8 The Attack [2]
All it took was less than an hour for a beautiful evening to be transformed into a funeral that no one would ever want to remember.
A lot had happened.
Tonight was supposed to be the best night in the werewolf world, but if this was the version of best that they could be accorded, then it was easier when they knew nothing about the best of both worlds.
The night had been peaceful.
There were no indications of the horror that it had suddenly been transformed into. Maybe there was a reason for this, but could there ever be a valid reason to slaughter this many people?
Was it even humanely justifiable by anyone or even anywhere?
Why was it that nothing good was ever planned before evil showed up?
Was it that they were a cursed species or anything?
The palace was littered with bodies upon bodies.
Rooms were blowing up.
Wolves were howling in pain and there was nothing that could be done other than the fight for survival. The broken mind links disrupted the natural order of things. Nothing was ever going to be the same again in the werewolf world.
They had to prepare themselves for the worst because this seemed like just the beginning of a war they might never be able to win.
Everything was just messy.
Mind links were being cut, and more than anything, the king, and queen could feel the links to their wolves being cut so harshly, and abruptly. It hurt, but then what hurt the most was when the king and queen were murdered while protecting Hera, and Hermes.
Everyone felt the links break.
It left them distraught, so much that even the rogues who had attacked felt it.
For a moment, the world went darker than usual. The light bulbs were powerless. They were on but no one could see anything. Not even the people closest to them. It was a moment that everyone in the kingdom would remember.
A moment that the werewolf world would never forget.
No one had ever heard of a king, and queen being murdered. The previous rulers who died were dead because of old age, and not because they were killed. But even then there was never this kind of darkness, never.
One that overpowered every artificial light source.
It was a sign that the kingdom would never be the same again without the king and queen but it was also a sign that they had lost the two kids. The warlocks had taken the kids and hidden them in plain sight. No one would ever find them.
When the darkness ended five hours later, it was nine, in the morning.
As punishment for what they had done, the moon goddess killed quite a number of the hunters and the rogues. Nothing about what had happened in the castle was okay and she would never let anyone go free after what they had done.
They would pay for all this, one way or the other, they would atone. Even if it meant they would do that with their lives.
What they did was unacceptable. She was the one who killed not the one who let people kill. She could have stopped the massacre if she wanted to, but she knew she had to let it happen.
The universe was not playing games, and she was not going to go against the universe for a people that had been so harsh to each other. Maybe this was their way of accepting one another, but maybe that was the beginning of the biggest crack in time.
After the darkness, everyone was looking for the two children who would save them from complete doom. Maybe they were trapped under the pile of bodies that had accumulated over the time that blood had been shed. They looked everywhere, but nobody found them.
It was a wild day and a horrible one for a fact.
If the children weren't found, then the werewolf world might have as well been disbanded. They were desperate for something someone who could save them, but there was nothing. Everything that was left was a pile of bodies.
The king and queen had been reduced to ashes, as was expected whenever people in their positions died. The rogues had left, the hunters had also followed suit, or whatever was left of their teams. The wolves who were left unscathed tended to their wounded.
They were all weak but they had to find, and identify the wounded, and separate them from the dead. There would be a mass burial in the next two days, but that was if they had managed to collect the bodies by then.
From the damages, they had lost two thousand of their wolves, and while it was supposed to be a relief, no one would ever breathe a sigh of relief for losing a loved one. The packs that lost their alphas in the war had to find other alphas to take care of them, but until then, the betas would take over.
There was confusion in the whole castle, that, and the werewolf world had no cornerstone. Everything was bound to fall apart.
The next few days, the remaining survivors cleaned up the castle, and the doors to the throne room were locked. The dead were burnt since there were a lot of them. No one would ever get the time to pay the last respects properly as the kingdom was still in a frenzy over the disappearance of the kids.
Everyone was looking.
People were looking, trying to feel anything. Their heightened senses were supposed to get a hint of the kids, but that was never going to happen because of the cloaking spell the warlocks had cast on the kids.
The warlock who had cast the spell had died in the throne room, and with what he did, he sent the kids to different homes. He left them at the doorsteps of two human families who were worlds apart.
Families that never knew each other.
Families that knew nothing about the existence of werewolves, that way the kids would lead a normal life, and if by any chance their destiny called to them, then the road home would open itself for them.
