Chapter III

Watters's heart thrashed against his chest, a wild rhythm against the rising tide of unreality. The world was tilting, logic slipping away. Hilda, the hair, the silver… it was all a nightmare. 

The air shimmered with soot, the sky a canvas of blood red. The moon hung heavy, a malevolent eye in the heavens. 

The screams of the villagers mingled with the snarls and howls of wolves, a terrifying cacophony of chaos. "What in God's name is happening?!" Watters shouted. 

"Help us! Please, anyone!" a woman cried from down the road; her dress covered in blood. Watters ran toward her. "Stay still! I'll—" he began, but a monstrous shape lunged from the darkness, landing squarely on the woman. Her scream cut short. The beast tore into her throat, a geyser of blood erupting across the cobblestones. 

"Dear God…" he murmured as he watched the poor woman meet her end. Her last gasps a desperate gurgle as she was ripped limb from limb. The monster roared ferociously, howling at the moon with an unholy fury. Its body, silhouetted against the pale moon revealed a massive frame, about seven feet in height. Its head, that of a wolf, it's claws massive. "It couldn't be!" he shouted in disbelief. 

The monster's gaze, a searing yellow, pierced Watters. He stood paralyzed, fear a cold knot in his stomach. 

The creature lunged, a dark, terrifying shape hurtling toward him. BOOM! The sharp crack of a rifle. The monster, a hair's breadth away, was thrown aside, crashing into a cottage with a sickening thud. 

Watters's eyes darted left and right, searching for the source of the shot. "Who…?" 

Then, the sound of hooves. A figure on horseback materialized from the shadows. Black clothes. A massive black steed. And those eyes… burning white, like twin stars in the darkness. The horse reared, a powerful, almost supernatural image. Watters stared, his mind racing. 

"You there!" he cried, his legs trembling as he approached the mysterious figure. "Thank you!" 

The rider's eyes snapped toward Watters, leaving streaks of light in their wake. His face was completely obscured by shadow, as if he were darkness incarnate. He was a giant of a man, easily towering over six foot four, with hands to match. 

"Frail one!" the man in black roared, his voice like gravel. 

Watters froze. "Yes?" he stammered, fear gripping him. 

"This town is lost. Flee this place, or you will join in your townsfolks fate." The man commanded. 

Another explosion rocked the town, closer this time. The massive horse reared, and the man's icy gaze locked onto Watters. He snapped the reins and charged toward the town's center. 

He vanished as quickly as he had appeared. Watters hadn't seen a man that size since the war. Was he with the Order, here to save us? Or something else entirely? he wondered. He felt helpless, seeing someone so capable dispense of such a creature with such ease. Even when he was with The Order during the Holy Crusade, he was never that physically gifted. 

Screams still echoed through the village, a stark reminder of the chaos. Watters stumbled toward the dead woman's body, another victim of the monster. Her throat was torn out, blood seeping into the cracks of the cobblestones. Her eyes, wide with shock, stared blankly. Watters knelt beside her, his nightmare made real. 

Two brutal deaths in a single day. Watters felt cursed. He couldn't make sense of any of it. Were these creatures...werewolves? he thought, dismissing the idea as quickly as it came. No. Impossible. They're all dead! 

A visceral, ear-piercing shriek tore through his thoughts. It sounded almost like a pained insect, emanating from the very spot where he'd stood moments before. Watters whirled around, a knot of terror and confusion tightening in his stomach. The sound was like a trapped animal, its cries raw with agony. Or something…worse, a chilling thought whispered in the back of his mind. 

He stared, transfixed, at the dead creature. Its body was convulsing violently, bones snapping like twigs and twisting into grotesque, unnatural shapes. The skin on its head began to split, revealing the raw, blood-soaked skull beneath, scraps of muscle falling to the cobblestones like discarded rags. Abruptly, the skull snapped at the jaw hinge, the two halves gaping open like a gruesome flower. A thick, fleshy tendril erupted from the creature's neck cavity, writhing and lashing in the air like a grotesque tongue. 

Watters recoiled, his breath catching in his throat. "It's mutating!" he screamed, the word ripped from him as he witnessed the horrifying transformation. His heart hammered against his ribs, sweat beading on his forehead and trickling down his temples. 

The creature's shrieks intensified, morphing into guttural howls that echoed through the ravaged village. Its body flipped over, then began to shake uncontrollably. With a sickening crack and pop, six insect-like legs, three on each side, burst from the creature's torso, tearing through flesh and sinew. They scuttled against the cobblestones, twitching and grasping as if testing their newfound existence. 

The monster shrieked, a hellish sound unnatural in every way, sending Watters' ears reeling. The noise was so intense, blood trickled from his ear canals. The scream stopped. The doctor looked back at the mutated monstrosity; it was staring right at him, its eyes burning with malevolent intent. Watters' eyes widened. 

Like a demon from hell, the monster scuttled towards him, each insect-like leg tapping the cobblestones with terrifying speed. The limp corpse of the original creature bobbed grotesquely atop the mutation with each movement. Watters ran, feverishly sprinting away from the abomination. What the hell is that thing? he thought. What in God's name made it mutate? 

With each turn, alleyway after alleyway, the monster gained. His lungs burned; he hadn't run like this since he was a young man. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping him alive; his legs were starting to give way. No, no, his mind screamed, racing with the thought of impending doom. 

The creature snarled and roared, its massive tendril tongue lashing out, getting ever closer. Watters could feel its hot, fetid breath on his neck. Suddenly, the tendril wrapped tightly around his ankle, slamming him down violently. 

Watters' skull ricocheted off the cobblestones, disorienting him. The tendril flipped him onto his back. His fate was sealed. A guttural shriek pierced his ears as a second, fleshy skull enveloped the tendril, this one with rows of serrated, off-placed teeth. The mucus reeked, suffocating the poor doctor. 

His vision blurred. He spotted a glint from a shelf full of silver decorations—a display from one of the town's craftsmen! With every ounce of strength, he reached for the shelf and grabbed a silver letter opener. SHIK! Watters slid the blade into one of the creature's slimy tendrils. 

The abomination shrieked in pain, its grip on his leg loosening. Watters stared as the creature was engulfed in flames. Its agonized cries echoed through the alleyways as it was reduced to a smoldering pile of ash. 

Watters' breathing was ragged. He clutched his chest, trying to slow his racing heart. The realization hit him. "Silver!" he gasped, the word ripped from his throat. "It's the silver! I-I have to warn him!" 

He grabbed the silver letter opener and and hobbled toward the town center, his future uncertain as the howls of lycans echoed in the distance.