Venice Days of Yore

CHAPTER 3 - REVENGE

The scent of macabre permeated the habitat as Khalil hoovered ravenously the human body before him. He pulled out the liver, tearing the intestine into pieces as blood smeared his face. He growled as he fed maintaining a neutral anatomy in the middle of humanity and the supernatural. A beta jumped in front of him to have a finger in his wear and tear. Khalil snapped and brushed him in his face with his claws, growling aggressively as he called the attention of other members of the pack. "I lead the pack! I control it! You don't tell me what to do." Khalil shouted. "How are we going to fight the vampires, the sorcerers, the werewolves on the other r side. They are making weapons Khalil - the ones that'd hurt us like mad. Don't you get it?" A long haired guy remarked. It was their third convergence and the pack hasn't come to a conclusion. The news of their growing presence was spreading throughout Venice. The inhabitants were reducing in number and werewolves were beginning to infect the living ones with their blood. Khalil had proposed an overthrow while the omegas posited they should leave the city. They need the consent of the Alpha, Khalil but he would not agree to their judgement. He stood that day on the brown iron tank jeering why cowardice is real disease that should be torpedoed and not them. "Let's take over the city. We must fight! Because that's what we do. We are fighters! Every member of my pack should stand behind me. Follow my lead. The supporters of my revolution should not afraid. Humans are our inferiors." The crowd jeered in support while some booed against it.

For decades, wars and rumors of wars between werewolves and vampires had disrupted the peace of many cities. These superhumans travelled across borders, vanquishing and reviving in diverse geographical locations. For long, their aspersers had been the sorcerers, the hunters and the witches. Their claws and fangs were nothing compared to the thunder and elements the sorcerers summoned from arcadia, nor could they endure the afflictions inflicted by venom of hunters' silver bullet. Nor could they sentimentally brave the animosity communicated by the denizens to the gudgeons crucified in the middle of the town for a death doom. That is, the youngsters. The preacher once screamed that the corners of Venice was their home. They existed like beggars but lived like kings of city states. The roamed the boarders like it was free without barrier. They jumped the roofs if every houses congratulating their strengths with recklessness every dusk. Their eyes glowed in the dark illuminating the twilight before them. They fed on animals - deers that crossed their lines every dawn and birds that chripsled on their wooden windows. The only time they fed on human blood was after an infraction. They would tear the skin of the intruder demoniacally like he wasn't a friend some hours before. That was the rule of the jungle decreed by their alpha. Khalil was present yet. Perhaps the members of the pack would consider him more ruthless. Their former leader never wanted a revolution - he wanted peace to reign. The members of the pack gossiped about the alpha being familiar with the chief. Some say he was in love with his daughter. But his disposition emanated a feeling of solidarity towards Venice. "You are a pretender! What do you stand for? We can't keep feeding on animals. Humans are food to us." An omega bounced on him on night, struggling to tear the alpha's face with his claws. He was strong but weaker. The alpha was weak out of love but stronger. He had grabbed him by the neck envincing his saberteeth, barking with vigor at the omega, until he allayed himself to sympathy. He changed into a smaller form gradually, wincing like he was afflicted to the support of the wall. He wrapped himself in his arms and the omega stared at him confusion. Their alpha was dying. The sorcerers had given him a cure. He wanted to be one of them though he was an original. The chief's perhaps had loved him that he was succumbing and abandoning his pack. No one noticed until that treasonist left his room with the herbs he had been taking and spell he had been reciting. "Hominidae transtuli aparecium - better to not be!" This was the inscription on the page of the spell book. The omega recited that same night the letters on the page. A werewolf would suffer irrational gripe! A werewolf would consume seven virgin human blood for seven days! A werewolf should avoid b********y for hundred days! A werewolf could at most twice. The results will cause pain during future transformation. A werewolf should leave his pack. The omega read it boisterously. Not long after, Khalil had appeared in their midst with the head of their alpha. He held the head of the alpha by his hair stretching it towards the pack on the tank. He had no fangs in his bare mouth. Khalil threw the head in their midst from the top and it rolled within the space they slowly made for it."I am your God now! Follow me! Worship me!" Khalil eyes glowed hot red amidst the purple cows that shined gold, yellow and blue. The newly changed werewolves' eyes shined gold. When they take an innocent human life, it changes to blue. The most powerful of all was said to be a ghost. He was a ghostrider. Fire followed everywhere he treaded and he read one's mind till the body is drained of a soul.

Khalil had led the pack from then, conveying his revolution forcefully. No one seemed to oppose him in the pack since he was willing to suffer for the pack. No werewolf was allowed to feed on birds or straying unhealthy animals. He ordered his pack to take humans at their own will. In the full moon period, they scattered around Venice roaming the wilderness like it was an abode. They ran though the woods erratically barking with extraordinary brawniness. They crossed paths but somehow managed devicely not to stumble upon one another. Khalil was larger than them, faster than them and quick-witted than them. The ran behind him, not because they couldn't outrun him but because they lacked the ability to. Few days before, he had slaughtered two betas with his human hands in their presence. No one must question his authority. That was his decree! Throughout his regnancy, the pack grew fond of him. The gaudy races during the full moon, the hunting spree of the fat blueblooded fools that promenaded the midnight bar and the sweet blood of beautiful sluts that swam through their necks in the corridors. These were fragments of the goodies Khalil's regnancy brought them.

Though he was charismatic, a stranger in the pack made him her object of observation. Khalil sat at the back of the woods far from the abode of the pack. In spite of his outward sanguinity, his despodency grew fiercely and discreetly that only a close companion of his could perceive. Dorcas watched him behind the bamboo tree carefully observing him narcissizing with her little eyes. Their friendship began to heighten when one of his claws touched her blood. He had caught her unexpectedly at her dismay. He pulled her closer to his chest. He growled in anger. She pleaded. He opened the skin on her neck smally with his pinky claw. She moaned. He tasted her blood.

"I'm looking for it. How do I lead the pack if I have to find it," he lamented on the fiftieth night of his regnancy. Dorcas stroked his hair and he bowed in response. This had only occured centuries ago. Amority was an anathema amongst a pack of werewolves. But what was happening between Dorcas and Khalil was a truce as he called. A truce had let to a caress. A truce was taming the wild. A truce was making Khalil expressive. Why he was here? Why he hated humans? Why he was so powerful? Why he loved her? That she never knew. "I'm close to you!" She screamed one afternoon when they were playing hide and seek. "Find me if you can!" Dorcas squeezed again. A rose flower danced through the air in response to the small breeze that lifted it above Khalil's head. The entire mise en scène from the Kahlil's outlook conceptualizes nirvana in its materiality since he rarely encounters such wonderment. Never had he thought a werewolf could supply him one. He grabbed the flower and smelt it while exhibiting emotional warmth. Dorcas watched him. She crept out the tree she was hiding and touched Khalil's face. "You're cold! My mother used to plant hibiscus in our garden. The rose plant was meant for the snakes. A magician said the smell was good for their skin. Do you know what I did?" Dorcas asked. "What did you do?" " I burnt it one morning. I burnt it with poison, together with the snakes. The poison works like fire. Merciless." "Why?" Dorcas moved a way from him and pointed her finger towards a mountain. Smoke erupted from a space. Khalil moved surprisedly. "What is that place?" He asked. " They say its for a witch. Let's move away from here. Should we?" She grabbed him by the hand and pulled along her trail. He followed like a child.