The deep grove was a stark contrast to the outer edge he had traversed before. Upon entering this strange valley, the sky seemed to change colour immediately to a baleful violet, the sun disappearing like the snuffed flame on a candle. Darkness grew profound, shadows lengthening and splitting as if there were several light sources. In amongst the dark trees it became hard to tell exactly which way was which. It was like an endless maze that required two pedestrian hedge walls to keep its occupants from travelling in circles.
Knowing full well that in the strange, otherworldly forest he was being hunted by both the Werewolf Remus and whatever else the Druid sent after him, Vorador abandoned any attempt at stealth or defence. Shifting his body, he took the swift and familiar form of the lupine and bounded through the undergrowth. The powerful and nimble form was faster than the Werewolf’s, whose larger bulk slowed him down and the growls of annoyance at being outpaced echoed ominously from always just behind him, it seemed.
Occasionally he looked around as he ran, trying to see where Remus actually was. He knew the Werewolf alpha male was here somewhere but there was not so much as a glimpse of white fur. He was waiting for the opportunity to strike or perhaps had gone ahead to wait in ambush. Impossible to say. Having to run while keeping his senses heightened for the possibility of an attack was straining his patience to its utter limit.
The black spire loomed just in the distance and keeping his sights firmly fixed on that, the Vampire pressed onwards without pausing. Admittedly he had nothing in the way of concrete evidence that the spire was indeed Bane’s central lair. It was what he sensed more than what he deduced that led him to the conclusion the Druid was hiding there. It was the only real thing he had to guide him so he raced on, dodging between the trees.
As he proceeded, the world around him grew darker and darker and the trees seemed to twist and become more ominous and threatening, their limbs reaching up like claws to snare him. Everything around him seemed hostile and ready to destroy him at a moment’s notice. Whatever the nature of his sub-reality, it was bent to Bane’s will. It seemed his boast about it being a haven only to those who he wished to be here was not exaggerated.
The first obstacle to overcome seemed to materialise so suddenly out of the dark that Vorador almost ran right into it. The trees parted and before him was a large, circling, moat-like expanse of sodden marsh and pools. Rivers of thick slurry ran between wet, boggy islands off in either direction as far as the eye could see. Like everything else in this eldritch place.
The far edge of this watery expanse was perhaps a couple of hundred meters away, a distant rise of continuing trees. Despite the thick vegetation growing out of such a large watery environment, there was no sign of animal life. No frogs or fish, water fowl or even an insect. The entire panorama was silent except for the trickle of the water and even that was subdued.
For a Vampire, such an expanse would be a lethal hazard and attempting to cross it would be unthinkable. It was fortunate indeed then that Vorador’s new serpentine form left him now immune to water’s acidic touch. Quickly he slipped back to his regular form and from there he reassumed the long, scaly body which still felt new to him. He had gotten used to the spider form eventually but losing all limbs entirely felt quite queer.
Once wrapped in scales, Vorador eased himself down into the waters. Sliding forth he parted the reed and thick growth easily, slipping from side to side as he went. He still had to fight down the instinctive revulsion and panic he felt at being touched by a substance which for centuries had meant nothing but death. Deliberately he forced all thought of burning and scalding out of his mind as he continued on. He had made the swim from the mainland to the island; he would manage this as well.
Despite this adaptive form, however, crossing the boggy terrain was not easy. In places the water flowed quite quickly and it became a challenge to navigate the stiller stretches, often having to backtrack and circle around large, substantial hillocks that got in the way. By the time Vorador had cleared the worst of the rapids he had wasted a substantial amount of time.
The far bank was a high ridge that was exceedingly difficult to traverse for a snake. Vorador could not transform back into his regular form and pull himself up or risk being swallowed by the water. Doggedly he continued on until he ascended a steep slope that took him up and onto the top. There he gratefully changed back into his own form, feeling a great deal of his energies depleted from crossing. The surplus of energy he had acquired was already beginning to dim.
The black spire, however, did appear to be closer and with this as encouragement he pressed on, slipping back into the more welcoming shape of the wolf.
Somehow Remus’ presence was still palpable, even on this side of the water. Vorador did not see him but his proximity was felt in the shadows, as if any one of them might be a place of concealment for the ambush hunter. The one thing being played upon more than his nerves, however, was Vorador’s patience. He was tired of this runaround game. If he did not get what he wanted soon he would become very irritable.
As such he was not even all that surprised when he came across another obstacle. Once more the trees came to an abrupt end and between him and the looming spire was a vast crevice, a sharp drop of some hundreds of feet with a wide gap of its own between him and the far side.
Stumbling across this ravine, as if it just suddenly appeared out of the land, Vorador began to grow suspicious. When he had entered this central valley he had seen no such crevice, and given its size it would have been inconceivable for him to have overlooked it. Now that he came to think on it, he had not seen that marshy river either from the cliff top.
There could be only one conclusion to draw from this. These environmental hazards were being spawned by Bane to prevent him from reaching the spire. His control over this place gave him, it seemed, the ability to create any adverse terrain he desired. Vorador sat there in lupine form, a wolfish expression of displeasure creasing the muzzle. Clearly if this was allowed to continue Bane would just throw obstacle after obstacle, a never-ending series of conjured hazards. If he wanted to get anywhere he was going to have to force the issue.
He slipped back into his own form.
“You’re making this harder than it has to be, Druid.” He said out loud and in a challenging tone. He slipped then into his first and most familiar form. Sprouting feathers and constricting in on himself, he became a raven and took to the air like an arrow fired from a bow. Flapping his wings he soared up and over the crevice, flying easily up and above the obstacle. Carried by his wings he flew on past the far edge. He did not land but continued flying on, above the trees now. He would not play Bane’s game and kept himself flying squarely towards that spire.
 “This is your last warning, Vampire!” A voice burst forth out of the air itself. The sudden shock almost made Vorador transform back into his regular form in midair. He recognised instantly the voice of Bane himself, the Druid speaking to him out of the very wind.
“I have tolerated your presence in my grove long enough.” Bane continued ominously, growling out of the insubstantial. The Vampire ignored the words and simply let his senses feel what they could when the words were spoken. The latent magics of this place rippled with each spoken word like pebbles thrown onto the surface of motionless water.
He understood then that his intuition had indeed been correct. Whatever powers augmented this strange sub-reality allowed Bane to speak directly to anyone within it, no matter his actual physical location and this outburst hinted that Bane had indeed been responsible for the obstacles. The magic was especially strong here and was no doubt the reason he had seen no sign of Remus. The Werewolf could have been right behind him the entire time and the magic would prevent him from being discovered.
The spire loomed just up ahead now. Encircling its wide, rocky base was a large clearing devoid of any flora whatsoever. To this Vorador circled down and once he had his feet back on the ground he blurred back into his regular form. In one swift motion he drew the sword at his side and stood facing the towering monolith.
 “Leave my lair if you still value your life!” Bane snapped and his irritation was plain. Vorador only smiled. He was certain now he was on the right course.
“I have faced threats from the mouths of demons.” He replied flatly. “Yours are lacklustre.” Purposefully he started towards the spire once more.
Perhaps by now, pushed to the extreme limits of his irritation and hampered by a Vampire in the very heart of his lair, Bane had had enough of games. Whatever the reason, Remus finally showed himself directly. He burst out of the trees directly behind the Vampire and landed with a heavy thump. Slowly the creature reared up, towering up over Vorador with lips drawn back over his fanged mouth and arms spread wide to either side; claws tensed and twitching.
Vorador had already turned around and held Marrow before him quite calmly, the sword point directed squarely at the Werewolf’s barrel-like chest. There was a distance of several dozen feet between them and whoever made the forward rush first would have the advantage. Remus’ arms were longer and Vorador knew gave him a greater swiping range. He would need to be quick and get in under those arms to attack the chest or stomach.
Remus stared at him for a long, silent moment and then managed something of a smile, very odd to see on his distorted, muzzle-like face.
 “You do not know when you are not welcome, do you, leech?” He asked in that same peculiar way of his, seeming to chew his words.
 “I have business here, dog.” Vorador replied flatly with similar insult but more disgust. “Get out of my way and I won’t have to skin your hide.” Remus’ smile widened in amused response, showing a great deal of red gum.
“How crass.” He rumbled and lowered his head down, his eyes alight with insulting glee. “I would have thought such a proud Vampire, especially one of your lineage, would speak with more refinement – Vorador, firstborn of Janos Audron.” He drawled out the names slowly to add emphasis. Vorador furrowed his brow in response.
“Yes, I know who you are now.” Remus confirmed. He raised a clawed hand and pointed at the Vampire almost accusingly. “And I see why you are so bitter against my kind.” The Werewolf sounded smug about his discovery. “You were alive during the uprising, weren’t you? You were there to see the rebel Guardians revolt when we were used as living weapons.”
Vorador was silent for a moment then turned his head slightly with a provoked growl.
“You tore down a civilisation that had withstood ten centuries of apocalyptic war.” He said with more bitterness and contempt than he meant to show. Remus’ words were getting under his skin.
“And that was hardly our idea, Vampire.” Remus snapped back and his glee vanished in a moment of anger. “We were not asked if we wished to be mutated into beasts.” He held out both forelimbs and looked at them, palms upturned with the claws extended. Something seemed to pass across his face as he considered himself.
It was fleeting, but Vorador recognised the emotion as regret and his own expression of contempt began to soften.
 “We were not asked if we wished to act as beasts of war.” Remus continued and in his voice now was just as much bitterness as had been in Vorador’s own. “We were not asked to then be put down, like infected farm livestock they had no more use for. We were given no choice at all.” The Werewolf looked up at him sternly.
“Do you even know our story?” He asked. Vorador said nothing. “No, you don’t.” Remus growled to himself and lowered his arms to his side. “Ignorant, hypocritical fool. You judge us without knowing all there is to know. Is that not what the Humans do to you?”
Vorador instinctively wanted to deny this comparison but standing here, he suddenly found that he could not. The analogy was too veracious and too personal to deny and he stood there, feeling that he had let some of his foundations slip.
Remus watched him silently for a pause and then began to speak again.
“I was one of the originals, the first set of lycanthropes.” He said, never taking his eyes off of the Vampire even for a moment. “We were once ordinary men, slaves that toiled in a quarry for its slate and granite. Our blue skinned, winged masters were not kind. If we did not extract enough stone to help restore their cities, many of us would be flogged. Then Moebius came to us.” He paused for a moment seemingly lost in thought. His stretched face betrayed nothing but his teeth ground together tightly. Vorador let him continue talking, remaining silent but wondering how much of this story he should believe.
“He recruited us into his rebel army.” He continued. “I and my brother, Romulus, fought many battles under our appointed leader Ewoden. We were amateur soldiers but we learned quickly and were eager for more challenge.” Despite his words he sounded neither happy about this nor remorseful. He spoke as if reciting cold, hard fact. “But those days did not last long.”
His voice took on an edge of very strong emotion now. There was fear there, mixed with horror and terror and a strong dose of anger.
“We were taken by the foul evil that was Ambraxas-Divus and subjected to the most cruel and excruciating process to become the dogs you see today.” At this Vorador’s ears flicked up. He did not recognise the name as belonging to any specific person he knew of but he recognised its Hylden origin. That gave this story some more factual basis and made it less likely that it was merely a self-serving lie.
“After the war was over, most of those transformed were put to death.” Remus continued. “Some others Ambraxas took to some distant place, I know not where. But my brother and I escaped into the wilderness.” He snorted now in annoyance. “It took years of effort, our minds barely able to recall what it was like to think rationally, but eventually we were able to relearn how to think like a normal Human.” He fixed Vorador with a glare. “Crawling our way up out of animalistic, feral instincts back to logic and reason is an experience I would not wish upon my worst enemy.”
He slunk down slightly almost onto all fours, his body arched forward and his tail lashing out behind him. Under any other circumstances Vorador could have interpreted this as a preparation for a lunge but he perceived that the Werewolf was merely making himself more comfortable. His anatomy seemed to make standing on his hind legs for any extended period of time difficult.
“But even to this day, neither one of us has been successful in transforming back to Human form.” He said and even with that admission he kept his voice neutral as possible. “Perhaps we were stuck in this shape too long. Whatever the reason we are forever clad in wolf hide.”
Vorador looked him up and down dubiously.
“Your pack seems to manage the skill reasonably well.” He said with skepticism, remembering the woman he had caught back on the mainland and the village he had left behind which had been populated by nothing but the wolves in Human skin. Remus glared at him savagely and his lips pulled back over his sharp teeth afresh.
“I am well aware of that!” He snapped in some heat, his claws raking the ground before him. The fur along his back bristled, muscles flexing beneath the hide. Now he definitely looked like he was ready to pounce and Vorador quickly tightened his hand on Marrow’s hilt. “Despite the ease of their transformations, I have been attempting futilely to revert back to Human form for centuries!”
Then he seemed to relax a little, his fur resettled itself but Vorador kept his sword at the ready all the same. He knew full well that once this conversation was over there would be an explosion of violence.
“My only consolation is that my treacherous brother is fairing no better than I.” Remus chuckled in some sadistic pleasure.
Ever since he had mentioned a brother during this conversation, Vorador had begun to have suspicions. Finally he seemed confident enough to make an assumption.
“Your brother would not happen to have black fur as opposed to white, would he?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. Remus considered him with a low rumble of amusement.
“Ahhh, you’ve come across some of his brood, then, I see.” His chuckle sounded very much like brittle lumps of coal being ground together. “Yes, he is as dark as I am pale. Black for his black heart.” Both Vorador’s eyebrows arched.
“I perceive you had a falling out?”  He asked. Remus’ reaction to his words made his question almost rhetorical. He reared back up to his hind legs again, rising to his full height. He gnashed his teeth together so hard he must have bitten himself as blood began trickling out the corner of his mouth. He didn’t seem to notice, lost in anger that must have been his sorest mental point.
“He is a lying traitor! A greedy usurper!” He spat off to one side, a mix of blood and saliva, wiping away the blood from his maw. “He strives to keep Wyrmheim for himself and his vile kin!” Vorador frowned quickly at the name. He might have never heard the name of such a place before but he recognised some of the worlds that made it up. It was a combination of terms from an old northern dialect that meant Den of Snakes or Home of the Serpent. “He even allied himself with the Mandarin deviants to achieve this, denying me! His own brother!” He snarled. “He gave them the Pearl, the jewel of that place, its prized treasure! Priceless and precious and he traded it away like some mere bauble!” He was ranting, mentioning things that Vorador had no knowledge of but the Vampire kept quiet and listened. This cleared up one mystery at least. No wonder the black and white breeds of Werewolves were at each other’s throats if their alpha males had such an intense feud.
“With Bane’s help I will take what is my due.” Remus concluded.
“And the royal family of the invading army?” Vorador pressed quickly. “Why did you seek them out for death if all you desire is vindication on your brother?” Remus’ face suddenly went flat at the question, eyes narrowing and lips settled down over his teeth. Vorador suddenly knew he had reached the bottom of the well that was the Werewolf’s forthrightness.

“No no no, Vampire.” Remus began in a low, ominous tone. “I am not going to give you all the answers at once.” His large body began to flex and this time Vorador was quite sure that he was preparing to attack. “You are an irritant I need gone. My attention is needed on fighting my brother and you are a distraction I cannot afford to have.”
Vorador regarded the creature silently. As he considered the beast he saw the truth of his existence, trapped in his private war of vengeance, embittered by centuries of dark brooding and repeated failure. The comparison between the plight of Vampires and the bestial Werewolves had been disturbing enough, but now Vorador had had his eyes opened to another similarity between Remus and himself. Both of them were relics from that ancient Human rebellion. Both of them had known hardship and loss. Both of them had endured bitter betrayals. Both of them had been consumed by dark, brooding thoughts.
But Vorador had come out of that dark pit. It had taken him a long time but he had clawed his way out of that abyss of despair and he would not go back down into it again. Remus was trapped there still, ensnared by his own acrimony and hatred. The realisation of this stirred in Vorador an emotion that he had never thought he would ever experience towards any of their kind.
“You poor, cheerless creature.” He said with real pity in his voice.
Without any warning at all Remus lunged. He came on like a tidal wave, claws spread wide and mouth full of sharp teeth agape. Had Vorador not been watching him intently in anticipation of such an attack, he might have had his head taken off. Having just that spilt second to react, the Vampire arched backwards dramatically, letting the massive beast sail overhead. All seemingly in slow motion he drew the jagged edge of Marrow back and sliced a large gash in Remus’ flank as he passed. Blood spurted out over the ground and Remus cringed, curling in on himself. He struck the ground, rolled a short distance and then righted himself with a snarl.
Heedless of the injury he galloped in again, the earth churning beneath his clawed feet. Vorador darted to one side, narrowly avoiding a violent slash that would have opened his rib cage if he had taken it straight on. As the Werewolf lunged past, Vorador swung Marrow around and sliced him across the arm. This wound, however, was fleeting. Reacting instantly to the sting Remus swung his arm and backhanded the Vampire away.
The blow struck him across the chest. It knocked the wind out of him and sent him hurtling back several feet until he collided roughly into a tree. He dropped to the ground, momentarily stunned, shaking his head. Glancing up, Vorador saw Remus coming on again with mouth spread wide, jaws aimed at his neck.
As the massive wolf’s head came within range, Vorador leapt forward. Using the skull as a springboard, he vaulted up and over the broad shoulders and onto the creature’s back. Savagely he stabbed Marrow back into Remus’ bulk. The jagged blade bit deep, sinking into the Werewolf’s body as a spray of blood erupted out over the ground.
Vorador rolled out of the way, swiftly spinning around with the sword already held out in front of himself defensively. Remus snarled and turned around. Like a Vampire, a Werewolf was able to take a great deal of physical punishment and regenerate. Even such savage wounds were not sufficient to kill or seriously injure. To kill or hamper such a beast tremendous damage must be done to something vital, like the head or the heart.
Vorador considered his situation quickly as the Werewolf began to stalk him, stepping to the side with his forearms held low. The last time he had fought Remus, the Werewolf had had the advantage of some of his pack to back him up. One on one, however, he was not as dangerous. With Marrow as his weapon the Vampire had the advantage of speed and agility.
Remus himself seemed to perceive as much. He did not charge in again but walked to the left, his eyes locked on the Vampire. Vorador sidestepped with him, his body relaxed but subtly poised, waiting for the rush. It would be best to kill Remus here and now and remove him from interfering in his endeavour.
The Werewolf began to sprint off to the side, his wounds healing already. Spurting on, he began circling faster and faster. Vorador tried to keep his eyes on him but Remus proved to be too quick. Even a Vampire’s enhanced eyes saw a blur of white. Sidestepping to keep his eyes on his enemy, Vorador inadvertently lowered his sword.
Instantly Remus struck. He changed direction so fast that Vorador didn’t even see it. Before he could leap out of the way the Werewolf alpha male was on him, claws slashing down. One slash cut Vorador down his right arm, drawing blood and freeing Marrow from his grasp. The sword spun away and landed point down in the ground. A second slash came around so quickly that Vorador caught it across the face. The claws drew deep gashes across his lips, nose, and brow, narrowing missing cutting his eyes open. The blow was so strong that it knocked him sideways, blood streaming from the three slashes down his face. The gashes had gone deep, right down to the skull bone.
Vampires did not scar easily. Their flesh unusually healed completely even after serious injuries. The only scar Vorador had acquired had been the encircling one around his neck, where his head had been reattached. He was fortunate that this blow would not produce such permanent marks but the tremendous pain and blood flowing down into his eyes left him blinded and disoriented.
He was in serious trouble now. Disarmed and injured, he had to act quickly. Remus was coming at him again, jaws thrown wide. Acting more on instinct than any intent he swung backwards away from the teeth which snapped so close he could smell alpha male’s breath. Tumbling backwards, he grasped the creature by the tuft of fur on his chest and rolled. Remus’ own forward momentum did the rest and together they tumbled backwards, clawing and scratching at each other with claws and talons. Trapped and plunged head over heels, Remus snarled and tore at him like the enraged animal he was. In such close quarters, however, Vorador was easily able to deflect and hold off the claws with his arms and keep the snapping jaws at bay with one foot.
As they tumbled, Vorador pressed that foot into the beast’s chest. When their spin finally brought them level he thrust his leg straight as hard as he could. The kick knocked Remus away, sending the alpha male sprawling across the ground, angrily thrashing to regain his balance. Vorador wasted no time, dashing for his dropped sword as the slash marks across his face began to close up.
Howling in wrath, Remus scrabbled back to his feet and galloped on all fours after him. His wounds were already healed but they had enraged him, driving him into a frenzied pursuit. While the alpha male of the pack was indeed smarter than the others when in feral form, when prodded his anger would override his Human logic and reduce him to a red-eyed, reactionary rage.
Vorador knew that unless he did something quickly, the Werewolf would easily outpace him. He also could not afford to drag this fight out as his opponent had strength and stamina that he did not have. He skidded to a stop beside Marrow and yanked the sword out of the ground. As he drew the blade up he did not hold it up to protect himself from the onrushing Werewolf. Swiftly one hand reach behind him even as he moved to face Remus, bringing forth one of the twin axes. With two instruments of metal in each hand he brought them sharply together with a cloud clank.
As metal clanked off of metal, several sparks ignited into the air. From those sparks the Serioli techniques gave birth to an elemental inferno. He was using the majority of his surplus of energy to create the fiery maelstrom. Just like back in the chapel of Valeholm it would leave him without additional strength to call upon but when faced with a maddened opponent who would keep coming until he was destroyed, he had no choice.
The tornado of fire burst forth from the sparks with a roar that shook the ground, the shockwave of heat blasting out so hard that Vorador had to hold his stance rigid against the recoil. Every plant in the radius of the burst was incinerated, their ash scattering wildly out to either side. Remus was right before him, directly in the path of the inferno.
Perhaps Remus had been warned by those of his kin who had escaped the fire in the chapel of Valeholm about such a fiery technique. Whatever the reason, the alpha male seemed to regain enough of his sense to leap to the side out of the way. He did not have enough time for that, however, and as the fire struck it washed over him a torrent of red flames.
The fur across his left hand side, where the blast hit hardest, was burnt away in moments and the skin and flesh beneath scorched. Burn marks lanced down the rest of his body and the smell of roasting meat filled the air. Any howl the alpha male might have made was swallowed in the high pitched sizzle that the flames made over his body.
The maelstrom finally expended itself with a short detonation which tossed Remus back several dozen feet. He landed on his back, arms spread wide and body slowly smouldering. He drew in a painful gasp that sounded like a snake’s rattle, straining for breath. From the sound Vorador guessed that he had breathed in some of the burning hot hair and it had seared his throat and lungs as well.
Vorador, still holding the axe and the sword, began forward. It would be best to finish this beast now while he was down. However, after the first few steps his legs quivered and he had to stop, sinking down onto one knee with a strained breath of his own. He had thought he had sufficient strength to unleash such a pyrokinetic attack without affecting his own vital energies.
But he realised then he had failed to take into account the strain and injuries he had suffered. They had diverted his energies right when he had needed them most and now he found his own strength waning alarmingly. Quickly he tried to stand back up but his legs were stiff and responded only awkwardly.
To make matters even worse, despite the horrific injuries inflicted on him, Remus was getting back up himself. His body was still gently smoking and blood was running down to make what fur hadn’t been burnt away matted and wet, but he was rising. His teeth ground together with a growl of barely controlled rage as he vaulted back onto all fours. He looked like something dragged from the demon realm, twisted and blackened. Vorador stood on legs that he tightly controlled, forcing them to keep as still as possible. Quickly he held Marrow out before him with one hand.
“Get you gone.” He said, forcing all trace of weariness out of his voice. “Before I put you down like the dog you are.” It was all bravado, a bluff to keep from fighting again. Despite his injuries Remus still had the advantage of strength and winded as he was, Vorador’s advantage of speed had been negated.
Remus, however, did not seem to realise this. He snarled in hatred but his instinct for self-preservation was stronger than his anger. He began to back off, albeit reluctantly. His eyes never left the Vampire, narrowed and burning with indignation for such inflicted pain. When the alpha male was a prudent distance he turned and galloped off into the trees, his burnt arm held against his chest. As he passed between the trees and into the shadows he disappeared, vanishing as if he had never been there at all.
Vorador stared down the line of scorched earth after him. His body was strained but he could endure it until he could find blood to restore his sturdiness.
But he would have to make do for now. He turned his head and looked up towards the black spire now almost directly in front of him. From a distance it had looked like a jet black spike of smooth rock but now that he was closer he could make out a steep, winding natural staircase that twisted up the side, disappearing underneath an overhang.
-0-
“Winded and irritated, I had now at last chased Bane to the very centre of his lair. There would be no running from me now. However after so many trails simply to get to this point I was sourly tempted to try the resilience of history and kill Bane myself.”
-0-
Deliberately forcing his body to move despite the decrease of its energies, the Vampire began determinedly towards the bottom of the staircase.