A Tale of Demons and Wolves

An epic poem in the works, one about the struggle of a half-breed to save the one he loves and take his vengeance on the beast that hurt her. It's roughly written, and certainly not finished. So bear with me, my friends.
~Lev

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2. Act 2

She fell by the light of the moon,

Wandering the seashore and the dunes.

Convinced him to come, she had not;

Secrets in the Dark instead he sought.

'Something is amiss,' he claimed,

'No such creature that I know could cause this maim.'

 

Found he earlier a man, hidden beneath the pier,

Body and limbs torn asunder, foul with the reek of fear.

There was one other scent he could not name;

Just out of reach, it eluded him, calling a game.

Home he walked then, thoughts in a whirl,

But nary a one to the girl.

 

Memory came to him as he stepped on the walk

And he knew what it was he sought.

It brought him no joy, only fear,

For he knew the beast to be near,

Searching and sniffing as it slunk between the trees.

The angel knew it not; she thought it to be only the breeze.

 

All haste made in plight seem worthless to fight,

Demon-Boy thought as he dashed through the night.

Calling her name, he pelted over the sand,

Fumbling bullets into the gun in his hand.

He dropped them with a curse, and that's when he saw

His best friend's small form in the monster's maw.

 

Blood shone in the moonlight bright,

And his cry echoed throughout the night.

The wolf looked up from his kill

To see him coming down the hill.

With a rumbling snarl of a laugh he said,

Of you I'll soon be rid,

And I can enjoy a double-feast tonight.

 

But he spoke without knowledge of the boy's unholy rage;

The beast within was awaked, let out of its cage.

Left him did his control and right of mind,

All that was left was something he had hoped he left behind.

The darkest part of his soul made flesh,

His father's birthright, renewed afresh.

 

No escape for the wolf that dared to touch the claimed,

Bones and fur would be all that remained.

But the werewolf was no trembling fool,

Nor through weakness the night he had come to rule.

This stripling boy, this feral cat-

He will enjoy snapping his neck like that of a rat's. 

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