Noir

**LYRA**

The jungle teemed with the symphony of the night. Melodious birdsongs blended with the lively chatter of mischievous monkeys, while the gentle hum of insects filled the air. The heavy, earthy scent of damp soil and decomposing leaves enveloped us as we moved forward. After much persuasion, Noir had reluctantly agreed to return to the fortress. Yet, as we cautiously navigated through the towering trees, a nagging doubt consumed me. What if he couldn't control his monstrous nature again? The abomination that he'd transformed into surpassed any vampire I'd ever encountered.

In a way, I felt disloyal for not trusting Noir's ability to do so, but another part of me was no fool; the monster inside him was still reawakening.

As I was lost in my thoughts, my attention was drawn away by the sudden change in atmosphere. I couldn't help but notice Noir, Eton, and Thorin had become tense, their senses honing in on something that eluded me. Without a single word spoken, Noir slowed his steps, and Eton and Thorin silently positioned themselves on either side of me, creating a protective barrier. We moved in perfect harmony, our footsteps almost inaudible. Noir abruptly stopped, causing my senses to further heighten.

In a voice barely audible, I whispered, "What is it?"

Noir shot me a warning glance, his eyes conveying the urgency without uttering a word.

Eton and Thorin remained as still as statues behind me. And then, it came the sound of shifting feet, the faint crackle of leaves being crushed underfoot, accompanied by low growls that reverberated from within the trees. Instantly, I recognized the sounds: werewolves.

Noir's muscles tensed, coiling beneath his skin like a tightly wound spring, ready to strike. Eton and Thorin mirrored his readiness, their bodies poised for action.

My hand instinctively reached for the dagger at my waist as the sounds grew louder, drawing nearer, until finally, figures began emerging from the shadows of the trees.

They were huge, hulking beasts with fur as dark as the night, their eyes glowing a deep yellow. Their teeth were elongated like daggers, and glistened menacingly as they slowly advanced toward us. Suddenly without hesitation, the wolves lunged forward, launching their attack.

Noir snarled in response, his fangs bared as he pounced with lightning speed.

The lead werewolf lunged forward, its claws aimed to strike, but Noir's moved faster. With swift precision, he drove his dagger deep into the werewolf's chest, causing a visceral impact that sent it soaring through the air. The night echoed with the werewolf's agonized howl, a haunting sound that pierced the silence.

The metallic scent of blood permeated the air, heightening the intensity of the moment. As the other wolves circled us, the wounded wolf, fueled by determination, rose to its feet and went after Noir again, not backing down.

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Noir landed a blow against the wolf's chest with his fist, knocking it backward. The wolf stumbled, righted itself, then turned its gaze on me, before charging toward me, its pack brothers right behind it.

I sprung into action, my arm swinging, my dagger clutched tightly in my hand, as I sliced and jabbed at the wolves, their wiry thick coats an encumbrance, but still allowing me to land several good jabs.

Noir, Eton and Thorin began grabbing wolves, tossing them every which direction. The wolves' heavy bodies landed on the jungle floor with loud thuds, as the air crackled with the clash of teeth and desperate growls and snarls. The wolves were relentless adversaries, as righting themselves they lunged at us again.

With the new assault, the adrenaline surged through my veins, heightening my senses as I dodged and parried, feeling the rush of wind as the wolves lunged and the impact of each strike against my skin.

The scent of damp earth mingled with the metallic tang of blood, creating a heady mix that filled the air.

Noir, Eton and Thorin moved with an otherworldly grace, their movements a blur of strength and agility.

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I felt myself beginning to tire, my muscles burning with fatigue. The wolves sensed my weakness and pressed their attack harder. Noir, Eton and Thorin were growing increasingly battered and bruised, but they refused to back down. They fought on, their bodies moving in perfect sync, their breathing labored as they struggled to keep the wolves at bay.

Time seemed to slow down as I found myself locked in a vicious battle with one of the werewolves. It was as if the two of us were in our own private bubble, oblivious to the chaos around us. Our bodies moved in a deadly dance, each lunge, strike and parry becoming more desperate as we sought to gain the upper hand.

Several of the other wolves that were not engaged with Noir, Eton and Thorin, circled us, their growls and snarls filling the air as they waited for an opening to attack. The adrenaline coursing through my veins kept me going, but I knew that it was only a matter of time before I succumbed to exhaustion.

Noir let out a savage snarl, throwing himself at a particularly persistent wolf that had been harrying us relentlessly. There was a loud crack as their bodies collided, sending them both flying through the air. The wolf landed with a thud and let out a yelp of pain, but Noir didn't give it time to recover. He was on it in an instant, driving his dagger deep into its chest.

As the wolves began to realize that they were losing their numbers, they began to grow more desperate, their attacks more erratic. Eton and Thorin took advantage of this, picking off the stragglers with brutal efficiency.

I finally managed to land a final blow against my opponent, driving my dagger deep into its heart. The creature let out a final, gurgling growl before it collapsed lifelessly to the ground.

I stood there, panting heavily, surveying the carnage around us. The bodies of the fallen wolves littered the jungle floor, their blood mingling with the earth. Noir, Eton and Thorin also had bruises and scratches covering their bodies, and as they too took in the carnage, Thorin hissed, "Why the fuck, are the wolves attacking us?"