A sense of danger crept over him, like a blanket being pulled from his body on a cold night. He rose and checked the camp. They posted no watchers; there was no need as long as the fire kept its eyes open. It continued to roar, illuminating his companions asleep within its warmth. He turned from the flame, letting his eyes adjust to the dark forest encircling them. There was a stench of petroleum in the air. The sound of a padded foot brushing through the undergrowth - almost silent. He drew his two daggers from their curved scabbards, the steel sighed as it was pulled from the leather, exciting the quiet night. Jarrah knew what lurked in these woods. As he drew breath to yell a warning to the others, he saw it. A dark shifting behind the ferns. Its coat was a layer of oil that warped its shape, the light of flames danced across its glossy fur. The beast bared its teeth, revealing long canines that protruded at unnatural angles. With a snarl it leapt. Its outstretched paws brandishing twisted claws. Jarrah swept his blade between its open fangs. It tried to snap down on Jarrah’s hand, but before it could react, the blade had sliced the wolf in two.

  ‘Attack!’ Jarrah screamed, waking Broken Fang from their slumber, ‘Attack!’ he said again, making sure the deeper sleepers woke up with the others. The monster he had slain was no lone traveler, but one of a pack.

  The halves of the slain wolf landed with a sliding crash in the gravel. The bottom’s foot gave one final kick before the monster’s lifespan stilled and its oil coating stopped shifting. It now appeared a normal wolf, save its sharp angled features, pitch-black fur and too many twisted fangs. The teeth were obscene, the outer row protruding far from the wolf’s muzzle. Jarrah wondered how the beast ever got food down that pit of spikes or if it lived purely for the shredding of flesh.

  The battle began.

  ‘Attack!’ Eddie echoed, the largest and loudest of the party. He let out a shout with each swing of his oversized battle-axe. Soon the wolf's blood smattered him from head to toe, but the shadows in the night showed no sign of relenting. Each scream the Viking let out, each time he added the scent of slain wolf to his skin, he attracted more of the pack. A mad man, his blonde braid stained with blood so oil-slicked it was closer to black. The pack focused on him, letting the rest of Broken Fang move freely.

  Jarrah slipped through the wolves on Eddie’s left flank. He cut down four in quick succession, alternating between his two kukri daggers. The wolves let out a whimper before collapsing.

  Something was wrong. The wolves attacked with a brainless charge. Oil-wolves were still wild animals no matter how warped by noctra, but tonight they behaved like trained hounds. If a man steps in the wood a wolf hears, if a fire burns a wolf should cower, these wolves had nothing left but aggression. They ran towards the flame. They threw their lives away.

  The pack had attacked in the dead of night whilst most of Broken Fang was asleep. It didn’t stand to reason. Oil-wolves were cruel and vicious by nature, the noctra had made it so, but they were deathly afraid of fire. Sleeping in oil-wolf territory was safer than out of it. They kept the other monsters at bay and all that was needed to deter them was a measly campfire. Broken Fang’s fire stood over eight feet tall, fueled by Aria’s spells, but the pack closed in without hesitation.

  More shifting shadows poured out of the forest edge, yipping at each other and rushing towards Broken Fang’s camp. Their high-pitch surrounded their camp on all sides.

  The horses, Jarrah thought in a scramble. Without them Broken Fang wouldn’t be able to- but it's already too late. They were grazing on the far side of the clearing; the wolves would already have them.

  On Eddie’s right flank Aria waved her sapphire topped staff. It stood taller than her, not that it took much to accomplish. When she slammed the butt into the gravel the earth rumbled and a pillar of dirt and stone rose beneath her feet. On her tower she billowed towards the stars, her onyx dress fluttering wildly and a hand on her wide brimmed hat lest it be blown away.

  Eddie kept his back to the bonfire. His battle-axe moved with unnatural speed and precision, nearly never missing a strike and always making the next. When he did miss, Rowan played his part. Rowan was a scrawny, glasses wearing doctor hidden behind Eddie's back, sheltered between the fire. He held his musket with trembling hands and would aim it into the night, never able to track the nimble wolves. When he took a shot it always missed, and if he had made one it would do little to hurt the monsters. A bullet was not strong enough to end them, but it didn’t matter, his role was not to kill.

  Two wolves pounced simultaneously. The first Eddie sliced through and the second he landed a kick to the skull that gave a crack and squelch. A spray of red added to his wild grin. A third wolf, lurking into the shadows, leapt onto Eddie's forearm and bit down with a dozen teeth. Eddie pummeled it with the back of his fist and it dropped dead with the others, but the damage was done. Eddie’s arm was a mangle of flesh and blood.

  Rowan placed a palm on Eddie's back. A golden-green hue shot across Eddie’s body and onto his forearm. The light was consumed by the cuts which mended themselves together, the flesh knitted itself closed.

  Whilst Rowan healed Eddie, Aria joined the fight. From her tower she rained down daggers of ice, striking targets indiscriminately. Jarrah had to sidestep a rogue icicle. Fire would have killed them faster, but in the frenzy the fire could have spread and leapt onto Broken Fang or set their packs alight. Wolves died by the dozen, even a pack of this size would soon fall. The midnight ambush had taken them by surprise, but now that the party was in position they would survive the night.

  Jarrah looked to the far side of the bonfire and saw their horses were nervously prancing, attached to their posts, but none were harmed. The wolves ran straight past the free meal.

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  Why had they attacked? It was clearly not for food. Their behavior was odd at best. Attacking humans near a bonfire which had never failed to deter them before. The way they lost their senses and became tunnel visioned on attacking the biggest loudest thing. It stank of mind control. But who was controlling them? And why bother attacking a camp in the woods? To control a pack so large would take incredible skill, not to mention an exuberant quantity of lifespan. Months - if not years - that were wasted in a single attack.

  A streak of golden light cut through the sky above. It was spiraling, a beautiful stroke of fire. A soul star, carrying the dead from Earth. Jarrah had never seen one so far in the wilderness before, it should travel from here to the city of Kerioth which was a week north-east by horseback. However, the star’s trajectory bent, turning towards the earth far too early. The bend was acute and unnatural, unlike the ferocious grace of a soul star arriving at the cathedral. At that angle it wouldn’t reach Kerioth, or any other city with an apostle’s plate. It looked as if it would land directly on top of Broken Fang’s camp.

  Or not. Jarrah took another second to judge its trajectory and saw it would certainly land close, but not on top of their camp. South, by a kilometer. He was less certain of how long it would take to crash into the earth, but he didn't have time to wait.

  There was nothing beside wilderness out here for days and as far as he knew a soul star had never landed anywhere besides a cathedral. It shouldn’t have been impossible. Just like the wolves. A coincidence or a connection?

  Jarrah, lost in thought, did not notice the single wolf, small and cunning. While most the pack charged brainlessly towards the Viking by the flames, one had not. Jarrah only realized after the beast had ensnared his calf. The jaw locked clamped down and the beast growled, the pain instant and searing. The teeth had slipped into his muscle like a fork into slow cooked lamb. Jarrah decapitated it with a single strike, but when the jaw slacked and the wolf’s head fell into the grass blood flowed from his leg freely.

  He dropped to a knee and held back crying out by biting his lip. Rowan is busy with Eddie; I can have him heal me later. Jarrah sent his lifespan to his calf, blocking the flow of blood. A temporary and delicate solution, but he did not have time to waste.

  Eddie continued to scream and swing his battle-axe. Aria released devastating spells of ice back to back, taking out swarms of oil-wolves at a time and Rowan healed Eddie every time a wolf managed to maul his forearm or leg. The assault was beginning to slow; the pack must be near exterminated. Broken Fang would survive without him.

  ‘Aria!’ Jarrah called out to no response.

  ‘Aria!’ Jarrah tried once more, but Aria continued to ignore him from her stone tower. Jarrah knew she could hear him. Aria had heard him chuckle under his breath over the sound of Eddie’s booming laughter when she failed an explosion spell yesterday.

  ‘I'm leaving, watch Eddie’s left for me.’

  ‘What?’ Aria said, snapping around to face Jarrah and forgetting to ignore him, ‘No you’re not, what do you mean you're leaving?’ But Jarrah had already begun running south towards the falling star.

  As Jarrah darted away he heard Eddie laugh at the challenge and Rowan weakly complain as Aria shouted something about drowning a rat. Jarrah crashed through the first wave of trees and boosted his legs to accelerate. Clean forest air washed over his face as the smell of smoke and diesel retreated with the cacophony of battle.

  His calf cried out, but the blockage held.

  Trees were spread sparsely allowing moonlight shine through the treetops. The pale blue light ignited the rich greens of the flora and crimson browns of the bark. Long grass climbed up to Jarrah’s thigh, stretching for the light. Jarrah sprinted through, leaving a parted trail whilst keeping one ear on the camp and one eye on the star. The wind howled through the trees. Before long Broken Fang’s cries had turned to a whisper and the falling star blotted the sky out like a sun.

  Running through the forest alone brought him back to his time on Earth. What felt like millennia ago, hunting in his tribe's lands, before the ghosts came. His life was simpler then, concerned only with catching dinner which the land always provided. Back when he thought death was the end.

  Jarrah crashed through another wave of trees and emerged into an open field. Grass swayed in the breeze and stone boulders that littered around the outskirts reflected a growing orange hue. Three large, ugly oil-wolves prowled in circles around the center of the field. They crept around, heads darting with anxiety. It was not normal for them to patrol an open field; they were better suited for lurking in the scrub. The soul star would land here in seconds, Jarrah was certain. But the shaman he expected to find controlling the beasts was nowhere to be seen.

  Jarrah ran, his calf now screaming and his head growing weak. It’s leaking and the bandage is slipping off. The wolves turned to him, sniffed and looked back to the sky, waiting. They showed no interest in him. He accelerated further, but it was not enough, the star was landing.

  Whoever emerges from that star will be helpless. Jarrah was more certain than ever there was a shaman behind the wolves’ attack and only now did he realize it was not to kill Broken Fang. The pack was sent as a distraction for a nearby nuisance so that these three could accomplish the real goal.

  Jarrah shuddered at the thought of what he was about to do, apologizing to his calf in advance, he closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes an instant later he was not on the far side of the field, but in its center, surrounded by three monsters of the night. The star crashed into them, painless and blinding in an explosion of fire.

  Jarrah’s leg could not take it anymore, the lifespan blockage gave out and blood pumped from his calf. The wolves, still uninterested in Jarrah, leapt towards the center of the explosion, fangs and claws outstretched. With his final push, Jarrah cut all three to shreds.

  What emerged from the light was a boy with a soot smeared face and torn clothes. He had a mop of brown hair that hung over his ears and vacant, glossy eyes. He wrapped his arms around his knees, holding himself tight and rocked slowly.

  All went black.