It stalked forward, a growl building within, and it sprang upon them, its terrible strength carrying it in a long twenty-foot arch. Then Hunter glimpsed the blinding streak of black racing from the side. He turned and screamed.
"Ghost! NO!"
The gigantic black wolf struck the beast in the air, and they instantly locked in a thunderstorm of blows thrown and blows returned, fang to fang, spinning through red darkness until they crashed to earth together, savagely fighting to the death.
Scattering blood with each blow they revolved through the dark. Ghost hurled himself with unimaginable force against the monstrosity to blast it away from Hunter.
Again and again the great wolf struck, tearing savage gaps in the creature's arms, chest, and neck that brought forth rivers of blood. The beast returned the same, hurling vicious swipes of its clawed hands in a devil's battle that wounded Ghost with equal violence.
It was the heart of fury, the place where savagery and rage were conquered by something greater, something even more furious. The beast hurled a clawed hand that struck Ghost's shoulder, ribs glistening white at the impact, and Ghost came off the ground like a rocket, hurling himself from the bloodied earth to hit it full force. Together, they smashed into a truck and then they hit the ground again, revolving and wrestling with fang striking fang.
Hunter didn't know he had leaped forward until Brick's massive form tackled him from behind.
Falling forward, he felt a wet collision with the earth. Then, with a roar — a roar that surged from a sacred and unknown place — Hunter volcanically pushed himself up from the ground and flung the larger man off like paper. He spun to the rest of them and said nothing, communicating only with the fire of his eyes.
Ghost and the creature raged against each other almost fifty yards away. And Hunter saw, even in the half light, white streaks in Ghost's side; ribs exposed to the night. But the wolf held his ground, his hideous growls and roars vibrating in the atmosphere.
Yet the creature was severely injured, clutching ravaged red gaps torn in its chest and neck, its forearm savaged with bone shining reddish-white in the semi-darkness. Retreating slightly, it circled, cautious now, with taloned hands threatening.
Frowning, Hunter raised the rifle and fired.
Both rounds hit true, and the creature howled in rage and pain. Then Hunter hurled the rifle aside, drawing the Bowie as he ran forward.
He never saw what happened behind him, but knew. He hadn't taken five steps when he heard a stampede of angry voices following. Even Takakura was there, all of them charging the last remaining feet to close on the creature.
Chased no longer; hounded like sheep no longer; fighting now, taking the battle to the beast, refusing to retreat and choosing the moment of their death, if need be.
Ghost leaped to attack as Hunter closed the last stride. The creature caught the wolf in the air, then hatefully hurled him aside, and Hunter hit it full force.
Lashing out quicker than the eye could follow, his knife was nothing but light in the gloom as Hunter hit it clean, deep and out again to leave a furrow through the ribs. But, quick as he had moved, he could not escape the beast’s retaliation.
It whirled in a backhand — a blow that would have killed a normal man — but Hunter saw it, turning into it with both forearms to defy the attack that struck like a mountain. The forearm met his and Hunter was flung through the night air.
Brick, four feet distant, squared off and fired both barrels of Hunter's discarded Weatherby. The double impact of the mammoth rounds made the beast bend double at the waist. A second of raging pause, and then Takakura leaped to the side, the katana flashing down — a heaving vertical strike — to catch the creature solidly across the back of the neck.
And at the impact of the blow the creature came from its bowed posture like a rocket, instantly grasping the sword and twisting to hurl both it and the Japanese far and away. They crashed painfully against a Humvee and fell to the ground.
As it turned back to Chaney and Brick, almost with contempt, Brick's feet had left the ground. His body, twisting volcanically, had spun, holding the barrels of the Weatherby in huge fists. The wide wooden stock of the rifle swung like a baseball bat to strike the bowed head with incredible force. And at the impact the sound of pulverized flesh echoed like a gunshot across the glade. But the stock shattered, leaving Brick staggering back holding a broken rifle, gazing upward into the face of the beast.
Shaking its head in contempt, it started for him.
Hunter was on his feet, roaring as he moved, and Ghost moved with him, each attacking the creature from opposite sides. Hunter saw Chaney take aim and hit the beast solidly in the head with two .454 rounds of the Weatherby. A blinding burst of white came from the side — Bobbi Jo joining us — that made Hunter reflexively bend away before he hurled himself forward and slashed at the neck.
Sensing his approach, it flung out its left arm to hurl him back hatefully. The blow caught Hunter's shoulder as it roared with rage. Then—
A Japanese cry… sword flashing, slashing across, back again… explosion before them, gray shape falling upon Hunter… Bowie slashing up to hit gray flesh, down quick, stabbing… black wolf across, white fangs lashing out… spiraling blood… explosion in his face, blinding… Bobbi Jo, Chaney… DUCK!..Clawed hand lashing viciously over his head… returning… blade moving on weight… come back to me to hit… weight and body behind the blade, slashing hard… stabbing deep… that's it… bring the blade down and put your body into the… blade stabbing deep, rising, falling with weight, rising volcanically… steel vanishing into gray, ripping away… animal roaring… Brick struck and flung… hurled through air bellowing, striking wildly at air… Chest!.. Leaping forward blade poised to strike upward now! Opening!
Roaring, Hunter uncoiled like a rattlesnake, the blade flashing before him to AHH!
Darkness.
Roars, orange flashes in the blackness, spotlights in the sky.
Lowering… so cold… to him.
Rising slowly, Bowie knife hard in a clenched fist, Hunter stood, raising his face to the strange silence as it registered that all of them, even Ghost, were motionless and prostrate on the wet ground. Brow hardening, knowing that a half-dozen helicopters were settling in the glade, Hunter gazed about curiously, fist tightening even more on the huge Bowie.
He saw nothing.
The beast was gone, though in the stillness he knew where he would find it. He raised his head wearily; he was covered in blood and it didn't matter. Enough was enough, they had come too far. He even knew who the undisclosed men in the helicopters were, and didn't care. Nothing would stop him now.
This belonged to him, not them; it had changed hands a long time ago, when they had sent him out to die. He had already destroyed the relic, and now he would destroy the living embodiment of this primordial evil.
Hunter could not accept the possibility that his colleagues were dead, and regretted hurling himself into the battle. But he had done it out of love. And that he did not regret.
As the helicopters landed and scores of black-clad soldiers leaped out, guns poised, running across the glade, Hunter knelt beside Ghost. The wolf, sensing his presence, blinked, and Hunter smiled, sitting gently on the ground beside it, stroking the thick, bloodied black fur.