Chapter 48: Mercy

Qingfeng Peak dominated the nearby landscape with its solitary majesty, upright vigor, and scenic magnificence. It wasn’t hard to fathom why the Fang Tooth Tribe chose to resettle and entrench themselves at its foot after their migration. As mountain sovereigns, the werewolves believed that every strength supporting the tribe’s survival and prosperity originated from the land and hills.

From afar, Qian Ye observed a comprehensive view of the Fang Tooth Tribe: numerous caves were hewed into the base of Qingfeng Mountain just above ground level; from not far away, a clear brook snaked through. There were dozens of wooden huts along the stream’s shores constituting this small tribal village.

A pack of Direwolves lounged across grassland slopes, either sitting or standing. Having these beasts around guaranteed that few dared to approach and remained unspotted.

Qianeye himself occupied the summit of a peak some hundreds of meters distant, inspecting the surroundings until directing his sight towards a path rising up the mountaintop only a short distance from the tribe village. Totemic monoliths carved from colossal trunks adorned on either flank at the trail’s entrance, marking this domain as Fang Tooth land.

Now though, numerous tribal totems belonging to Fang Tooth had been knocked over and in their place lay the standard of vampiric clans: a metal spear sporting crimson banners unfurled at its peak indicating presence of the vampire breed although bearing no mark of allegiance to a specific House.

Beside pathways reaching the summit laid several ambush Vash’kai spiders—ferocious constructs with grotesquely deformed exteriors. Presumably reared by Count Sturka himself, they stood as deterrent against incursions Fangtooth werewolves might make upmountain.

On rolling terrain, a juvenile werewolf boy played vigorously amidst his Direwolf steed—tumbling and darting to-and-fro. Werewolves at ages eight or seven already possessed the statures seen on human younglings at their teenage stages. This youth, however, seemed even younger still – no more aged than five—and despite this, he kept effortlessly pace with a vigorous, fully matured wolf beast.

Their joyous chase unwittingly crept them closer to the ascent leading to the summit’s threshold.

A female emerged in panicked urgency from one timber cottage rushing forth yelling desperately for the child.

Too distant separated Qian Ye from them—muffled words escaping comprehension—but dread was plainly reflected through her features which rapidly faded to terror as she dashed.

On distant ends now still; the youthful lycan turned back puzzled yet oblivious that he trespassed within a boundary imperceptible to the ordinary eyes.

Sudden lowered posture gripped the canid steed; growls of impending menace vibrated deep from beneath its chest while fur bristled at backs of its neck.

A Vash’kai from a motionless ambush one hundred metres distant stood abruptly to life, its monstrous form rising up, some few meters tall, a miniature colossus from ground leveling. Its motion, astonishing swift—an image of gliding upon water. Within the blink’s span of eyes, propelled forward and fired viscera strands to weave a giant web from its posterior, covering the steed-beast and juvenile wolf with sticky entrapment.

He twisted head back but confusion reigned still on his countenance. A shrieking howl from the wolf launched youth to collapse underneath his mount—shielding him protectively as woven snares struck instantaneously, covering over ten meters wide encompassing wolf and child alike.

Threads touched upon beastly hide igniting acrid fumes of singeing flesh; pelts blackened and peeled in successive flakes, revealing twitching raw meat underneath. The wolf wailed unceasingly all the while clawing desperately, shielding steadfast the boy beneath—an inch refusing to yield.

Before another breath could pass thin silk threads corrode into that once proud physique dimming once glossy hides to ashen gray. Death’s essence now loomed as mournful cries faded lower, until none at all escaped dying jaws. Closelier did Vash’kai approach now with dreadful mandibilic champing, drool splashing earth beneath, burning pits in its descent.

Despite Fangteeth’s Direwolves displaying dominance over mundane beasts; those monstrous arachnids represented a completely different caliber, reared diligently by Baron Sturka for over a cenutury—an equaling might with that of elite nobility rank. To their many-eyed vision, none but predators and food separated them—an entire swarming majority from the pack included within that latter definition.

Crazed in agony did maternal instincts now charge the mother’s course. With shrieked calling echoing outward bound; lycans one by once emerged hastily from homes both bark-walled cottage and stone-hewn lair; watching the child finally emerge forth still living beneath the lifeless wolf’s carcass—a visible catalyst inciting a roaring mass rush toward the predator spider with violent expulsion in their heart.

Hesitation now clouded Vaskhai’s advance, outmatched not individually but in overwhelming numbers, for now they pressed en masse—no single tactic would avail it.

From hidden periphery upon path flanks once more emerged further three twin-sized Vash’kai, proceeding with deliberate descent downward path.

Aligned fourfold—confrontation ensued between predatory beasts now matched against fanged werewolf kin arrayed in opposition.

Blissfully ignorant, young boy attempted shaking off unresponsive mount; hands brushed inadvertently against still drifting strand of deadly webbing—a trail mark etched permanently onto back with inky scar from caustizing burn. Intolerable pain now unleashed childlike sobs resonant across canyon hollows like clarion bell.

Enragement sparked instantly amidst Fangteeth kin—a collective warhowl of unity raised—marching with purposeful strides closing on four arthropedal menaces now receding uncertain backward motions.

Yet the grieving mother screeched anew—heedless abandon drove her directly through active web’s domain toward central axis where youth wept. Every further contact against boy meant assured end.

Web latches ensnaring maternal frame began rapid corrosion; yet feeling naugnt denied, her perseverance shattered through central zone, scooping child against chest then retraced withdrawal through trail forged via personal resistance from within.

Wailing sorrowful proclamations echoed through gathered lycans—they understood that she was doomed.

At last unsteady strides over last web-thread crossed, gaze filled with loving warmth as embraced life still beating heart within child.

Seared bones at boys extremities, a reminder against mortal wound—but a cost worth enduring. Pain suffered upon herself now faded into forgotten annales.

Suddenly—muffled gunshot split still air above peaks. Enormous force-laden round flew traversing skyward expanse, smashing through maternal form, carrying child in deadly embrace bisect bodily impact mid-strides.

Qianeye finally let cold intent flicker past dark eyes, one palm tightened grasp against concealed Eagle Shot perched upon his back amidst distant peaks.

Simultaneously outrage surged within Fangteeth kin—several young wolves initiating morphing forms while others ignited arrays of force blades and firearms en masse.

Just brink of outbreak reached; when an elder’s lupine howl reverbrated from higher洞窟—subduing rising rage among kin gradually.

Emerging at communal gathering space was venerable lycan elder hunched low—walking cane hewn timber barely sustaining wobbly passage.

As if summoned at the right moment, speeding from mountain path approached Spiderswine. Clutching force-inflicted rifle lit with residual glow indicating he indeed executed deadly shot that had bisected mother and infant into two.

He himself was Baron-ranked Spiderkin—prestigious rank nearly matching a Viscount.

Unfazed by surrounding hostile gazes gathered from clan, unafraid advanced toward fangteeth lines, casting withering glare upon elders and spoke chillingly. “What? Are you contemplating rebellion against the Marquise’s decree?”

Elder Werewolf silenced not his kin, letting anger smolder behind growls and rumbling snarls.

Crimson hatred flared in spiderkin pupils; he gestured forcibly towards path below, his roar thunderous. “Was I unclear enough? Anyone crossing into our sanctum is condemned at point!”

“But he’s only a kid unaware of such things—just stepping a few feet across by mistake,” cried a young werewolf who rushed furiosuly before others rallied in protest.

“Feet be damned!” Spiderkin roared in rage at defiance: “One misstep equals execution! Doubt Lord Sturka’s ruling—and perish too!”

Rising uproar surged anew when sudden rifle discharge cracked the hush. The audacious youngster, riddled with chest sized wound perforated both chest and back where heart was—nothing but hollow cavity now, bone and organs vanishing at contact.

Crash thunderclap as stricken wolf’s body collapsed.

Chaos reignited, yet Spiderswine grinned cruelly, snarling. “Defiances equal fates like his, and no qualms will ever stop me slaying all you mutt filth! How about testing limits now… Useless trash?”

“We have Xi’er—he now dwells among the summit,” someone shouted from crowds.

“Yeah! Find Xi’er—let him intervene!”

“Won’t even Count oppose those at the Summit?”

Hoping anew flared amidst wolves but nothing could shake the Spiderswine conviction, who burst laughing heartlessly.” Call your little pup out—you’ll soon learn if the Spider Kin fear such name!”

Watching quietly Qian Ye’s dark brows furrowed. He maintained his hand resting over Eagle Shot but made no attempt to draw gun forth into confrontation.

At that moment, intervention remained out of his thoughts. Although committed through pact with William regarding better treatment towards weres under feasible situations—it never equaled complete alliance, rather restrained mutual-neutrality and potential trading only.

Faction disputes were common even before amongst Weres as recalled within markets tulips at Whiteclaw Tribe’s stance facing William’s influence. However formidable plight met with Fangtooth—despite pledges made by Xi’Erl, effectiveness still remained uncertain.

Unless self-determination rose within Fangs themselves, he wouldn’t recklessly interceed here. But as territorial conquest neared conclusion—if Fangteeth stubbornly resisted complete surrender under dominion—it would not trouble Qainye to enact total elimination as dictated under wartime prerogatives.

His foremost loyalty, however, would remain to soldiers standing in battle, ally nobles joining cause, as well as citizenry under banners bearing his crest rather than those lycans who, although pitiable and sympathetic toward plight remained prone on a hair triggers ready to bite.

That war, was perpetual—the war between eternal night and nascent dawn. Within all wars—fleeting moments of tenderness might bloom only when founded upon triumph above battlefields claimed.

Victim alone may offer pity—but it is privilege solely reserved to the conquerors triumphant on crimson blood soaked fields.

“Peace!” commanded a solemn aged growl. The elder finally approached, and without hesitation, the wolves made way, an unspoken acknowledgment reverently shown.

Glacial eyes swept from one to other. “Rebellion against the Earl? That the intent here?”

Weapons lowered, hands dropped. Sturka reign had instilled iron-firmed terror within collective tribesmen’s soul, tales whispered frequently of uprisings meeting annihilation. Not merely Fangteeth, many tribes under this dominion, none held preeminence. Angering Sturka spelt surety death and obliteration.

Reaching finally to Spiderkin presence, trembled body halted; words emerged meek. “But an unfortunate error, milord! Lawbreaker already perished…must tragedy persist longer?”

Thus, spoke the werewolf elder.