Silver Hound, Black Moon

Freedom

Lancard dashed across the decrepit wooden planks of Caroline's pier and bounded across the rain-slick cobbles of Lothorn's foundation. With the sky so dark, it was impossible to tell that clouds were gathering, and as the Captain made his way over to the people, the sky had already begun to cry tears of solid black. As his foot stamped on solid ground, he spared no thoughts to the strange weather, nor to the convenience of such a storm for a woman powered by lightning.

Near the cages, crowds of civilians scrambled behind guardsmen with no nerve left, these were Captain Lancard's last line of defence, red and silver defenders of the peace. Each one of them were good men, he picked them himself, but he knew that they'd be scared and witless in a time like this, so he didn't blame the slacked jaws or trembling legs. Ten in total had gathered to see what Caroline was doing, and it would take twenty men to effectively defend the street as the innocent fled to safety. Two buildings, a carpentry and a mason, framed the wide streetway until it split into a T at the edge of the city, the roads then following the vast sealine. If someone could maintain that position, preventing the half-beasts from roaming past the wood and stone workers, then all fifty people could make it to safety, sixty if the guards could flee as well.

There was only one man Lancard trusted to hold that line.

The half-beasts, ravenous bags of blood and hunger, clawed their way over each other as they slipped from their cage and into the street, smelling the essence of life gushing from the human crowds that fled them. They were unhindered by the slickness of their steps, nor the circumstances of their birth, to be a creature of instinct was truly the only way to be free. Ten monsters began their frenzied scramble towards Lancard's men, who each clenched their jaws and tightened their grips as they prepared for the awful truth of what came next. Maybe, if they let down their lives, they wouldn't have to live with the guilt of knowing they ran too.

To the very left of the line of soldiers, a young lad stood in armour far too big for him, his helmet was slipping past his eyes, blinding him half the time, and his breastplate was far too heavy to move nimbly in. He was wearing his older brother's uniform and armour, and he was holding his polearm. The horde of thoughtless hate began to charge him and he considered just how sad his mother would be to lose two sons so close to each other. He bared his teeth and squared his shoulders, making himself look bigger and scarier, and prepared to fight in the memory of someone ten times what he would ever be.

Lancard abused his halberd even further by tossing it once more, hurling it like a spear and embedding it into the wall next to a soldier who was far too short. The nearest beastman, a moment from tearing the boy to shreds, shrieked and skidded back, but was shocked to find Lancard closing the distance. A pincer attack. He palmed the beast and slammed its jaw into the brick wall of the masonry, then raised an eyebrow at the child in uniform.

"Scram, kid," he said, then turned to the rest of his men "Back up! All of you, I'll hold it here, get the people to safety!"

Some of the soldiers sighed, some of them shed tears of relief, all were glad to not have to fight. He wouldn't dare think them cowards, fights like these were not for mortal men The nine guards turned and fled, taking the boy with them, and Lancard turned to the pack of man-dogs, delayed only for a moment by his entrance. He supposed that they were chasing filth, as all things seemed to do, so to distract them, he needed to draw their noses.

"Aw, hell," He said, rolling up his sleeve "Hey beasties!"

Lancard raised his wrist to his helmet, baring his beastly sharp teeth and turning all his juicy veins inwards. He had filth in his blood, time to show them just how much. The Captain bit down on the veins of his wrist, shutting his eyes tightly as he tasted warm salt on his tongue. With a tug, he wrenched his head and teeth back, yanking at the blood-filled arteries within and tearing them open with a cringeworthy squelch and pop. Like worms free from the earth, they wriggled and writhed, spraying dark crimson over his clothes and face, covering his mouth like a predator after a kill.