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Jerome was exhausted. His legs were cramping. They screamed at him in agony, begging for him to stop and take a breather. His lungs were doing even worse. He wasn't ready for this kind of long distance running and now he was regretting putting it off. He regretted those midnight trips to the fridge whenever his insomnia kept him up too late. Sugary treats made him feel better and helped him sleep. It was restless sleep due to the sugar rush that came and made him toss and turn, giving him bad dreams and night terrors, but it was better than no sleep. Now those extra pounds were feeling like tons.

Emery had stayed behind to give Jerome enough time to escape and a part of the man wanted his comrade to still be alive, but he knew better. Emery had stayed behind to give the monsters a plaything, something to keep their attention for a while. Jerome was beginning to think that it was for nothing. He should have stayed behind as well. Fought alongside his friend.

Tears formed at the corner of Jerome's eyes. He blinked them away and cursed at them. Crying was making his breathing irregular and in a few moments his body would feel the disruption to the flow of oxygen. It would hurt him.

Damn it. Another thing that was slowing down. His mind wanted him to stop and give up. Let the beasts get him and to let them win. It would have definitely been easier, but he wasn't a Templar because he gave up. He was sworn to protect the innocent even if the Order's recent actions may have come under scrutiny for its inaction. He couldn't give up. Who knew how many would be put at risk if he didn't get away. He had to get news of what happened at the Alpine Hold back to the Vatican. All he had to do was get off these blasted mountains and to somewhere where there were people. The beasts wouldn't dare to reveal themselves.

Jerome jumped, turning sideways and skidded down a steep incline. Rocks tumbled around him. Dust kicked up and the freezing wind blew in the man's face. He squinted and leaped forward and landed on shaky legs before going off on a dash again. He caught himself from falling and told himself to make it to the next incline and from there he would go down the mountain even more.

The man couldn't hear them behind him which was both good and bad. It was good because if he could hear them, then it was too late. They were too fast for him to beat in any fair race so hearing them meant that he would be moments away from death. It was also bad because he didn't know where they were. For all he knew, they had simply circled him, getting in front of him and were simply waiting for him to come to them. Only time would tell.

Jerome cut his hand on a rock he slapped out of the way. It stung and the sudden pain made him lightheaded. He wiped the blood off onto his tunic. He had ditched the armor he had worn hours ago in favor of reducing his weight, but he kept his weapon at his side, a longsword, plated in a thin layer of silver. If they caught him, he wasn't going down without a fight.

The peaks went on for what seemed to be forever in every direction, but Jerome knew that civilization existed below. The Hold was accessible by a tunnel that zigzagged down the inside of the mountain until it reached the bottom where there was a road which led into Italy. Normally, Jerome would have taken the tunnel, but the beasts had come from there, getting past all of the defenses along the way.

They had been ready for some time. The beasts hadn't tried to sneak in. They killed the first guards at the base of the mountain before they could call for help, but the second one, several hundred yards up, made the call which alerted the base.

Attempts had been made to send out a call for help to other garrisons, but the signal was jammed and all lines had been cut, so runners were sent out in all directions, but the beasts were clever. They were waiting on the paths down the mountain and all the runners were killed. One by one, contact was lost with the runners and the guards in the tunnel.

"Jerome," Emery had called out to the squire. The Marshal was putting on the last bits of his armor, tightening the straps of his gauntlet. "I have a special assignment for you." He turned away from the armory table that had the rest of his gear, a sword, a heavy riot shield and several guns, each using silver. Emery's armor shined even in the dim light of the armory, the small golden cross on his chest was especially bright. Ther armor didn't have a single smudge on it. Each individual segment that mimicked old Roman legionnaire armor was its own part, able to flex away from the other segments to allow for breathing and mobility, but without sacrificing strength either since under the half inch of steel plate was another inch of durable, high-strength kevlar. It was too heavy for most, but Emery was a big man.

"What do you need me to do, sir?" Jerome ran up to the knight he had served for the last two years. He had been taken in after he had been forced from the service of Sir Tannis due to disagreements between the knight and Jerome's father. Emery had been nothing but kind to the young man, taking pains to ensure that he was taught how to fight since Emery believed that every Templar was a soldier first before his other duties. Everyone at Alpine Hold knew how to fight, but instead Emery wanted Jerome to run.

"Word needs to get out." Emery grabbed Jerome by the shoulder and gave it a reaffirming squeeze. "All the runners have been intercepted on their normal paths. I need you to take the back gulch. I know that you're capable of making it down."

"No." Jerome shook his head. "I need to fight. You said that everyone needs to fight."

"I know what I said." Emery shook Jerome, grabbing him with both hands this time. "There is a time to fight and a time to run." He looked Jerome directly in the eyes. "This is the time to run. You are not a coward." He looked past Jerome into the security room that was just outside where there was a wall of security monitors showing what was happening in the tunnel. He grimaced as another outpost was attacked. He had ordered all guards in the tunnel back to the top, but some were falling behind. He watched as they were attacked by the beasts, werewolves, but not the kind that he was used to seeing. They stood on two legs rather than four.

"How can I outrun them?" Jerome asked. "None of the runners made it and they've been training for this their entire time here. Some of them have been here for years."

"I know. I know." Emery nodded, looking back at Jerome. "Everyone here will do what they can to provide you cover. We will make sure you get out alive." He stood up and went back to the table. Emery wore a cape of white with a large crimson cross on it. It fluttered even with the slightest movement, giving the Marshall a look of majesty wherever he went. He picked up the guns, putting them into the holsters on his side and then the sword which he turned and handed to Jerome. "I hope that I will not fail and force you to use this."

Jerome took the sword and strapped it to his belt. "I- I won't fail you." He said and was ushered to a rear exit just as the last of the tunnel guards came running through the main blast doors. They were all unharmed. The injured never made it.

"They're right behind us, close the doors!" One of the screamed.

Emery pushed Jerome out of the back door and into the cold Alpine air. "Run with the grace of God and tell the Order that Ragnarok is returning." Then he turned around and went back inside, shutting the door behind him.

That was this morning. Now it was nearly afternoon and Jerome could now see the valley at the bottom. It was a grassy flat with a small creek, supplied by the snow melt above, which ran through the middle. Jerome recognized it immediately. Sometimes deer would come here and Emery would take Jerome with him to hunt with a bow.

Jerome knew that if he followed the stream, he would be taken to a small mountain town that had a road which would take him to the highway. It was only a few more miles. Less than an hour away at the pace he was going at. If he could keep it up.

Rocks began to tumble behind Jerome and his heart skipped a beat. It could have been anything. Rocks simply falling after having been disturbed by the human. Just nature, a gust of wind, maybe even a small animal scurrying away. It didn't have to be werewolves.

Jerome didn't look back. He kept running, but he moved his hand to the hilt of the sword that Emery had given him. It had been Emery's personal sword. The Marshal had kept it with him at all times and it was given to him by the Grand Commander when he had taken command of the Alpine Hold. It was engraved with an image of the horizon from the Matterhorn that went up the length of the blade. Now it was Jerome's job to protect it and the only way he would be able to do that was by escaping.

Trees were starting to appear in larger number. Before it was one or two here or there, but now he was hitting their shadows. The empty and void world of rock gave way to green. The flat horizontals and diagonals of the mountain turned into a criss-cross of tree trunks and branches.

Jerome vaulted over a log that had fallen down, blocking his path. He could have gone around, but that would have taken precious seconds, seconds that he may already not have.

The rocks began to turn smaller and smaller, changing from gray to brown as it transformed into dirt which held plants. The rocks were more welcome. The grass was wet and slippery and more than once, Jerome nearly slipped, giving him a heart attack and a new burst of adrenaline to use to push his body well beyond what it should have been capable of.

In life or death situations, mothers could lift burning cars off of their children. A man could fight off a bear with his fists and live to tell the tale. The body was capable of incredible acts of strength in a life or death situation. Jerome's body knew that it was in one such situation. It pumped as much energy into his muscles as it could. It broke down fat, stripping it away as fast as it could, producing the cramping lactic acid in the process. All short term in the hope that it would pay off in the long term.

"Just. A little. Farther." Jerome panted horribly. Long and dull, raspy breaths that made him feel tired to just breath. He egged himself on to keep moving forward. He could smell the fresh air of the valley and in his mind he could hear the stream trickling and the frogs croaking in rhythm. It was a pleasant and lulling sound. "Just. A little. Farther."

One foot went in front of the other. He shambled down the slope, letting gravity do as much of the work as he was. He was getting sloppy. His good form giving way to an animalistic desire to survive. His feet plodded down the slop, slapping into the ground and then slipping.

Jerome's arms flailed as his foot went out from under him and soon he could see it against the sky. His dark leather boot against the soft pale blue of the sky as he fell and his feet went up and up.

Stars filled his eyes as Jerome's head and back impacted the ground. At least it was dirt and grass here instead of hard rock. Still all the precious air in his lungs fled out of his mouth in one painful 'hrugh!'

Jerome gasped for breath, but none would come. He tried to roll over, but his limbs gave in to their exhaustion and refused to obey their master. They laid limp at his side, only the tips of his fingers moved when the whole arm should have.

He was so close and now he might as well have been across the ocean.

Jerome didn't know how long he laid there in silence. It was hard to tell as he was too concentrated on trying to pull in as much air as he could back into his lungs. His starved brain could barely comprehend the passage of time, but it did pick up noise.

A twig cracked and then there was a low growl. A feral noise, deep and guttural, full of bass. It reverberated in Jerome's' chest well before he saw the creature.

It hovered over him. Black as midnight with eyes of gold and bloodshot. Its mouth had long canines and all the other teeth were sharp and crooked, covered in blood. Jerome could see bits of meat stuck between them. He nearly puked.

The werewolf chuckled and backed away. Jerome would have turned his head to see where it was going, but it hurt too much.

"I'm impressed, human," It was barely understandable, coming out as no more than a series of grunts and yips that imitated the sound of speech. "You made it this far. The others barely made it past the first outcroppings wayyyy up there."

Jerome just panted. He felt sleep coming. It was a blessing. He could just sleep through the dismemberment and he would wake up in Heaven without having to deal with the horrible things that were to come.

"Now you will die like the rest of them." There was more chuckling. He was surrounded as nearly a dozen werewolves, each walking on two legs and hunched over like old men, came out into the opening. They drooled and looked at the human hungrily. They looked back between the human and the werewolf that had talked, waiting for the command. They craved flesh and blood, especially that of humans. It fed their bloodlust.

Jerome closed his eyes, begging for sleep before it began.

The werewolves crept closer. They licked their chops and scratched at their fur, licking the blood that came off. Not their blood, but the blood of their victims at the top of the mountain. There was nothing left up there. The bodies had been consumed and the blood licked up. It actually disgusted the werewolf in charge. Newly changed were always so bloodthirsty. So eager to kill, but that was what made them into good front line soldiers. They attacked without regard to their own safety and those that survived and came to would join the elite at the top.

The werewolf was about to give the order when the wind shifted and a new scent came with it.

The others caught it as well. Thier noses lifted to the sky and sniffed. Inhaling all the scents and catching the one that stood out. Another werewolf. Not one of theirs.

Their hackles raised up and their noses turned towards the direction of the smell. Up towards the top of the mountain.

They spread out and waited. Although bloodthirsty, the werewolves knew about strength in numbers. Thier pack mentality took over.

Jerome managed to turn his body. It was very painful and his head spun. He had a minor concussion. His vision clouded for a moment and then began to clear. He gazed up the mountain, recalling the path he had taken down. He could see so many easier paths, that if taken would mean that he would already be at the town. He felt so stupid. Emery had trusted him to make it out alive. Given him a sword to fight if need be and now he was too tired to even defend himself.

One of the werewolves pointed at the side of the mountain. Jerome looked for what he was pointing at. He looked at the layers of gray rocks and boulders and then movement caught his eye. It was a wolf. Not some twisted mix between a human and a wolf, but an actual wolf. It ran down the mountain on all fours, it's brown and white fur seemingly shifting as it moved.

The wolf expertly navigated the steep incline. It jumped, zig-zagging or sometimes just soaring out and falling for what seemed eternity before landing without breaking a sweat. It was getting closer fast and the closer it got, the more details that Jerome could make out. It wasn't a brown and white wolf, but a brown wolf wearing something white.

The wolf jumped down and stopped in front of the werewolves. It stood up tall on all fours. It wore armor, battered and bloody armor with a golden cross on its chest. As it moved, the individual pieces flexes and breathed, allowing for a full range of motion. On it's back was a cape, torn, but it still fluttered in the wind with pride and majesty. In the center of the cape was a cross of crimson.

The new wolf widened its stance, lowering. Growled at the werewolves and then charged.

At first the werewolves did nothing. They hadn't expected the lone wolf to attack them and the first werewolf wasn't able to react fast enough as his throat was torn out in a single swipe. It shot out its arm in a slow attempt to block. It was a second to late as a gurgle escaped its neck just before a torrent of blood gushed out of its severed artery. Its hand went to its neck only to feel the rest of its neck get slashed away. The last thing it saw was a glimpse of its body as its decapitated head fell to the ground.

The rest of the werewolves moved to attack the lone wolf. They had no coordination and ran into each other. There was a mix of fear and concern in their ranks at the sudden and brutal attack on them. They didn't go at the wolf with the same blood fueled craze they had done earlier.

The first pair attacked the wolf who rolled off to the side and then leaped at the closest werewolf. The beast yelled as fangs dug into the side of its head.

The wolf carried its prey wide of the other werewolf before crushing its skull in its jaws. The bone broke easily and brain matter poured out of the werewolf's eyes, ears, mouth and nose. It's body only twitching as a flurry of confused electrical signals were fired off all at once across its nervous system before all activity stopped.

The lone wolf dropped the limp body and zeroed in on the now singled out werewolf whose tail tucked between its legs, but stood its ground. The rest of the werewolves were untangled from each other, snapping their jaws at one another, but now coming.

The lone wolf wouldn't give him time to get to back up.

He darted forward, low and fast, getting under the inexperienced werewolf's pitiful defensive swipe with its claws. He jumped up right beneath the werewolf and bit down, feeling the satisfying separation of tendon and bone in his jaws.

The werewolf staggered back a moment, no longer having a muzzle. It cried out in agony, vomiting blood and chunks of meat. It was then silenced as a paw removed the top part of its head, leaving only half of a lower jaw.

The rest of the werewolves were finally organized, the leader getting them into something the somewhat resembled anything coherent. They made a half circle around the lone wolf that had now reduced their numbers by a quarter of what it had once been.

Jerome watched with fascination. It was always rumored but never confirmed that the higher ranks of the Templar Order were made up of werewolves who had sworn loyalty and utter devotion to the Catholic Church. He couldn't believe it and he was halfway convinced that the was dreaming now.

Emery looked back at Jerome who was behind him now, safely away from the werewolves. After he had learned that a group of the beasts were sent out to kill Jerome before he could get off the mountain, he led a charge down the mountain with the few men he had left. It wasn't long before it was just him running down the mountain. At first he did so as a human, but that was too slow. He gave into his other form, changing. The armor he wore was special in that it could fit both a human and a wolf. The segments would stretch away from each other to fit the new form, smaller segments hidden underneath would come out and fill any gaps that would form.

He had followed the strong scent of both human and wolf down the entire mountain. He filled with grief at losing everyone. He had hoped that Jerome would make it out alive. That would have been solace enough for his failure at the Alpine Hold where he had planned to die, fighting to the death. He had to make sure Jerome lived to make up for everything else.

Emery backed up slowly as the werewolves slowly crept forward, their confidence regained now with their numbers. Step by step, Emery backed up closer to Jerome until he was next to the man who looked up at him with glassy eyes. The man was drenched with sweat and looked so broken.

He didn't flinch as Emery leaned down over him and took the haft of the sword into his mouth, drawing the blade.

The werewolves stopped at the ridiculous sight before them.

Emery gave a smirk. They had no idea what was coming. He wouldn't let them get the first attack. He leaped and struck at the closest target.