Category Archives: Scion
Ares leaned back on his chair, his face becoming serious. “I think it’s time we had a little talk.”
“Oh yeah?” said Cam, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “The last time we met, you told me that the reason why those wolfspawn had attacked and killed my friends was because of me. I was just twelve years old, I’d just seen my best friends brutally torn apart and I was still in shock. You dumped a crap load of blame on me, convincing me that it was my fault they were dead. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”
Folding his arms, Ares fixed his son with a hard and calculating look. “Wolfspawn are attracted to the divine essence given off by Scions and they’re used by the enemies of the Gods to track down and eliminate Scions who haven’t yet come into their powers. Those wolfspawn were hunting you, so what I said was true. If it wasn’t for you, those four people would still be alive today.”
Orin suddenly felt a shiver, causing him to back away from the table involuntarily. Waves of anger were flowing out of Cam, his father seemingly oblivious to them. The boy’s eyes positively burned with barely suppressed rage. The spirit had never seen his charge look like this. “That’s not what I’m talking about,” Cam said through gritted teeth. “You knew those things were in the area, you told me yourself back then that you’d been tracking them. But for some reason, you were just a little too late save my friends, a little too late to stop me from getting this,” Cam lifted up his hoody to show the scar across the chest, “but just in time to save my life by playing the big damn hero.”
“What are you saying?” Ares asked quietly.
“Cam…” Orin said carefully, worried about what the boy was going to say next.
“I’m saying that you could’ve stopped the wolfspawn if you wanted to but you didn’t. You wanted Andy, Ben, Toby and Mr Harris to die. You as good as killed them yourself. For all I know, you probably planned the whole thing!” By the end, Cam was on his feet yelling at Ares.
The god slammed his fist down on the table, the force of the blow reducing it to splinters. “Boy,” he roared, spittle flying from his mouth, “I could crush you like an insect. I am your father and you will treat me with respect or by Zeus, what I do to you will make Prometheus’s punishment look like a reward.”
“Just because you banged my mom fifteen years ago, don’t give the right to call yourself my father!” Cam yelled back. “I’ve known junkies that made better dead beat dads than you.”
“INSOLENT WHELP!” Ares jumped out of his seat and struck Cam across the face. The force of the god’s blow knocked the boy off his feet and sent him flying across the room. He crashed through the front window, landing in the car park and startling the gang members sitting on the bonnet of their car. They drew their guns, unsure of what was going on, but preparing for trouble all the same. Ares climbed through the window carrying his sword, the metal tip scraping across the concrete.
Cam lay dazed on the ground, blood dribbling from his mouth and missing a tooth. He opened his eyes to find his father standing over him, the features of his face distorted by a ferocious rage. “Dumbass,” he thought to himself, “you had to go and anger a war god didn’t you.”
At the broken window, Orin watched on, conflicted. Ares was his lord and master and he was honour bound to obey his orders and wishes. One of those orders was to stay with Cam and watch over him, protect the boy from harm. Now, Ares himself was threatening to harm Orin’s charge. If Orin did nothing, he would be disobeying an order to protect Cam. If he intervened, then he would be violating his oath to his master. The guardian spirit didn’t know what to do; then he remembered what Cam had said to him less than an hour earlier.
Ares raised his sword above his head, poised to strike at his son lying prone at his feet. “This is it,” Cam thought, his eyes closed and his arms shielding his face. The expected blow, however, never came. He opened his eyes to see Orin standing over his body, the wolf spirit’s fangs bared and growling at Ares. For a moment, no one moved. Then the expression on his father’s face softened. He lowered his sword and stepped back.
“Lord Ares,” one of the gang members said, “is everything okay?” The god waved his hand dismissively and the gang members stood down.
“Lord Ares? Since when did bangers talk like that?” A confused Cam asked, looking between Ares and what he had assumed were just simple gang members.
“Einherjar,” Ares said by way of explanation, an explanation that didn’t really explain anything as far as Cam was concerned. “A gift from my Norse counterpart. Wonderful warriors, loyal to a fault. Bit too fond of mead for my tastes but that’s Vikings for you.”
“They don’t look like Vikings,” Cam said glancing at the Hispanic-looking gang members.
“You don’t look Greek,” Ares replied with a raised eyebrow. Father and son watched other warily until Ares sighed and held out a hand. “It’s been a while since one of my children got me that mad, well done.”
“So,” Cam said cautiously before accepting the hand, “you’re not going to kill me then?”
“Heh, not today.” The god helped him to his feet and led the limping Cam back into the motel room. He sat him down on a chair as behind them the shattered window that Cam had been thrown through repaired itself. Orin padded over and sat at Cam’s side, keeping both eyes warily on the god. Ares sighed, “Let me have a look at that face.” He reached towards Cam, and just for a second, the boy flinched away before wincing in pain and finally allowing Ares to touch his face.
Cam sat in silence as “father” healed the wounds that he had inflicted and the tension between the two of them was palpable. Even though they were face to face, Cam refused to meet Ares eye to eye. It was Ares that finally broke the awkward quiet. “Do you really believe what you said before?”
Ares sat back and faced Cam, his expression unreadable. “You said that you believed I was responsible for the wolf spawn attack three years ago, that I had planned it.”
The boy settled back in the chair and sighed, suddenly very tired. “I don’t know, not any more anyway.” Cam yawned. “I don’t wanna get whacked in the face again, but was there something you wanted because I’m really tired.” His father reached over to the newly reconstructed table and grabbed a freshly chilled beer bottle, snapping the cap off on the side of the table. He offered a second bottle to his son. Cam shook his head. “It’s two AM, I gotta spend all day tomorrow finding a goblin market and I don’t fancy having to do it with another hangover.”
Ares roared with laughter. “With your constitution, you could drink an entire crate of these and not feel the effects!” The boy just folded his arms and fixed his father with a tired look. “Very well. There are things we should talk about; things I need to tell you but first, you hunted and killed a wolfspawn today didn’t you?” Cam nodded and the god allowed himself a brief smile. “Very good, you’ve certainly come a long way from that young boy I met three years ago.” There was just a hint of pride in his voice as he spoke but Cam was too tired to notice. “That wolfspawn you killed tonight, was it hunting you?”
“No,” Cam said after a moment’s thought, “Orin caught its scent a couple of nights ago not long after we arrived in town. It weren’t tracking me at that point; Orin has taught me to suppress my divine essence. I needed it to get my scent so I stopped suppressing it. After that, it was pretty easy to get him to come after me.”
“Not without incident I see,” Ares said gesturing to the bandage around his arm.
“Meh,” Cam said dismissively, “as I said to Orin earlier, I heal quickly and you know I’ve had worse. Plus I needed to look weak to lure it in.”
“Interesting strategy,” Ares glanced down at Orin and gave the wolf spirit a withering glare, displeased that he hadn’t put a stop to Cam’s reckless plan, “but anyway, the wolfspawn wasn’t tracking you, it was on the hunt for someone else.”
“You mean someone like me, another scion, except this one hasn’t learned to suppress its essence yet,” Cam said, remembering what Ares had said earlier.
“Bingo, as you kids say” Ares said snapping his fingers. Cam smirked, hiding his smile under the pretext of yawning. He’d never heard anyone his age say that, or anyone under the age of thirty for that matter. “Turns out this young Scion has ran into a spot of bother. I owe his father a favour so I said I’d get you to help.”
Cam sat up, this sounded serious. “Why me, and why can’t this guy’s dad help him out?”
“Fair question I suppose. There are rules about directly interfering in the lives of our children, ancient rules. I think Nezha is still doing the paperwork on the last time he ‘helped’ his son.” Cam laughed at the mention of paperwork. “I know, but Nezha is one of the Shen, an ancient Chinese pantheon. They don’t call them the ‘Celestial Bureaucracy’ for nothing. Anyway, he apparently doesn’t want to get in trouble again with his superiors. He mentioned something about having to spend time in the ‘hell for those who do not use block capitals on forms’ if he does. I swear, those Chinese have a hell for everything. Anyway, his kid’s in trouble and as much as he wants to help, his hands are tied. He sensed another Scion in the neighbourhood, you, and he called in a favour to get me to get you to help.” Ares’ eyes rolled in mock frustration. “Never play poker with a god of trickery.”
Sitting back in his chair again, Cam took a moment to think things over. He still didn’t see how this was problem and he wasn’t the type to snap to attention just because “daddy” said jump. Plus, things hadn’t exactly gone well the last time he had met another Scion. However, despite all that, was he okay with ignoring the fact that this kid needed help and that apparently he was the only person in the position to do something. Cam glanced down at Orin who had remained quiet throughout all of this. The wolf-spirit nodded; whatever Cam decided, Orin would back him. “So,” Cam said, his mind made up, “what sort of trouble is this kid in?”
Three Years Ago…
“Dylan, what on earth are you doing up in that tree?” The man said, looking up at the twelve-year-old boy sitting up in the tree’s branches, holding the map. Three other boys stood at the base of the tree, also looking up.
“I’m trying to see if I can find out where we are,” Dylan called back down.
“And you think you can do that in a tree, thirty feet above the ground?” The four boys were part of a seventh grade field trip from the nearby town of Altamont to Crater Lake National Park. Twenty five eleven to twelve-year-old kids spending a week camping and hiking in the woods; learning about geology, ecology and the natural world. Today was their last day and the children had been split into teams of four, driven to the other side of the park and given the challenge of finding their way back to camp using what they had learned over the week. To help them, they had been given a map and compass and in order to make sure they stayed out of trouble, an adult would accompany them with a radio and a GPS unit in case they needed to call for help.
“Don’t worry about DS Mr Harris,” one of the boys said, “he was like an eagle scout or something in a past life.” The three boys laughed.
“Laugh it up scuzz buckets,” Dylan said in mock indignation, “if it weren’t for Toby’s sucky map reading, we’d’ve been back at camp an hour ago.”
“Be that as it may, you better come down from there. You’ve already got a black eye from that fight the other day; I don’t want to have to explain to your parents when we get back how you broke your leg on a simple orienteering exercise as well.” The laughing stopped, and there was an awkward silence as Dylan reluctantly climbed down from the tree. “What?” Mr Harris asked, confused by the sudden change in the attitude from the four boys.
“DS ‘aint got no folks,” Toby said quietly to Mr Harris, “he’s an orphan.”
Mr Harris inhaled sharply. “Yikes, open mouth and insert foot.”
Dylan jumped down from the lower branches, wobbling slightly as he landed but remaining on his feet. “Christ Toby, you make it sound like I got a terminal disease for something.” He said rolling his eyes.
“Did ya see where we are?” Another boy, Andy, asked.
Dylan laid out the map on the ground. “We should be here, about five miles west of the Witch’s Tit.” His friends giggled at the name of the rocky formation as he pointed to it on the map. “Oh grow up. Anyway, we must’ve got totally lost because the mountains are on the wrong side, at least that’s what I think. The compass is playing up again.” He took the compass out from around his neck and showed it to his friends. The needle was spinning erratically, not settling on a specific direction for longer than a second. “I ‘aint got a clue where we are.”
The four boys looked over at Mr Harris expectantly. He knew what they wanted but he could only shrug. “Sorry guys, can’t help you there.” Taking the GPS out of his pocket, he switched it on and handed it to the boys. The screen was flickering, fritzing in and out before dying completely. “The radio’s dead too.” That little detail worried him; he had made a point of double-checking the batteries were fully charged and that both devices were working properly before setting out.
“So what now?” Dylan asked.
The Greek god of war sighed. “Just once, would it kill you to call me dad?”
Cam scowled and threw his backpack on to the bed. “Actually, yeah, I think it might.” Orin padded over to Ares and licked his outstretched hand. The god leaned down and scratched the wolf-spirit behind the ear.
“Hey there boy, you still taking care of the runt?”
“He can be handful sometimes m’lord,” Orin admitted whilst giving a Cam a glance letting the boy know he was just humouring the god, “but he shows promise.”
Ares laughed and looked over at Cam who was leaning against a wall, glaring at him with his arms crossed defensively in front of him. “Dylan, why don’t you sit down,” he said, gesturing to a chair across the table from him, “I brought pizza.” With a snap of his fingers, a pizza box appeared on the table. The logo on the box was of a pizza delivery restaurant that Cam used to visit back where he had lived before his life had turned upside down. Almost as soon as it appeared, the smell of pepperoni, shredded beef, extra cheese and barbeque sauce filled the room, all his son’s favourite pizza toppings.
Cam’s stomach rumbled and although and he was sorely tempted to give in and sit down. Instead, he just glared at Ares. “Dylan Smith died three years ago at Crater Lake, along with his friends. Don’t you watch the news on Olympus, or are you just too busy screwing with the lives of mortals.”
“Funny,” Ares said smiling, “because you’re the spitting image of young Dylan. Either you’re his twin or the reports of his death were greatly exaggerated.”
Three years ago…
They had been walking through woods now for several hours. With the boys thoroughly lost, Harris had decided to take charge. Dylan and others had no problem with the experienced outdoorsman taking over; they were all getting tired and hungry. Harris had decided to take the group uphill, climbing the mountain trails up the extinct volcanic peak towards Crater Lake itself. Lake View Drive ran around the rim of the crater, once they found the road, they could use it to find the camp. It would be taking the long way around, but at least they would eventually find it.
Harris was starting to get worried. It was only six in the afternoon and it was already getting dark; sunset this time of year wasn’t for another two hours. They also should have reached the caldera rim hours ago but it didn’t seem to be getting any nearer. However, he didn’t let those worries show, trying to keep the boys spirits up.
He stopped to take a swig from his water bottle and noticed Dylan lagging behind the group, limping slightly. He waited for the boy to catch up. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” Dylan said, shrugging. “My ankle’s a little sore,” he added when he saw Harris’s questioning look.
“Are you okay to walk on it?” Harris asked looking down at Dylan’s feet. The boy was wearing beat-up trainers, definitely the wrong type of footwear for hiking. He mentally cursed the school that had organised the trip; they should have made sure that every child had a pair of strong hiking boots.
Dylan nodded, “I’ll be fine.”
The two of them started walking again, catching up with Toby, Andy and Ben. As they walked, Harris looked down at Dylan again and noticed the black eye he was sporting. “So,” he asked, “what were you and that boy ‘Spud’ fighting about the other day anyway.”
“He … er …” Dylan began uncertainly, “he said some stuff about my mom.”
“Ah,” he could understand how that could be a touchy subject and one that bullies would easily choose to exploit; children, after all, were amongst the cruellest creatures in creation.
“It shouldn’t bother me,” Dylan went on to say, “but I never knew my mom, she died when I was born and no one knew who my dad was. It’s bad enough at that school being an Applegate Kid, but when Spud found out about my mom, he starting saying that I killed her; that it was my fault mom died giving birth to me.”
Harris whistled. “I’m surprised you didn’t punch his lights out for saying that.”
Dylan grinned and looked up, pointing to his eye. “How do you think I got this?”
He knew how Dylan must feel, having lost his own parents as a boy himself. “So you live at the Applegate Care Home?” Harris asked after walking in silence for a few minutes, “Is Mrs Sanders still an old battleaxe?” Before Dylan could reply though, a howl echoed through the forest.
The group froze. “Was … was that a wolf?” Toby asked, the fear evident in his voice.
“There aren’t any wolves in Crater Lake,” Harris said, suddenly questioning everything he knew about the area’s wildlife. Another howl sounded in the night.
A strange look passed over Dylan’s face, his eyes glazing over for a second. “That’s no wolf,” he said quietly, almost inaudibly, “it’s too big to be a wolf.” In his mind, he could sense a presence in the woods, something large and evil. It was watching them, stalking them; and it was hungry. Dylan was rooted to the spot; the sense of the presence was overwhelming. He had never felt anything like this before, he couldn’t move, he could barely breathe.
“What are you…” Andy started to ask, turning to face Dylan. However, he stopped when he saw his friend’s terror-stricken face. In all the years he had known him, he had never seen Dylan show any fear. Andy supposed that his friend’s “tough guy” attitude was a consequence of growing up in a care home environment, always having to prove himself to tougher, older, more messed-up kids. Because of that, Dylan had always been the tough kid in their little circle; always eager to show how brave he was. He never backed down from a fight, getting himself suspended from school a number of times for fighting with Spud and his cronies. What could scare him so much that he was struck white with terror?
It didn’t take long for Andy’s question to be answered. With a flash of fur and claws, something leapt into the clearing. It was massive, much larger than a wolf but it moved too fast for anyone to get a good look at it. The wolfspawn charged into Harris, dragging the man into the bushes on the other side of the clearing as the four boys watched in horror. There was a scream, quickly choked off to a gurgled cry, then the sound of flesh and born being torn. It was silent for several long seconds and then, one by one, four sets of red eyes slowly appeared in the darkness around them.
“Mr … Mr Harris?” Ben asked meekly.
An object the size of a soccer ball rolled into the clearing, bouncing along the uneven ground before coming to a stop at Dylan’s feet; it was the severed head of Mr Harris. The four boys screamed in terror and this seemed to be a signal for the wolfspawn, who charged into the clearing.
Ben was the first die, the spawn tearing out his throat. Screaming in terror, Andy made a break for the trees. Two of the spawn gave chase. One of them jumped on Andy’s back, driving him to the ground, while the other sank its teeth into his arm. “Help me,” he screamed, his eyes screwed shut in pain. The wolfspawn locked its jaws and pulled, ripping Andy’s arm from its socket. Andy shrieked, long and loud, and the other spawn bent down and tore off the remaining arm. Piece by piece, they tore him apart and somewhere between his left and right legs, the boy stopped his struggles and became still.
“Don’t just stand there Dylan!” Toby yelled as he picked up a stout branch. However, Dylan was frozen in terror, a wet patch spreading from his groin and could only watch as his friends fought for their lives and were torn apart in front of him. A wolfspawn, Harris’s blood dripping from its jaws leapt at Toby. The boy got a lucky swing in, the branch connecting with the side of the wolfspawn’s head with a crunch. If he thought that would save him, he was sorely mistaken. The other three wolfspawn converged on him, making short work of the young boy.
The first wolfspawn began slowly walking towards Dylan, growling and baring its fangs. “Run little scion, it’s not a hunt without chase.” Hearing the creature speak was too much and Dylan turned and fled, running into the woods.
Stumbling in the undergrowth, which seemed to conspire against him, Dylan ran in pure panic. His clothes became torn and his skin scratched and bloodied by branches and thorns. The wolfspawn were never far behind him, darting to forward to strike at him with fang and claw only to miss by a matter of inches. Dylan knew that they could easily catch up with him if they wanted too. They were herding him, toying with him, taunting him. Eventually, after what seemed like hours, Dylan was nearing complete exhaustion and could barely take another step.
That was the moment the wolfspawn decided to end their game. The pack leader charged into Dylan, sending him sprawling to the floor. He scrambled to his feet just as another wolfspawn slashed at his chest. Dylan fell back against a tree, screaming in pain. He looked down, the front of his hoody and t-short and been ripped open and three tears in his flesh across his chest and belly were gushing blood.
The wolfspawn began to close in for the kill and as his blood drained out of him, Dylan could only lie there and wait for the end to come, either from the claws of the wolfspawn or the horrific injury to his chest.
However, just as the wolfspawn were poised to strike, fate intervened. The spectral form of a wolf leapt through the tree that Dylan was leaning against, passing through it like a ghost, and tackled the lead wolfspawn. Just as he finally passed out from the blood loss, a man stepped into the clearing; dual-wielding a sawn-off shotgun in one hand and a two-meter long sword, he laid into the wolfspawn, hacking and blasting at them.
The pair made short work of the wolfspawn. Once they were all dead, Ares stood over the unconscious boy. “Humph,” he grunted as he bent down to inspect the wound, “I would’ve thought he would’ve put up more of a fight than that.” The wound was deep; even if by some miracle he lived long enough to get to hospital, it would prove fatal. Thankfully, being a god had its perks; one of which was not having to rely on mortal medicine. He picked the boy up, throwing him over his shoulder. “Come on Orin, we should leave while the veil is still shielding this area from mortal eyes.”
Yawning, Cam gave in and walked over to the table. He reluctantly took one of the slices of pizza and crammed it hungrily into his mouth. “It’s one in morning, I’m starving, exhausted, and I’m not in the mood for this shit,” he said through a mouthful of pizza, “what are you doing here?”
Ares leaned back on his chair, his face becoming serious. “I think it’s time we had a little talk.”
With glowing red eyes, the wolfspawn slowly stalked down the darkened corridor, sniffing at the air. “Come out little boy, I know you’re in here. I can smell you.” The creature’s gravelly voice echoed through the abandoned apartment building, it’s six-foot form nearly filling the width of the rubbish-filled corridor. Suddenly his quarry, a teenage boy in ragged clothes, burst out of one the rooms and began running down the corridor. He was clutching his arm, blood trickling from between his fingers. Baring its fangs in a smile, the wolfspawn began running after him, its paws pounding on the floor; the hunt was on.
The boy darted down the corridor, leaping over obstacles and gaps in the floor. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the wolfspawn was rapidly gaining ground. He appeared to change his mind, instead of continuing to run towards the stairwell, he jumped through a hole in the plasterboard walls into one of the apartments. The wolfspawn followed, making a hole of its own as it ran straight through the thin walls in pursuit of the boy. The boy scrambled across the floor, shielding his eyes from the flying wall fragments. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” He yelled desperately.
The wolfspawn didn’t answer and instead paced back and forth in front of the boy, savouring the smell of his blood. Without warning, it launched itself at the boy, its fangs bared and ready to strike. However, the boy quickly rolled out of the way, ducking under the wolfspawn and evading its jaws by a matter of inches. As the wolfspawn landed on the floor, the boy jumped to his feet and ran towards the boarded up windows. He brought both his arms up and leapt through the window, splintering the wooden planks. Sailing out the window, he plummeted towards the alleyway five stories below. The boy reached out and grabbed a telephone cable strung between the apartment building and its nearby neighbour. He grunted in pain as it arrested his fall but the strength of the cable wasn’t strong enough to take his weight and it snapped. Still holding onto it, the boy was swung down against the neighbouring building, slamming into the wall. The impact was hard, and try as he might he couldn’t stifle the yell of pain as he hit his injured arm. Watching from the window, the wolfspawn snarled as the boy let go of the cable, kicked off the wall, and somersaulted through the air before landing crouched on the floor. “You can run boy,” the wolfspawn called out, “but you can’t hide. I can smell your blood from a hundred miles away.” They locked eyes for several seconds, the boy panting heavily.
“I’ve gotten pretty good at running the last couple of years,” he yelled back before bolting down the alley.
Running into the deserted street, the boy jumped onto the bonnet of an abandoned car and used it as a launching point to leap clear over a chain link fence topped with razor wire. Landing on his feet, he quickly disappeared into the darkness of the junk yard beyond.
The wolfspawn howled in delight; this quarry was proving to be a little more elusive than he had first suspected. This was going to be fun. As the last echoes of the howl were lost to the wind, the wolfspawn leapt out of the window, bouncing from wall to wall on its way down to the ground. It ran across the road and used the same trick as the boy, using the abandoned car to leap over the fence. The immense weight of the wolfspawn crushed the car, causing the still unbroken side windows to explode outwards. It failed to clear the fence but the flimsy steel wire was no obstacle to the wolfspawn as it tore through it, buckling the fence as it chased the boy into the junk yard.
The air in the junk yard was a jumble of smells, oil, petrol and diesel, rusting metal, decaying rubber, decomposing body parts. From the smells, the wolfspawn knew that somebody had been busy in this yard, and not just in the scrap metal business. However, the many overlapping smells obscured the boy’s scent; he’d have to track the boy the old-fashioned way, by following his footprints.
Slowly, it began to creep between the mounds of scrap metal, keeping an eye on the piles of rusting cars. Any of them would make a good hiding place for the boy. A clatter of metal on metal echoed through the night, the sound bouncing around the junk yard like pulses of sonar. The wolfspawn could almost see the waves of sound as they swept past, tracking them back to their source and locking on to the boy’s location. It bounded up a pile of scrap, sliding down the far side into a cul-de-sac formed by three overflowing piles of scrap. As it landed, a miniature avalanche of scrap caused by its slide blocked the exit behind it and it looked over at the terrified boy, grinning a fang-filled smile.
The boy looked around, desperately searching for an exit and the wolfspawn watched as a look of terror passed over the boy’s face when he realised that he was trapped. He backed up against the pile of scrap behind him, trying to get as far away from the wolfspawn as possible. “Little boy, scared and all alone in the night,” the wolfspawn taunted as the boy nervously fiddled with an amulet around his neck, “got any last words before I feast on your heart?”
Taking down his hood, the boy looked up at the wolfspawn, smirking slightly. He grasped the amulet firmly, a wolf talon on an old leather string, the fear in his blue eyes gone and replaced by a mischievous twinkle. “Who said I was alone?” There was a burst of white light and a spectral form erupted from the talon, landing in front of the boy. The spectral form coalesced into that of a wolf, smaller than the wolfspawn, but no less impressive, it’s white and brown fur a stark contrast to the wolfspawn’s blood spattered grey. “Say hello to partner, Orin,” the boy said cracking his knuckles. A tattoo in the shape of a twisted four-pointed star on his right shoulder briefly glowed, its blue light shining faintly through the material of his hooded top. The light spread down the veins of his right arm before racing over the rest of his body, fading moments later. “You’ve hunted scions for the last time, spawn breath.”
Snarling, the wolfspawn charged at the pair, he wasn’t going to let some whelp and his mutt get the better of him. It was time to end this game.
“How’s the arm Cam?” Orin asked, walking over to the boy as he sat on a pile of tyres with a small backpack at his feet.
“Meh, I heal quickly enough.” Cam took off his hooded top and inspected the gash on his arm. It had been hurt when he had allowed the wolfspawn to slash him with its claws whilst it chased him. He had done this in an attempt to appear weak and helpless. It had been a calculated ploy, luring the wolfspawn into the ambush; one that Orin had not accepted without argument. Cam could tell that his friend and guardian was still a little mad at him for not listening. The gash wasn’t deep and it was still bleeding. He reached into the bag and pulled a strip of “clean” cloth that he used as a makeshift bandage, wrapping it around the wound. A little bit of blood soaked through but the material stopped the bleeding. The gash would probably leave a scar, but it wouldn’t be his first; he had a few already. With his top off, the scar he had received from a wolfspawn three years ago was clearly visible, slashing across his belly and left side. It was the first time he’d seen a monster and it was a night he’d like to forget, if only the nightmares would let him.
Satisfied that his arm was okay for the moment, he put his top back on, hopped off the tyres and walked over to the corpse of the wolfspawn. The beast hadn’t taken long to defeat, little more than five minutes. Between the two of them, they had managed to do it without sustaining any injuries more serious than a few grazes and bruises.
Taking out a small knife tucked into his sock, he reached down and cut off the long central talon from each of the wolfspawn’s claws. The creature’s eyes had also solidified in its death becoming red crystals. “These should be worth a bit on the market,” Cam said digging them out with the knife, “this city does have a goblin market, right?”
“As far as I know.”
There was a squelching sound from the corpse and it started to sag. It had only been dead for a couple of minutes but it was already starting to dissolve into a black, oil-like ichor. In a matter of seconds, there was nothing left of the wolfspawn except a pool of ichor. Cam knew that too would soon disappear, evaporating in the dawn sun. “Let’s get out of here Orin, I’m beat,” he said, putting the talons and eyes into the backpack.
What a sight they must make, Cam thought as they walked down the street. A scruffy homeless kid with dirty and ripped clothes, a blood soaked makeshift bandage around his upper arm visible through the torn sleeve of his stop, a scar on his face, and a large wolf-like dog following him like a loyal pet. Lucky for them it was past midnight and there was no one around to see them, at least no one who cared that is.
“You need to be more careful,” Orin said cautiously, coming up alongside him.
“What do you mean?” Cam asked innocently, knowing full well what Orin was going to say.
“Using yourself as bait like that, it’s reckless and stupid.” The wolf hopped in front of Cam, forcing him to stop. “The last time you faced a wolfspawn you were almost killed! This time you got lucky.”
“Last time,” Cam snapped, “there were four of them and I was just a kid.”
“You’re still a child Cam, and the only reason you survived before is that your father saved your life.”
“I’m not a kid anymore, I’m fifteen. And I asked you never to talk about that man!” Cam was almost yelling; his face flushed red with anger. He pushed past Orin and continued walking briskly down the street; his shoulders and back tensed.
Orin walked behind him for several minutes before Cam broke the awkward silence. “Sorry for yelling at you like that. You’re my oldest friend Orin; I know you’re only looking out for me.”
“You know, if you had been born in Ancient Greece, you would be considered a man by now,” Orin said, “and you would have been trained from birth in how to use your abilities.”
“Yeah,” Cam said smiling, “but the nearest I’ve been to Ancient Greece is Athens in Ohio. I guess I’ll just have to make do with what I learned in Ms McKenna’s seventh grade history lessons and watching way too many Jackie Chan movies as a kid.”
Orin laughed, which was a disturbing sight to those not used to the large wolf spirit. “I suppose that would explain your terrible form and lack of technique.”
“Did you just insult the fists?” Cam asked in mock indignation. “You do not insult the fists.”
Eventually, after nearly an hour of walking, they arrived at a sleazy motel. The sort of motel frequented by prostitutes and drug dealers and didn’t think twice about renting a room to an unaccompanied fifteen-year-old boy who paid in cash. He was sure the manager thought that he was some runaway kid or gang member and if wasn’t already involved in business of its two main group of clients, he soon would be. It was a dangerous place to stay, marginally safer than sleeping on the street, but only just. On his first night, he’d been accosted by a junkie attempting to steal what little money he had, probably trying to get his next fix. All that the man got of it though was a broken nose and a few bruises. Not long afterwards, he had been approached been a group of men decked out in bling and carrying poorly concealed handguns; their get up screamed gang members. They’d offered him a job, saying they could use a “scrappy little punk” like him. Cam had refused, politely but firmly; there was no way he was going to get involved with the drugs trade; or the sex trade for that matter, they had been disturbingly vague on what they wanted him for. He hoped they had gotten the message; he didn’t want any trouble from them.
With Orin close behind, Cam walked across the parking lot towards their room. The lot wasn’t deserted, even at this time of night; two men sat on the bonnet of a car, watching Cam closely. He kept his head down, watching the two men out of the corner of his eye. They were probably just lookouts for the gang that used the motel as a drug den and whorehouse, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Cam had been on the run for three years, hunted and tracked by monsters and individuals who wanted to kill him for what he was or wanted to use him for that same reason. He hadn’t survived this long by being complacent.
Cam didn’t relax until he was safely in his room; the door closed and jammed shut with a baseball bat. “I’m telling you Orin, if it weren’t for the fact that this is the only place we can stay without attracting too much attention, I’d seriously consider finding somewhere else.”
“Pity,” a voice said from the darkness, “this place has character.”
Cam span round, slapping the light switch and dropping into a combat crouch. Why hadn’t Orin detected someone was in the room? His heart was pounding, adrenaline coursing through his system. Then, he saw who the intruder was.
Sitting in a chair, with a bottle of beer in his hand, was a gruff middle-aged man in a leather jacket. Leaning against a wall shotgun and massive sword, its blade at least two meters hilt to tip. Cam stood up and fixed the man with a smouldering glare. “Ares, what the hell do you want?”
The Greek god of war sighed. “Just once, would it kill you to call me dad?”