Cry Of War

Chapter I – And so it Begins...

FEAR.

Fear is the strongest emotion that grows within us. Many say it is hate. Others claim it is love, yet we all know that is a lie. Fear claims us; it can be an enemy or an ally. It can help us, or destroy us. Fear is what controls the world, what makes it real. It is that which kills dreams and hopes, things which are just hallucinations. There is no happiness. There are no smiles. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

There never was.

BloodMoon Pack has rejected the mere thought of happiness. It has grown on hatred and fear. They are not known for their fortresses or their large number of members. They are not known for their power or the strength which they posses. BloodMoon Pack is known for their bloodthirsty personalities, which in all honesty, explains the name, more or less. This pack is the fear inflicted upon other weaker and younger packs. It is the nightmare any child has. The nightmare everyone fears. It’s the type of nightmare you won’t wake up from.

Simply, because it is real. And he should know. He lives there, in the nightmare.

No, I must rephrase;

He is the nightmare.

A muffled groan echoes through the cold, dark chamber, accompanied by a small whimper. The child struggles in her seat, trying to free herself from the chains binding her to the silver chair. The result of her struggle only ends in more pain, the chains digging deeper into her wrists, ankles, forearms, and torso, making her cry in agony.

The chains were making her skin raw, constantly burning into what used to be soft and delicate flesh, now turned into rough patches due to the constant rubbing. In a last brave, yet foolish attempt to free herself, the girl pulls harshly, using her feet to move her body forward. She closes her eyes tightly as burning pain began to dance through her body evilly and make white spots appear in her vision.

She let out another muffled whimper through the cloth around her mouth before giving up entirely, sinking into the burning silver chair and closing her eyes. Even then she was still uncomfortable.

Silver is a friend to no werewolf, and the child keeps finding out the reason why with every inhale. Every blink. Every slightest movement results in more pain. And she just keeps adding more to it by struggling with the chains.

In the middle of her agony, something warm spreads through her abdomen, making the cold air around her cease for a slight second. The warm liquid keeps spreading, and the child rejoices, until she began to feel it, the pain she hadn’t felt until now, stretching deeper and further into her, slowly moving like a slithering demon up her stomach and into her chest, burning like fire summoned from the pits of hell. Her eyes snapped open and widen in horror.

Her breathing suddenly quickened, her small, young heart beating rapidly as the pain increased. She slowly looked down, almost as if she didn’t want to know that her fear, her horrid realization was correct. The unmistakable smell hit her before her eyes connected to her stomach. In the middle of her struggle, the child had used force to such an extent where the chains around her torso had ripped through the flesh, digging deeply into her. The warm liquid she had felt, was nothing more than her own blood.

Blood that was quickly turning black.

The horror-stricken child looks at the two guards standing at the door, fresh tears running down her cheeks. She tries to speak to them, yet each word is muffled by the cloth. Her pleas are not heard by the wolves standing guard at the door. The only reply she gets from the two are them stiffening, the smell of blood hitting their nostrils at full force. They straighten and ignore the child, looking directly at the wall in front of them, barely visible thanks to the dim lighting.

The smell of blood doesn’t faze one particular wolf, though, as he continues to tighten his grip around another werewolf’s neck. This one, the one being choked, is barely sitting in a silver chair as well. His body is weak and broken, quite literally. Bruises and cuts adorn his skin, showing the pain he is currently, and had been through. His clothes are torn, ripped into pieces. His shirt is barely existent, shredded into bits, allowing any curious eye to see the deep gashes running along his stomach.

His head is no longer the same, now it’s disfigured and it is not an appealing sight to the eye. Pieces of once silky hair, now turned into an epitome of hay, have been ripped out of his scalp, along with rather big pieces of skin. Blood drips down his head slowly, following a course down his forehead, forming a small trail down the side of his broken nose, chin, and neck, before finally disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

One rebellious drop of blood decides to change its course and travels slowly down the right side of his forehead, before running down his right eye, which is jammed shut and bleeding, a sick tone of black and blue appearing in his skin, meaning his eye is probably non-existent now. The drop of blood divides itself in two and runs down his right cheek, which has a deep cut, allowing a somewhat clear sight into his mouth, showing a tongue that has been bitten more times than one can count. The drops of blood keep moving down, passing closely by his bleeding nose and reaching his bottom lip, which has a slight tear on the left side. These drops keep traveling down until they too disappear into the torn shirt.

His arms are tightly chained to the chair, but these chains have something different in them. Not only are they made of lethal silver, but also of something worse. Something deadly to all werewolves.

Wolfsbane.

The deadly plant is interlaced with the chains, burning deeply into the man’s skin. Every vein in his body is popping up, his blood slowly turning a bluish indigo as the Wolfsbane infiltrates his system, traveling into his heart. Two fingers of his left hand are missing, and three from the right. One look at his hands, and it is clear his fingers were ripped off, a painful experience indeed. His body is slowly shaking, every once in a while jumping, the result to being splashed with ice-cold water and electrocuted. The man is on the verge of dying, which is pretty obvious. The one question is why is all this cruelty being committed? Especially in front of a child?

More importantly, why to the child?

Who is this man committing such cruelty, and with what reason? Normally, the answer is very simple; He is Jason Lawrence, Beta of the BloodMoon Pack, the nightmare of every werewolf, except his brother. What changes the answer is that this one moment has more meaning to it than meets the eye.

Jason stood before Obadiah Averin, his hand tightening around his neck once more, making the dying wolf let out a choked cry of pain. “Tell me where your pack is, or you die. Tonight,” he growls lowly, eyes flashing a cold gray for a slight second, showing his patience is on the brink of snapping. When the weak, broken Beta doesn’t reply, Jace sighs, looking at the ground for a second before letting go of his neck, standing to his full height, exactly at six feet.

He slowly turns to the child, his nose slightly scrunching up in disgust at the sight of poisoned blood, which was slowly pooling beneath the glowing chair. “Thank your father for the pain you will feel for the rest of your miserable life, until, of course, he speaks.” The girl’s eyes widened and she sank deeper into the silver chair, fear drowning out the pain in her body for the slightest moment. The Beta had barely taken a step forward before the dying man began stuttering.

“N-no pl-please... Sh-she’s just s-seven years old..,” Obadiah whispers silently.

Jason lets out a low chuckle which echoes throughout the cave-like room. His voice sends shivers of fear down the child’s spine. The stories she was told all throughout her childhood were true! This man is the reincarnation of the evil, nonetheless. The man who never cared, who was ruthless beyond measure. Someone who would never find love. Someone who was Satan’s spawn.

That is what everyone thinks. The truth is that within these walls lies a monster more horrid than the spawn, the serpent. The demon that commands all. The one who began all of this darkness.

The Alpha.

While Jason is the nightmare, his brother is the reincarnation of hell’s evil and misery. That monster, for he is no man, is worse than the torment. Once you wake up from the nightmare, you find yourself before what’s worse.

It’s creator.

Her mother had warned her so many times not to get near the BloodMoon Pack’s territory, yet what child wouldn’t get curious when their father left the house with a present-wrapped package in his hands? It was her mistake, she now realized, to follow him, but even more, to not heed her mother’s warning. Closing her eyes, the child silently asked for her mother to forgive her, for the saying is true;

Curiosity killed the wolf. And a wolf has no nine lives.

“And why should I listen to you?” He slowly turned back to Obadiah, his eyes shining with the torment a nightmare causes. Averin weakly raises his head, feeling his life draining more and more every second.

Fighting back hadn’t worked. Staying silent hadn’t worked. So, as dishonorable as it was, Obadiah had only one choice. “P-p-please... she’s my d- daughter...”

Jason laughed, the sound vibrating through the walls, and the guards at the door had to use all of their willpower not to flinch back from the sound, the laughter of a nightmare, the sound of a demon’s joy, not death. No. Death is a gift, an exit to pain, and the Lawrence brothers are not so merciful. “You sound pathetic by pleading and begging like a coward,” he spat, eyes shining, his evil aura surrounding them all.

Werewolves can feel auras, and a small amount can see them. Jason can’t see auras, and neither can his brother. That is normally an ability that only Crystal Pack has. You are more likely to meet a werewolf that can see auras and him/her being from Crystal Pack than any other pack. Even so, in Crystal Pack, there are only six wolves that can see auras, and no one else is known to see auras. Werewolves who see auras have had a near-death experience or, in very strange cases, died and resuscitated.

The latter barely happens, but it had happened to Obadiah. He is a werewolf who could not only sense auras, like every other wolf but also see them. His good eye widens slightly when he sees the shadow surround them, emanating from Jason, its darkness more intense than darkness itself.

Now he could see why Jason was called a nightmare, yet, the truth was he was just a mere puppet darkness was playing with. His eyes slightly widened as he looked at the demons take an indescribable form, whispering into Jase’s ears, filling his mind with ideas, clouding his conscious and controlling him entirely.

They were making a toy out of him. In that moment, Obadiah tried to think how this could happen to a person. There was no longer nothing pure about him. There was no heart, no mind, no fear, no hatred, no understanding, and no life. What happened to him?

Claw-like hands were holding his arms and legs, two hands with black nails were covering his eyes, and there were more claws reaching out from a dark door behind, grasping at his figure, not letting him go. Jason Lawrence is a prisoner of his own mind.

“K-kill me inst-t-ed...,” Obadiah tried once more, seeing that there was no cure to Jase’s aura. An aura that was corrupted in such a way couldn’t be repaired. And what was worse was he didn’t even know it was.

“And end with your suffering soul? No. I can’t do that,” The demons made him smile and Obadiah knew his ruin had come. Nothing would convince the puppet before him to let the innocent child free. “Besides,” the Nightmare crouched in front of Obadiah and lifted his head until their eyes met. Obadiah couldn’t hide the terror in his eyes when he looked into Jace’s soulless ones as they slowly turned black. “If the Alpha wants your daughter,” he lowered his voice into a growl, his eyes becoming fully black. “He’ll have your daughter.”

The last comment sent Obadiah over the edge, giving him the slightest bit of strength for his little girl. No. Those demons wouldn’t have his innocent angel, not while he lived. Even in his current state, the defeated Beta growled, balling his hands into fists, moving forward and speaking lowly, so only Jace could hear his next words;

“Go to hell, Lawrence. That’s where you belong.”

Jason smirked and moved a bit forward until his mouth was next to his ear. “You think I don’t know that?” he taunted, but to his confusion, Obadiah smiled.

“It’s where your bitch is waiting,” he whispered, a smile covering his features, making it look grim with all the disfigurements the torture had caused. Jase’s entire expression darkened and he clenched his jaw, his eyes turning entirely demon red as he watched Obadiah sit back, and a smirk, which represents a zombie, on his sickly pale face.

The only thing that could suddenly be seen was a flash of black before a round of multiple, loud, terrifying cracks filled the air. The child stilled, her eyes widened as tears began to spill.

Her multiple screams were muffled by the bloody cloth tied around her head covering her mouth. She struggled greatly, the pain suddenly not mattering anymore. She screamed furiously again as she moved against the chains, fighting against the silver snakes holding her to a silver cage.

The chains began to dig into her wrists, making more of the black blood spill to the ground, and the chains around her abdomen kept ripping away more pieces of flesh. Jase turned around once the smell of poisoned blood hit his nose like a wall of bricks. His eyes were slowly turning back to their normal, steel gray color, but the red light could still be somewhat seen. The child kept struggling, pain filling every single one of her senses, white and black spots filling her vision as the Wolfsbane kept poisoning her blood.

“If you don’t stop moving, you will end just like him,” he growled and moved to the side, allowing the girl to see her father’s corpse. As soon as her light brown eyes landed on him, her breathing stopped.

A different kind of pain filled her senses, the kind of pain which the heart screams out when a loved one is lost. When a loved one is dead.

The child stilled, her heart beginning to crack, slowly, just as if it were made of glass before bursting into an endless rain of pieces. Pieces that could not be counted. Sorrow, grief, heartbreak, everything that no child should experience at such a young age crossed her mind, which was now corrupted. Her scream of agony was once again muffled by the cloth and Jace let loose a low, threatening growl.

“Shut up,” he snapped, and the now orphaned child silenced slightly, tears still streaming freely down her face. Jase looked at the ceiling for a second before inhaling deeply and turning away from her and to the guards. The two immediately stiffened and stood with their backs straight as planks. “What do you want us to do with the child, Sir?” One of the guards asked, handing him a small yellow rag.

Jase cast a quick glance at the girl and inhaled deeply once again, grabbing the towel and wiping his hands until they were pretty much clean. “Free her from the chains, give her five minutes to heal, and wait here for my brother.”

The guards nodded before the one standing on the right spoke, “And the father, Sir?”

Jason looked at Obadiah’s corpse. His head was hanging down the side of his arm and the neck was entirely visible, every single broken bone to meet the eye. Jase had tightened his grip to such an extent where his neck had snapped entirely. Anger filled the wolf as he watched what he had done. In Jason’s mind, the man deserved a much slower death for talking about her like that.

“Burn him,” Jase replied coldly, handed the bloody towel back to the guard, and walked to the door, the two guards moving to the side almost immediately letting him go through.

BloodMoon’s Beta walked out the door and down the hall with beautiful mahogany colored walls. One would think that due to their reputation, BloodMoon would have all of their homes and Pack House in a terrible state. Destroyed walls, fading paint, broken floor tiles, flickering light bulbs, and all the other typical decorations that would scream out ‘Evil! Torture! Terror! BloodMoon!’

In reality, BloodMoon loved all luxurious things. Their walls were adorned with beautiful decorations, from the ceilings hanged pricey chandeliers, the floor tiles a shining and polished cobalt black. It was in some way, a paradise. A paradise of course, to those who belonged in the pack. Any outsider, or unwelcome visitor, would see what hides behind the luxury. The truth behind the walls.

As Jase walked down the hall, he caught sight of a few pack members walking by with a tense aura. He kept his face clear of any emotions and kept walking not even nodding to them or showing any signs of acknowledgment. He walked to the kitchen which was built country-style. Everything was made of wood, dark and light oak wood, except the sinks and fridge, of course. Jase walked to the fridge and opened it with a harsh tug, making everything in it shake a little. He looked at the food for a slight second before grabbing a peach and closing it again.

Even though the variety of foods in the fridge was tremendous, from donuts to the latest brand of Doritos, yet Jase always chose the same thing;

A peach.

The why is not known to anyone other than himself.

Jase walks away from the kitchen and takes a turn to the left, going up a staircase. Taking a bite out of the peach, he then looks up, to see his brother come down the stairs, wearing everything completely black. Jase leaned against a wall and watched his older brother. “Colton.”

The Alpha, now identified as Colton, stopped and let a smirk spread across his face. “What is it, Jase?” he asked, with not so much interest in what his brother had to say.

“I hope you know your limits,” Jase told him with a serious expression no fear or tremble in his voice. The Alpha leaned against the rail of the stairs and looked at Jase with a questioning eyebrow raised, “Are you implying something, brother?”

Jase looks at the peach and sighs before looking back up at Colton, “She is just seven years old,” he told him lowly and with a lot of intensity in his voice.

“Oh, don’t worry. I know,” Colton smirked at Jase before getting off the railing and walking down the stairs. “But, I don’t see where your worry comes from, brother. The last one was four.” He turned around and looked up at Jase, who had his jaw clenched before sighing and murmuring under his breath;

“The last one is dead.”

Colton shook his head and watched as his brother walked to the door of his room, which was the first one on the right. Just as he opened the door, Colton called out to him again, “Be careful, Jase!” His voice was taunting, testing the Beta’s patience. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re becoming soft, and you know what that means.”

He clenched his jaw again before entering the room and slamming the door close. Even then he could hear Colton chuckling evilly as he walked away to a place Jase knew too well. The one place and one of the many reasons why he kept his emotions off.

Even with the Alpha gone, he could still hear his words echoing through his mind. As much as he hated the thought, Colton was right. He couldn’t become weak, he couldn’t let himself feel. Emotions were weaknesses, and he knew that by heart.

They had already been his downfall once.