Council of Elders Ch. 07

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Apologies for my apparent case of dropped-off-the-face-of-the-Earth-itis.

I had a momentary attack of self-pity and then Christmas happened and then studying for exams happened, so I’ve been under the radar for a while.

The fact that comments keep coming is a real boost to me and I’m finally back in action.

This thrilling instalment comes with a dedication to Mr. Waddie Greywolf, whose ideas were helpful in writing this chapter. Sorry that “any day now” became 5 months.

I’m now on Twitter. Feel free to twat me @BienClar

PS. Anyone who finds the correct version of Caesar’s translation gets a character named after him or her in my next story. There are number of clues hidden within this chapter. Email me with your response and I’ll either congratulate you or shatter your hopes and dreams. Only the first three people will win the prize so get researching. Thinking about it, this is ridiculously obscure and I would actually be surprised if someone got this, but I hope you prove me wrong.


Owen hit the ground. Hard. At least it felt that way. In reality, he had simply been returned to his mortal body with more force than was technically necessary. The thwack was just an added bonus. He groaned, rolled onto his side and vomited.

“Wonderful,” he moaned, “just perfect.”

After careful inspection of his own sick, he realised that the stuff was tar black and bubbling menacingly. There was a small animal, more like a snake than anything else that was squirming in the puddle. It cried out in what seemed like abject rage and pain then stopped moving abruptly, as though allergic to the air around it. Owen backed up quickly, but was suddenly jerked off his knees by a strong pair of arms wrapping themselves around his chest. He felt himself melting into the slightly furry embrace of his beloved captor.

“You had me worried for a minute there.” The deep voice rumbled, vibrating soothingly. “I thought you were dead. Don’t ever make me think that again.” The voice seemed to be coming from everywhere at once, but at the same time it seemed to be inside him. He swivelled slowly and looked up into two blue eyes that shone like stars. They were, thankfully, imbedded in the face of a smiling man with rough stubble and a broad, lupine face.

Owen felt he was missing something. He groped himself briefly, reassuring himself that – yes – all his prized organs were still in place.

The young Daemon was really starting to worry that they had forgotten something. His memories were slowly pulling themselves together and a shape was forming in his mind. Just as the realisation hit him, so did the Widow. He was pushed onto his back as she barrelled into Fenris, knocking the giant werewolf over.

She had reverted to her wing form, probably to provide an advantage over the land-bound werewolf. She started rain fire down on the two, but Fenris flexed his palms and the air shimmered, deflecting the fire. He started blasting his own magical pot-shots into the sky, but none of them collided successfully. Owen was hurled away roughly and landed face down in the bushes, his face red.

“What the fuck Fen?” He cried, “You could have killed me.” He had had quite enough brushes with his own mortality for one day.

Fenris’ attacks finally struck the flying creature, knocking her out of the sky with a growl of triumph.

“You dare to attack that which is mine?” The feral giant roared at the agonised creature. “You dare to cross that walls that separate our worlds?” He spoke in a voice tinged with power that threatened to tear the Daemon apart merely from the unrelenting force of his words. Indeed, it seemed as though strips of the monster’s flesh were being torn away as it cowered beneath the werewolf.

“P-please!” The Widow begged, her voice cracking in fear. “Spare me! None shall cross again, I swear it.”

“Your pleas mean nothing foul creature.” Caesar crooned at the dying Daemon, a twisted mockery of joy on his lupine face. “The moment you crossed, you were doomed. The moment you struck the Vessel, you were damned.”

“But perhaps if she can guarantee it…” Fenris began, his tone retaining the inestimable rage it held before even as he turned his head.

“She would say anything to save her skin; she does not have the power to prevent the others even if she were telling the truth. Besides, with the Vessel dead no more will be able to cross after she is silenced.” Owen realised that, given what he had been told, he must be the Vessel they were referring to so bitterly. He remembered what the old man had said to him about the other worlds that coexisted with this one, finally understanding what he had been saying.

Owen staggered to his feet and he dragged himself over to the three even as his body screamed. He had to make them stop. Stop the werewolves from killing the Widow. If he saw Fenris strike the final blow he would never be able to forget the image no matter how hard he tried. There was something about his movements Casibom that felt odd, he seemed to feel much more graceful as he planted one foot in front of the other.

“STOP!” He cried and three faces turned to stare at him as he collapsed on his side. “Don’t kill her!” He rose again and forced himself to move towards the trio. Sensing the momentary confusion of her enemy, the Widow slashed at Fenris’ torso and he was forced to jump back to escape the jagged points. She leapt into the sky once more.

The Widow changed tactics, throwing spears of darkness that she conjured from her hands. None of them landed on Fenris, but they fenced him in. Before Owen could shout a warning, the ring of spears was struck by bolts of lightning and a dome formed that stopped Fenris from moving. He tried blasting the dome away but the magic was deflected back at him, rebounding within the confines of the trap.

“With your protector immobilised, there’s nothing left to stop me.” The Widow advanced, her face caked in blood but with a deranged grin etched across it. Suddenly she stopped in her tracks, a confused look on her face. “Impossible… No, it’s impossible. When the binding is complete, nothing can reverse it. You shouldn’t be able to…”

She cast her eyes heavenward and screamed. “You aren’t supposed to interfere!”

A familiar presence, like the touch of an old friend, settled over Owen and he knew what he had to do. He placed one hand on the ground and one over his heart. The instructions were fixed in his mind, though he didn’t know where they were coming from. He reached into the crackling earth beneath him and drew out a single black arrow, tipped with a ruby head. He cast the symbols in his mind and used the arrow to cut his skin and draw bloody runes on his bare arms that danced and shifted as he watched. He wasn’t entirely sure what they meant, but at the same time, he knew it was a way to help Fenris.

The blood-ink sank into the skin, etched onto the surface. A momentary knife of pain coursed through him and then as he watched the skin darkened to black, the fingers stretched and sharpened into furious talons.

With a bellowing roar, he charged forward and sank his new, terrible teeth, into the neck of the stunned Widow. Fenris watched him attack, filled with dread and awe at the power his lover possessed.

“You will NEVER hurt the ones I love again!” He placed his claws over her stomach and in one swift movement sundered her body in two, slicing the spine with the ferocity of his strike.

Her severed ends began to merge together even as soon as he had thrown them apart. At the moment of joining, she tried to scramble away but he roared and she was blown off her feet. She morphed into the spider-monster in a last ditch attempt to escape but the balance of her legs was wrong and she sprawled onto the ground once more.

The Widow struck out desperately with a barbed claw, but the blow was met by a solid wall that hung invisibly between her and Owen. A high note rang out at the contact and the Widow moaned as though the noise were harming her. The Owen-creature spoke again and small symbols tumbled from its mouth, hanging in the air before spinning in circles around the Widow’s head, forming a blazing arc that tightened and tightened until it touched her skin. At the point of contact, black scales became white feathers that fluttered in the breeze. The Widow screamed again, but as the transformation racked her body, she began to quiet.


“Return to the arms of your Creator. Your pilgrimage is over.” Caesar intoned as he realised what was happening. He knew in that moment that the creature was indeed still Owen.

Fenris could feel the power radiating from the monster, and he stepped forward to touch its skin, but the same wall that protected it from the Widow stopped his large fingers from making contact. Its head turned slightly towards him but there was no apparent recognition. The beast focused on the Widow once more as her extra legs changed to luminescent white feathers and her many eyes drew together into a single pair that shone like a rainbow. The damage to her body was slowly undone as she reached out a delicate hand to stroke the Owen-creature’s face.

“I am sorry for my actions.” She intoned in a light voice as she stared into Owen’s eyes. “My mind was clouded with anger. But now I see. I see that Balance is the only way. My soul is now purified Brother. Please send me on.”

New symbols coursed through the air from Owen’s mouth, forming a patch of yellow light. The Widow walked forward on trembling legs, though her face was void of fear or anxiety. She turned to Fenris with a smile on her beautiful face.

“Love is the flower whose blossom never withers.” She said as she stepped through into the light. “Remember this always and the answer will come.” With that, she vanished from view, though a light giggle was left dancing in the air behind her.

When she was gone, Owen turned on Fenris, his Casibom Giriş body still transformed, his claws and teeth bloody and sharp.

“Look out!” cried Caesar and Fenris managed to move just in time to avoid the swipe at his throat.

“Bloody hell! I thought we’d already done this bit!” The seal placed on Owen was still there, glowing yellow and pulsating worryingly.

It became clear after a few minutes of dodging and parrying that this Daemon-Owen was incapable of using magic due to the effects of Fenris’ seal. Using this as an advantage, Fenris blew the Daemon of its feet with a powerful gust of wind and bent over to catch his breath.

“Caesar, what can we do?” he asked plaintively. He couldn’t bear the thought of killing Owen when he had only just got him back. The slim boy was now turned into this monstrosity before him and there was nothing he could think of to help.

“Ummmm…. uhhhhh…..” Caesar seemed to be putting off telling the younger werewolf, as though his reply would be distasteful.

“Hurry up! I can’t keep him pinned forever!”

“Well the thing is… You know when Hunter werewolves take a mate… And they uhhhhh… make love.”

“You’re shitting me right?” There was not a hope in hell of that happening.

“Nope. That’s the only way to ensure that he becomes yours forever. The only way to secure the seal for the rest of time. I’m not sure what the effects of the mating will be on a non-werewolf, but it should all be fine.”

That was a lot of variables, but apparently, he had no choice.

Fenris got down on all fours and concentrated, try to avoid the agony of the change to stop at the exact precise moment he needed to. The unique gift of the Hunters, aside from prodigious strength and speed, was the ability to stop their transformation part-way through and become what was known as a Draugr. A creature with a human mind and a werewolf’s strength.

Standing eight feet tall, the Draugr Fenris was an intimidating sight and as he bore down on the Daemon, it seemed to cower. At this point, the reader may be wondering why Fenris didn’t just turn into a Draugr and defeat the Widow in one attack. The answer to that is as follows: despite having the mind of a human, that mind is fairly one-track.

“Oh bloody hell!” cried Caesar as he watched the Draugr approach the Daemon, licking its lips as it stared at the firm figure that lay before it. Despite the horrific change to its appearance the Daemon was still objectively attractive with strong muscles and a steely jaw line, but the main thing that drew the lumbering Draugr towards it was that it still smelled of Owen.

The Draugr sank down in front of the Daemon and rolled over to expose its belly. Caesar facepalmed and turned his back on the pair of them, although with a direct link to Fenris’ mind he could still tell what was going on behind him. He should have guessed that the giant macho werewolf would be a bottom, should have known it all along.

Fenris still had the body of a man, though it seemed to have been stretched proportionally in each direction and was now covered in short fur that covered every inch of his body apart from the weighty cock now laying against his belly. He whined and moaned, begging the Daemon to lay down with him, to mount him , to claim him.

It obliged, forced by the seal on its chest. It thrust in in one harsh motion that drew a cry of exultation from the Draugr Fenris. The piercing assault seemed to affect the Daemon as well for it raked Fenris’ back with claws that seemed to be receding.

In fact, the Daemon’s whole body seemed to shrink until it was the same size as Owen had been. As the Daemon’s midnight black dick punched in and out of Fenris’ abused hole, the horns on its head fell away and disintegrated to dust that blew in the wind. The sharpened talons turned pink and soft, the mouth full of gnashing teeth becoming soft and ruby-lipped.

As Owen began to emerge from the Daemon’s form, so too did Fenris revert to his natural state. Still mid-fuck, Owen’s body became entirely his own and he grabbed onto Fenris’ rock hard cock and began to stroke it, feeling the iron velvet beneath his hands and continuing to spear his lover with his dick.

Fenris had diminished to his normal height and with it regained his senses and batted Owen’s away so that he could reach up and kiss him as they fucked face to face. Owen’s moans were complemented by Fenris’ as the fire that burned between them grew stronger.

The grass they lay on became scorched as Fenris’ magic began to leak out into the surroundings, the ardour of his lust given form by the power in his core.

As Owen continued to rub ceaselessly against his prostate, Fenris groaned and with one last thrust came in a fluid arc that splattered against Owen’s soft chest. The contractions within Fenris’ hole became too much and the friction drove Owen over the edge too. They both collapsed, exhausted and totally at ease.


Apollo Casibom Güncel Giriş was furious. It didn’t happen often; in fact, it had only occurred once in the last three hundred years. His spies had just informed him of the Council’s decision to barricade themselves behind a shield of magic, but he hadn’t believed it until he had seen the dome with his own eyes. The vampire was firing spell after spell at the enchanted wall, but not even a dent. He could no longer smell the sulphurous tinge in the atmosphere that indicated the presence of the toxic Chaos, which meant that there was no reason to maintain the shield. But it was impossible without two other sources of magic to form the new Triumvirate.

A snivelling acolyte waddled up to him and started to form words, but Apollo cut him off with a decisive click of his fingers, sealing off the insignificant whelp’s air supply. He left the tunnel, leaving the suffocating insect to clutch at its throat. It was Apollo’s curse to be surrounded by relative mediocrity, he knew, but this was just too much to handle. He called for Lycia, his second in command, to approach. The copper-haired vampiress swept forward and knelt before her lord. He rolled his eyes at her pathetic display but didn’t say anything. He coughed and she rose again.

“M’lord, it would seem that another source of energy has been detected. Until recently it was two energy signatures, but one of them has disappeared.”


“One was certainly lupine in origin, but the other is stumping our scientists.”

“How recently?”

“Literally moments ago. It appeared for the briefest of moments and nearly broke our measuring equipment, then vanished.”

“Do you know why? Is it the same type of power detected earlier?”

“No to both counts M’lord, but-“

Jesus Christ! He had come out of hiding specifically for the purpose of pooling resources, but it seemed as though there was nothing to be gained from working with the others of his kind. He had felt the two power sources for the past week or so, sensed them drawing ever closer together until they had collided. Neither had diminished in intensity until mere hours ago when one had simply winked out like a broken bulb.

Apollo began to walk past the vampiress, ignoring her confused expression. It was so typical of these modern vampires, all talk and no action. In his day, they had been ferocious killers who had almost driven the humans and werewolves to extinction, but now they were disorganised and lazy. He had a mind to take each rotten one and gut them like a fish, just as he had during the war. But he remembered that times had changed, he was now the last of the older generation and all that remained were watered down versions of his noble ancestors.

Apollo closed his eyes and shifted. The spatial magic sent him flying through the air and he landed with a clang on a vinyl floor. Damn! He was so unused to using his magic that even shifting was becoming difficult. It was a shame that such powerful magic was now beyond the capabilities of all of his modern descendants, but instantaneous relocation was a skill that few had managed even in his own day. He looked around him with keen interest as he stood up and brushed the accumulated dirt off his black leather attire.

It seemed that he was in a bathroom, judging from the smell of urine and disinfectant at least, but beyond that, he had no real idea of his position. A new scent of sizzling bacon started to waft under the door to the lavatory. His canines elongated with pleasure at the smell, but he quickly retracted them as he stepped out. He was assaulted by a plethora of aromas as he set foot in what appeared to be a public house of some kind. There was a kitchen area that seemed to serve balls of paper or small cardboard boxes, but the smell made Apollo think of the local butcher of the small village he grew up in as a child. The air was filled with the sounds of life, life that he had been kept away from for so many years. There were crying children, yelling mothers, bored fathers and dour-looking teenagers that sulked in corners. It was nice to see that, despite the passage of centuries, some things never changed. His forked tongue flicked out, as he tasted the air.

The energy source was very close by; he could almost feel the waves of power. The night air was cold as he stepped out from the restaurant, but the cool had no effect on his deathly pale skin. He stepped forward into the road that ran past the restaurant and a car swerved to avoid him. An angry voice yelled at him but he paid it no mind. Instead, he took another step, this time wary of the approaching cars, and crossed to the other side. His nose twitched as he drew even closer to the Lycanthropic energy source.


‘I wonder what his problem is?’ thought Owen as he scratched behind one ear.

There was a slim young man staring through the windshield of the car that Fenris, with a little instruction from Caesar, had hotwired. He was smiling in a way that made you think he hadn’t done it for some time. He couldn’t have been more than thirty and he was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, but he exuded a kind of aloofness that made him seem much older than his appearance suggested.

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