Date: Sun, 11 Sep 2011 04:01:58 -0700 (PDT)
From: Bien Clar <bienclar@yahoo.com>
Subject: council of elders chapter 3

DISCLAIMER

The follow story is fictional. Any resemblance between these characters and
persons alive or dead is purely coincidental.

This story will contain scenes of a sexual nature between consenting adult
men. Therefore, if you are under 18 (or whatever age is deemed as "adult" in
your
country), if it is illegal to read this material in your country or if you
are offended by the idea of sex between two consenting adult men, DO NOT READ
ANY FURTHER.

The author cannot be held accountable for the decision you make after reading
this disclaimer and if you didn't read it then you don't deserve to be
reading porn. There, I said it, now bugger off. If none of the above applies
to you then feel free to enjoy and feel free to contact the author with
praise, criticism or just flames at bienclar@yahoo.com.  My decision to
continue the story will be based on the responses I get, if I get any at all.

I probably should have mentioned in chapter one that sex would only
come after a little bit of character and plot. I won't just have my
characters have sex with no apparent reasoning behind it.

Enjoy the show XOXO

***

Fenris McAgnus watched as his father rose from his position on the floor. The
clan's Alpha had just suffered the effects of a mental shockwave and his head
was still aching from the assault. Angus McAgnus was a giant of a man, he
stood eight feet tall and his shoulders were as wide as a doorframe. Years of
selective breeding with other clans had made the McAgnus Pack into a group of
titans that intimidated their foes even as humans.

"What the bloody hell was that?" despite living in the deepest reaches of the
Siberian Tundra, Angus had maintained his deep Scottish accent. "It felt like
my bloody head was going to fall off."

"I don't know Pa," replied Alistair, his eldest son and heir to the Alpha's
title. His years of seclusion had robbed him of his father's inflection, and
like all of Angus' children, he spoke in the same tones as his mother who
hailed from the southern states of America. "But Fenris seems to be fine."

"I saw him talking to himself just as you were standing up Pa." Cried Daniel,
the middle brother. "Maybe that thing that happened to us made him go crazy."

"Is that true boy?" the way he said the word made it sound like an insult,
but Fenris knew that despite his disappointment his father still loved him.
"Are you crazy?"

"No." Fenris said blandly. "I am not crazy."

"That's probably what a crazy person would say." Added his older sister Keira
with a derisive snort. "He wouldn't know he was crazy."

"For Christ's sake! I'm not crazy." Fenris shouted. The words were laced with
power and authority he had never had before, it made the other werewolves
back away slightly.

Caesar's projection grinned broadly. He had detected the untapped magic at
Fenris' core and had tainted the boy's voice with power that drove fear into
those who heard it.

"Okay lad, I didn't mean to upset you." Angus stepped closer, feeling foolish
for being momentarily afraid of his runt son. "Fine, you're not crazy."

Fenris relaxed his stance and smiled apologetically. He didn't want to fight
with his family, but sometimes they really got on his nerves. His two
brothers were constantly teasing him about his comparatively small stature,
but their teasing protected him from other would-be bullies. They were the
two dumbest morons in the mountain with barely half a brain cell between
them, but they were friendly and fun to be around. His sister was a different
matter; she was beautiful and tall both in human form and as a werewolf, but
she was also vain and cruel. She was the bride-to-be of Apollo, the Alpha of
another pack, and this politically arranged marriage made her extremely
bitter. She yearned for freedom and rebelled at every opportunity despite
being spoiled rotten by their doting father.

Ever since their mother's death, Angus had done his best to fill both
parental roles at once. He had tried to be at once compassionate and stern
and Keira had taken advantage of him many times. The three boys offered few
problems other than when girls had entered the equation, but Fenris had never
troubled him even once.

Angus hauled himself onto a tall rock in the cave they lived in and blew into
the great horn that stood on it. The great blast shot through the network of
caves and soon many horns could be heard at once. The echoing noise told
every inhabitant of the mountain that there was to be a meeting of the whole
pack. The Alpha left his perch and the five of them trudged to the large
cavern at the centre of the mountain.

***

Owen honked his horn at the caravan that was taking up both of the motorway
lanes in front of him. The driver stuck his middle finger out of the window
and refused to go any faster than the snail's pace he had been moving at for
the last half-hour. He laid his head against the steering wheel and was given
a jolt when he set off the horn again. This time the driver of the caravan
threw open the front door and stomped out and over to Owen's car. The man was
short, even shorter than Owen's 5'8" and he had the belly of a man whose only
exercise was the short walk to the fridge to grab a beer. Owen wound down the
window and poked his head out.

"If you honk me one more fucking time I'll-"

"You'll what? Breathe on me?" Owen had no time for bullies, especially ones
with such awful BO. "Come on; just drive a little bit faster. You're about 40
under the legal limit so why not speed things up?"

"I'll drive at whatever fucking speed I like you little shit. I've had my
license a hell of a lot longer than you." The driver spat.

"Seriously sir, there's a back log of cars for about half a mile because no
one but motorbikes can get around you." Owen was fighting a losing battle to
remain calm in the face of such irritation.

"The day I let some snot nosed kid tell me how to drive-" The man stopped
talking suddenly and paled.

Unbeknownst to Owen, his normally dark brown irises had begun to glow a deep
blood red. The colour spread until it filled each eye with blazing
malevolence. The terrified caravan driver turned and practically ran to his
vehicle before slamming the door behind him and accelerating rapidly. Owen
raised an eyebrow and wound up the window. There were honks and cheers from
behind him as other cars began to start their engines. Owen did the same and
his journey continued.

***

Malus and Oberoth sat in uncomfortable silence at the triangular table of
their dining room. They both stared sightlessly at the vacant seat by their
side and mourned the death of their companion. Never again would they hear
his terrible jokes or his cackling laughter. However necessary his murder had
been, they could never forgive themselves for committing it.

Just as he was about to bite into his suddenly tasteless steak, Malus felt
the battle scars on his arms begin to burn. Each member of the Triumvirate
experienced their visions in a different way. Caesar had seen the future
while Oberoth heard the future and Malus spoke the future. The words poured
from his mouth in a stream of golden vapour.

"Eyes of red and skin of night. Darkness spread and Pit's delight. All are
dead and clad in white. Heart of lead, till cured by light."

The verse was etched permanently into his memory, as were all his visions.
Oberoth looked at him with sorrow as he realised that his friend's
death had done nothing to end the terror that faced them.

"What does it mean?" Malus asked with a quaver in his voice.

"It means we have failed. Even by taking the most drastic of actions, we have
averted nothing. The Hunter's involvement will not change our fate. The end
races toward us as swiftly as it did before." The stone of Oberoth's face was
incapable of forming tears, but he still wept softly. "There is nothing for
us to do but prepare for what is to come."

With that, he stood and left the room. Malus followed him as he swept down
the corridor that branched away from all the others. The dark passage would
have been impossible to navigate for those who relied on sight, but for the
two Elders it was a route they had memorised by touch alone. Oberoth held one
stone hand against the wall, feeling for a change in the texture. He found a
patch of smoothness amongst the rough stones. He pressed against it at pushed
lightly until the whole section swung away.

The new room was equally black but for a large triangular obelisk rising from
the centre. Oberoth stepped toward it and his hand danced in a complicated
arc that drew patterns of fire in the air. A dome around the pillar flashed
into visibility and just as quickly dissipated.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Malus meekly. "If we do this, there is no
turning back. Our decision must be final."

"There is no other way. I am certain of it. We must protect the citadel at
all costs." Oberoth held out his hand and Malus took it. They stepped through
the place the invisible dome had stood and each felt a frisson of magic
course through them.

"It will not be as powerful as with Caesar present." Said Malus as if to
convince the golem to change his mind. "It may not be strong enough."

"We know that it won't be strong enough. We just need to have more time."
Oberoth moved forward again and let go of Malus.

Malus was tempted to flee, but knew that he had to do this final task before
death. He watched as Oberoth walked to one of the three sides, turned his
back to the stone and ever so gently fell backwards. His body seemed to melt
into the pillar so that he vanished. In the space where he had fallen through
there was just a glyph bearing his name and species. The room thrummed with
power and light shot skywards from the tip of the pyramid. The light
travelled directly up, through the underground sanctuary until it burst out
into the open. It formed a sphere that stretched in every direction under the
ground. It encased the entire subterranean city in a bubble of golden energy.

Malus prepared himself and stepped forward. He turned his back to a side of
the pyramid and fell back into it. He was absorbed by the stone and his magic
added to that of Oberoth in the giant shield that protected the seat of
arcane power in the world. The barrier was immensely powerful and not even
light could pass through. The massive reserves of magic that both Elders
possessed would keep the shield strong for hundreds of years, hopefully long
enough for the danger to pass and for the citizens to resurface and
repopulate the shattered land. It wasn't anywhere near as powerful as it
would have been if the full strength of all three Elders had been available,
but it was the best they could do. The two Elders had sacrificed themselves
and channelled their power into the obelisk to save the people they ruled.

***

"No!" whispered Caesar as he felt the other two Elders deaths even from so
far away. "Those idiots! They aren't nearly powerful enough to maintain the
barrier against the Pit."

"What idiots? What pit?" Fenris asked, shocked at the anguish in Caesar's
voice.

High above them, on a raised platform from which he could see the assembled
clan members, Angus McAgnus spoke to the crowd.

"The pain we have all recently experienced is due to the death of Caesar, the
Werewolf Elder of the Triumvirate of Blood."

Cries of horror filled the cavern as the pack grieved for the loss of their
true leader. Despite their hatred for the outside world, the Hunters had a
huge amount of respect for the werewolf who had championed their rights. He
had done more for his kind than any other werewolf in history, every pup
learned of his exploits from an early age.

"You're THE Caesar?" asked Fenris in astonishment. He felt so stupid, he
should have realised that the old man had to be an Elder; no one else could
possibly have enough power or skill to detach his mind from his body and
survive.

"Yes, I am. But don't make a big deal about it. Certainly don't go around
telling people that I'm floating around in your head, they already think
you're insane." The old man had a benign smile twitching at his lips and gave
a comical bow. Fenris had to stop himself from giggling at the sight.

"We have also received word that the remaining Elders have sealed themselves
inside the ancient barrier. They had gathered representatives of each clan
apart from ours before doing so as well as bloodsuckers and other crypto's
from around the world. Last we heard, there's a great evil on the rise that
threatens to take over the world and destroy it."

At this, the crowd began to beat their chests and howl loudly, some going so
far as to start to change in anticipation of the hunt. One werewolf next to
Fenris began to salivate at the mere thought of violence.

"That's right brothers and sisters, our job is to hunt this thing down and
kill it. Then the barrier will deactivate and the other werewolves will be
freed from captivity."

"Who will be the first to track the monster?" Hundreds of voices clamoured to
be the first to taste blood.

Suddenly and without warning Caesar seized control of Fenris' body. It lasted
only for a few seconds before Fenris retook control, but those brief moments
were enough for a voice to be heard over every other in the room.

"I will!" declared Fenris' traitorous vocal chords. A brief muttering passed
through the crowd but when Angus looked proudly into his son's eyes and gave
a nod of ascent, they began to roar with excitant.

Fenris was lifted up by the nearest werewolves and as he was hoisted into the
air, he could see the impressed looks on each of his brother's faces. His
sister's expression remained stoically spiteful but a small twitch in her
left cheek showed her true feelings. Fenris began to get excited as the
exaggerated scent of testosterone flooded the cavern and everyone howled as
one.

***

Owen had stopped at a roadside pub that doubled as a hotel. He parked his
car, walked in, and was immediately bombarded with the sounds of merriment
that filled the ground floor. He was pulled into the bar by a plump girl in
her twenties who seemed to fit the description "tavern wench" rather
accurately.

"A'right my lover." She said in a deep Devonshire accent. "What can I get fer
you?"

"Ummm..." Owen was rather shocked at this friendly greeting. Londoners were
not exactly horrible, but they had a reputation for being antisocial. "I'll
just have a coke please."

"Gosh, you sound posh!" she guffawed. "You from that London?"

"Ummm... Yes? Yes. Yes I am." He was unsure if the cackling followed by the
smacking of her thigh meant that she was pleased or that she pitied him. "I'm
going to university in Plymouth."

"Oh! My cousin goes there. She's doin' Lit-rit-cher." She seemed to
automatically assume that I knew this cousin, even though there were hundreds
of students on campus.

"So, um, can I have a coke please?" Owen was becoming increasingly
uncomfortable in the presence of so much focussed attention.

"A'course you can, my lover!" The girl swept off in the general direction of
the bar before disappearing amongst the throng of people.

A tall man next to him fell of his stool right on top of Owen who struggled
to pull himself and the inebriate off the floor. The effort seemed too much
for him at first, but suddenly he felt strong enough to lift ten times the
man's weight and he practically threw him into the air as he achieved a
vertical position. The movements were not lost on a beady eyed bearded man in
a leather jacket and chinos. He looked at Owen and smiled with dirty rotting
teeth.

The man stood up and walked to the exit chuckling darkly. The old man trudged
through the mud to Owen's car and pointed a grubby finger at it. A thin
stream of dust blew from his finger into the exhaust pipe and clogged it,
making it impossible to drive safely. He returned to the bar and struck up a
conversation with another regular, never taking his eyes off Owen's face.

For his part, Owen was thoroughly enjoying himself. He had gotten over his
fear of the amiable nature of the people that now surrounded him. They asked
him all sorts of questions about where he was going, what he was doing and
whether he liked Devon so far. His answers grew less and less vague as he
became more comfortable. He was being drawn in by their charm and before he
knew it Owen was losing a drinking game to a man who seemed like he was
baptised in vodka.

Hours blinked past and while the rain had stopped, Owen was still sitting on
a stool at the bar. He finally looked at the watch strapped around his wrist
and groaned. 8pm! That was far too late to start driving again; he would
probably fall asleep at the wheel. He had the distinct impression that he was
also quite a bit over the legal limit for alcohol.

"D'ya think I could stay the night?" he slurred at the barmaid who blushed
fiercely.

"A'course you can m'boy!" cried Mr Bass, the proprietor, slapping him on the
back.

Owen payed for a room and practically crawled up the stairs. He reached the
landing and used the key to enter his room. He didn't notice the man in the
black beard who had followed him up. He didn't see the man pick up a flower
vase. He fell to the floor as the man crashed the vase against his head.

***

Searing pain coursed through his entire body, but he couldn't move. Owen was
strapped to a wooden table carved with intricate symbols. The metal cuffs
that secured his hands and feet were also covered in tiny symbols that seemed
to glow in the sepulchral gloom. There was a fire in the corner of the room
and the flames were licking at the walls as though trying to find a way out.

"Hello?" he shouted. "Is anybody there?"

"Don't bother. This room is sealed. No one can hear you." The voice came from
behind him, just out of sight. It was raspy and a shiver passed through him
as the sound washed over him.

"Who are you? Where am I? And where the FUCK is my t-shirt?" Owen was bare-
chested and his firm muscles were straining as he tried to free himself.

"I'm afraid I can't answer all of your questions at the moment. But soon,
you'll understand. Very soon."

The man entered his field of vision as he stepped over to the fire. He was
carrying something in his right hand. As he placed the end of the object in
the fire, the flames turned green and the heat in the room intensified. The
bearded man turned back towards Owen and now he could see what he was
holding. It was a branding iron, but he couldn't make out the symbol. It was
as though the shape changed as he looked at it.

"Please, sir, you don't have to do this!" He screamed desperately.

"This is going to hurt." The man drew closer and as Owen watched in total
horror, he brought the brand down on Owen's stomach.

Owen yelled as the torturous agony filled his body. Every fibre of his being
seemed to focus on the burning. Then, suddenly, the pain vanished. The mark
on his stomach seemed to tingle rather than burn. Skin changed from milky
white to stark black. Eyes lost iris, pupil and sclera and became pits of
dark red. Teeth sharpened and grew to fill a lipless mouth. Ears changed from
round and flat to curved and pointed, like those of a bat. The nose all but
disappeared, becoming two slits that fluctuated with each breath. A stag's
antlers burst from the sides of the Daemon's head. The body lengthened and
thickened, every sinew stretching to cover the monstrous carapace. Feet
changed into talons that dug into the floor of the chamber. Tiny gaping
mouths opened in the palms of the Daemon's hands, filled with rows of razor
sharp teeth. The fingers transformed into claws that ached to tear and rip
after so many years of captivity.

The creature broke through the restraints of the table as though moving
through thin air. It stood and as it moved forward, the shed skin of its host
fell to the floor behind it.

The bearded man stepped back and fell to his knees, a look of joy on his
face.

"Master!" he whispered. "Master, is it you?"

"Indeed it is. Where am I? What year is it?" The voice emanated from the
thing that was once Owen. It echoed with the inexorable power of death. The
Daemon seemed to struggle with the words, its mouth trying to shape the
syllables of a language it didn't know.

"My Lord! We are in Britain; it has been some two thousand years since your
last visit to this world." The man was simpering, nearly begging for praise.
"There are still those of us who worship you my Lord."

"And yet it took two millennia to resurrect me. I am disappointed. Did I not
teach you the lore of magic? Did I not provide instructions?"

"But my lord, the library at Alexandria was flooded and all the knowledge you
left to us was lost. We have been forced to use petty magic thus far."

"Enough excuses!" The Daemon hissed. "I am still not as powerful as I once
was, I need to feed."

"My Lord?"

"Not exactly my usual, but beggars can't be choosers I suppose." The Daemon
was talking to itself. "Weak as a babe, but it will sustain me until I find
someone of more strength."

Without warning, the Daemon launched forward and placed its hands on the
bearded Summoner's chest. The tiny mouths in its palms began to chew on the
flesh and dragged the life force and magic out of the man's body, which began
to age before the Daemon's eyes. Soon the Daemon was holding a pile of bones
that were crumbling into dust in his grip.

"Disgusting. Far too much sin to be tasty." The Daemon remarked as the maws
in his hands clamped shut and seemed to melt back into the black skin. "But
that's what you get when you give them free will I suppose."

Shadows moved from the edged of the room and seemed to collect at the
Daemon's feet. They formed leathery wings that flexed at its command and then
retracted into its back. It moved to one of the walls and splayed its left
hand. Huge pressure pressed against the magical barrier until it snapped. The
stone behind it cracked and burst outwards and the Daemon stepped through the
hole.

The midnight patrons of the bar turned and stared at the monstrous creature
that climbed out of the opening. They all experienced a moment of pure fear
as the Daemon stood and bared its fangs at them. None of them had the power
that it needed, so it simply walked through the front door, leaving the crowd
in stunned silence.

As it stood outside under the stars, it tried to sense if there was any power
nearby. There were patches of magic all over the world, but the two highest
concentrations were in Italy and somewhere near Russia. The shadow-wings
unfurled from its back and it took flight. It was heading southeast.

***

Remember to contact me with your opinion at bienclar@yahoo.com
The only thing Nifty writers get paid in is responses.