword, ready to strike as soon as he approached.

"All you know how to do is run, you cowardly piece of shit!" Dimitre snarled, his monstrous and thunderous voice echoing. Marcus remained motionless, his gaze analytical and serious.

The lack of response irritated Dimitre. He glanced around and saw, to his right, a large pile of cut logs. Smiling maliciously, he grabbed one and hurled it at Marcus with astonishing speed.

Marcus dodged the first log by ducking. But as the first passed him, Dimitre had already thrown three more. A cloud of dust erupted where Marcus had been. Dimitre watched the dust for a moment, but his nose twitched. Turning his head to the right side of the dust cloud, he saw Marcus emerge, bloodied, running toward him.

Dimitre smiled and prepared to receive him. At the last instant, just before reaching Dimitre, Marcus leapt and swung a powerful sword strike toward Dimitre's head.

The great wolf smiled again. He tilted his body slightly backward and, with a quick movement, caught the sword's blade. Dimitre shrieked in pain as the blade cut into his flesh. "Just a bit more," he thought. "Just a bit more, and my hand will fly off, but I won't allow that."

Marcus, three meters off the ground, had no way to dodge. Dimitre grinned and struck with his free hand. His claws pierced Marcus' stomach, going through his body and coming out his back.

The expression of pain on Marcus' face and the sensation of his organs being pierced made Dimitre smile even wider.

Dimitre looked at Marcus, impaled on his hand, and mocked:

"Little bat, little bat... It seems your arrogance had no foundation after all."

Contrary to Dimitre's expectations, Marcus smiled faintly and replied:

"You sure about that, son of a bitch?"

PA! PA! PA! PA!

Dimitre heard deafening gunshots. A searing pain spread through his body. He turned his head and saw twenty shadows on the roof of the old sawmill, firing enormous rifles. The bullets pierced his skin, something normal weapons couldn't do. The other werewolves weren't as lucky; the bullets didn't just leave superficial wounds—they were truly killing them under the barrage of gunfire.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Marcus drew his short sword and delivered a ferocious strike to Dimitre's forearm. His intent was to sever it, but the arm was too thick for that in a single blow. So Marcus kept attacking with all the ferocity he could muster. One, two, three strikes... By the time Dimitre realized what was happening, Marcus was already falling, holding Dimitre's severed forearm.

Dimitre howled in pain. He clutched the stump with his other hand, trying to staunch the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't stop pouring. Marcus took the opportunity to remove the severed forearm that had impaled him. The pain was excruciating. Marcus felt like he was going to pass out, but, gritting his teeth, he managed to pull it out.

Dimitre glared at Marcus with blind fury. But, feeling the bullets continuing to rain down on his back, he turned and ran into the forest. He disappeared into the darkness among the dense trees.

Marcus fell to his knees, breathing heavily. Instinctively, he placed his hand over the hole in his abdomen, closing his eyes against the searing pain. A mist of blood appeared, enveloping the wound and slowly sealing it. Feeling his body weakened, he lay down on the ground, exhausted. Time passed without his awareness until he was awakened by the sound of footsteps approaching.

As he sat up, Marcus saw ten men walking quickly toward him. They wore black suits and beige overcoats, with daggers at their waists and massive rifles strapped to their backs. Something about their presence irritated him deeply. Even though he didn't want to admit it, he knew he owed his life to them. Once again, he had been saved by others.

This dependency frustrated him. Since arriving there, it seemed he was always rescued at the last moment. The lack of personal strength gnawed at his pride, leaving him increasingly bitter.

The men stopped in front of him. One of them, older, with a face marked by exhaustion and a long gray beard, stepped forward. He bowed slightly before speaking in a respectful, measured tone:

"We managed to clear out the rest of the wolves, my lord."

Marcus narrowed his eyes, not letting himself be deceived by the man's formal tone. These were prisoners of war whom Isabela had forced him to turn into lesser vampires. Despite their apparent sense of duty toward him, their loyalty was not guaranteed. He knew this better than anyone. After all, he himself had decapitated his own creator.

"Very well. Anything else?" he asked, keeping his voice firm.

The man hesitated for a moment, with a strange expression on his face, before answering:

"Actually, sir, there is something else that requires your attention."

Annoyed, Marcus frowned. His mind was consumed with frustration. He had been beaten, had killed innocent people — even if in self-defense — and all he wanted was to go home, to Earth. But instead, he was stuck in that cursed mansion.

With a fierce expression that made the men shrink back slightly, he replied impatiently:

"What are you waiting for? Just tell me what it is."

When he was taken to the makeshift cell in the storage room, Marcus was surprised. Inside a wooden cage was a beautiful woman, looking at him with fear in her eyes. Her delicate appearance contrasted with the brutal setting around them.

"What the hell..." he muttered, almost growling. "The poor don't get a single day of peace.